#Entirely Unconventional masterlist

[imaginedreamwrite]

Entirely Unconventional

Part 10: Once, And Again

Enjoy the show? Have a fun night? Did you and König recover?

Nicht so süß und unschuldig kleines Kätzchen

Damn fucking brat

“Hey LT!” He felt pain behind his eye, the sudden sharp twitch had come within seconds of his mind registering Soap McTavish’s voice, and the weight of another trip back to that hell-hole in the middle of the same desolate state.

That armoury and artillery compound they’d invaded had been secured, everything inside was transported. But the man who was funnelling money into the operations in the middle of God knows where, was still hiding. Captain Price had given the objective, for the two of them, to head back to that place and flush him out.

The man who had funnelled money into this compound, this storage facility for munitions and artillery, was squirrelling himself somewhere in the backwoods and rural properties of the villages and farmlands. It made him both an easy target and a little rat bastard hiding in the crawl spaces of abandoned farmhouses.

“Looking forward to going back, sir? S’been nearly two months since you saw her last! You wanna make a stopover?” Soap’s suggestion was as much of a jest as this emotionless exterior as it was a genuine attempt at getting the cold Lieutenant to relax.

It was your fault, you had done this. You had started this fucking problem with your fingers, and your moans. The sound of your pleasure had centred itself in his mind again, a reminder of the passion that was thickened by the bond of being each others soulmates.

You, and your damn masturbation habits, had broken the straw that kept their own hunger at bay.

It was one too many bands that had snapped, and that pressure led to both Ghost & König experiencing the first rolling snowball of desire. The first initial shove that made them crash into each other, devouring the other with lust, all because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.

And now, all Ghost could focus on was the need to have König pinning your hands above your head, trapping you. Giving you no room to leave, so Ghost could return the favour and devour you wholly.

His traumatic past couldn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his deeply seeded desire to fuck, to crave and taste and unleash his fated passions upon you.

“Fucking hell, you don’t fucking quit.” Ghost’s ire was vehement, his eyes stormy and dark. “Goddamn wanker!”

Soap held no more fear of Ghost than he did König, knowing that both his commanding officers were feeling the effects of their little soulmates late night excursions. The late night hours that had driven them crazy, has made the two men cantankerous, although Soap was more amused than not.

“We got leave soon, LT. Heard my little bird Em say your American spitfire is coming to visit for a few weeks.” Soap grinned in the way he usually did, like he had no real care in the world or any real-world consequences waiting for him.

John Soap McTavish was the kind of man most of them wished they could be. He still wasn’t jaded from what they saw, he wasn’t bitter and closed off. He had this natural youthfulness to him that had followed him all his life. He still had the ability to feel like a kid, like someone who wasn’t battered, bruised and dragged through hell.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones, one of the soldiers who had someone waiting for him at home when he went on leave. Johnny had someone who was writing him letters and caring for him with the intensity of a well-known lover. No matter what happened, Johnny had his wife to lean on.

Ghost was bitter, he was closed off and inflexible to love. Even when he was awarded two soulmates who could be everything he needed, he was still unable to see how he deserved them. In his mind, he was damned, and they were damned with him. He didn’t think he would ever feel free enough to endure such love.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny.” Simon’s voice was less guarded now, more honest and natural. “Don’t take that for granted, don’t fuck it up!”

“You do too, LT!” Soap called back, nodding his head in Ghost’s direction as if to extend the invitation without having to say it.

Ghost was silent, he had revelled in the silence that stymied them both. He had endured the quiet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. He squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go, until he felt his resolve regaining itself.

There’s no where for a place like him; like them. They’re phantoms, shadows more than people now.

No you’re not, you never have been. Your voice countered his, and Ghost verbally hissed from the gentility. It was unwarranted, it was a direct attack on the shell he had surrounded himself with.

Damned fool, you’re gonna burn with us

We’re connected, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, I’m yours.

And you’re damned for it. You’re breakable, it’s inevitable. He was condescending, of himself and of König’s dependency on you, the three of you all meant to be twisted and broken together.

It was innate, it was their future.

What you want, we could never give you. We could never give you the future you want. Ghost’s voice went through your head, and König’s. We’re not meant for it. We’ll only break you.

It all felt like a step back, like he was land-sliding further from this new openness. You had broken off pieces of their guard, and Ghost in his fear of losing something real and true, again, was trying to shove it all back together.

You were silent, for a moment, and then your voice echoed in his head. Soft like a bell or whistle, yet with the ability to further crack that detrimental shell around his heart.

It's amazing how someone can break your heart, and you can still love them with all the little pieces.

Silence rang out, the bridge that bonded the three of you was silent.

And Ghost remained in that silence, his eyes staring ahead as he fixated his attention upon the wall of the helicopter. Transportation back to the States, back to that hellhole had begun, their task to track down that little worm was started.

You wouldn’t be an ocean away, you wouldn’t be across the world. You would be within his fingertips. And Ghost, irregardless of how hard he wanted to keep you at a distance, was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Damn him, damn himself to hell, he had to see you.

To spite himself.

To spite every damn bone in his body that hated you, that absolutely loathed you, he wanted and had to see you. It was innate, it was incredulous.

Simon Riley could’ve cursed you, he could have damned you with every breath. He didn’t need you, he didn’t want you, he had no use for you.

Yet, your ability to make the ice around the old soldiers heart chip away was beyond what he could control. If it were up to him, to Ghost, he would have frozen his heart in a cryogenic chamber away from yourself and König.

But damn you, damn you American woman with all he had in him, Simon Riley couldn’t turn off from you.

He was driven, by an unseen force, to find you. Despite the warring denial that they required you, that they wanted you, Ghost thought about Soap’s advice.

“You know you’re thinking about it. About seeing her. Trust me, LT...showing up to see her is exactly what you need.”

“Not happening, Johnny. We have a mission.”

Still, the thought was tempting.

Fuck, you better be around. His thick gravelly voice echoed in his own head, a thought shared with you as he let that shadowed and tiny piece of him have a small victory.

Regardless of how scared shitless, he was over letting that tiny little piece of hope win.

************

Simon Riley was not damaged, not like he had thought. Rather, he was traumatized from events of the past, and the cruel hands of fate handed to him.

You knew that, you had been warned of that, but you’d never fully understood to what extent he had hated any chance of happiness.

It was clear that of the two, Simon & König, König had been less physically damaged a than Simon.

You had seen more of König than you had of Simon. You’d seen more of his memories than Ghost had allowed you to see, with much of König’s thoughts and memories centred around his home life in Austria & Germany.

Not only that, but you’d seen the memories he had of his mother, the blood sweat and tears that she had shed for her little boy.

Young König, who wanted so desperately to go on school trips, leading his mother to prevent herself from eating food to save him money. She had done everything she could to give him the ability to go.

You had seen his memories and the bullying he suffered from being a poor boy who was bigger and taller than all his classmates. The kind of bullying that made König develop social anxiety that followed him all his life.

You saw his memories, and he had seen yours. He had seen your love of being on the water on a sandy, smooth beach and the crystal-like water that stretched for miles.

It was Devonshire Beach, someplace that had you had adored and craved to be at, a place where you were endlessly wishing to be at every chance you got.

You had been able to communicate your love for that place, the place where you were most comfortable and happiest. That place where you had longed to be day after day, week after week.

König had seen your memories of your short-term relationships that never gone anywhere for your fear of being taken too far emotionally into something that was doomed to fail.

You and König had created a new level of this bond; Ghost and yourself were still at a crawling point.

“I can’t wait for you to get here! Ugh, there are so many places I want to take you!” Em’s excitement bled through the phone as you’d pinned it between your ear and your shoulder.

“Three weeks in Scotland away from work, what a dream.” You were ragged, you were tired, and you wanted to go to bed.

Upon approaching your village townhouse, you dug your keys out from your scrub pockets, twirling them around your finger twice before you stepped up the porch.

Though it had been more than 12 hours since you left, you’d felt as if it were just seconds ago since you stepped outside for your shift.

Your keys were stuck in the lock, as usual. You jiggled the keys in the lock, grunting your irritation and annoyance, your ire for the damned thing.

Your frustration grew, and you’d just managed to turn the key to unlock the door when you heard audible footsteps behind you. You turned your head and cast your speculative gaze behind you, a squeaky shriek ripped from your lips.

“Y/N-” Johnny Soap McTavish was less than three feet behind you, with one half of your soulmates in tow.

Your immediate reaction was to strike him, your fist balled as tightly as you could manage, and you’d driven it into his shoulder. Though it hadn’t actually hurt him, Johnny still cursed under his breath and rubbed his arm. His blue eyes were narrowed, annoyed at you for striking him, and causing him minute pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing here?!” You screeched at him, panic and fear rushing through you at the sudden appearance of them on your porch. “Do you have a death wish?! Do you know how many people have guns here?! You could have been shot!”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” You were only aware of Em still talking when she raised her voice through the phone, reminding you that she could hear everything.

“You almost became a widow!” You struck Johnny again, anger coursing through your attack on your best friend's husband.

“Johnny! You didn’t shoot him did you?” She chirped with wonder, while you glared heavily at the two men.

“You got a minute?”

“You could’ve been shot, you idiot!” You struck Johnny again, only once being aware of Ghost’s eyes on you, and the striking blue eyes alight with amusement.

Strike him again, love

“You—!” Your eyes darted from Johnny to Ghost, your soulmate looking deadly and intimidating, like a demon at night.

He had stood behind Johnny, wearing that familiar skeleton mask and the black eye paint around his eyes.

He was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, starting with a thick Kevlar vest and a balaclava beneath the mask. He hadn’t gotten rid of his weapons, not a single one, but rather he had kept them on to give himself a more intimidating appearance.

Honestly, despite his aggressive look, having Ghost appear on your doorstep wasn’t even close to the most negating experience of your night. Despite his intense distaste that he seemed to have for you, seeing him here was almost relieving. It had almost heartening to see him, to have him this close.

Even if he would rather not adhere to this bond, you were happy to see him again. Regardless of how they scared the shit out of you, having Ghost here was almost exhilarating.

Being in the presence of your soulmate, irregardless of his feelings for you, was affecting you almost as intensely as it had the night you met them.

“What,” your voice had taken a hard edge, your eyes narrowing in on them, “are you doing here?!”

Johnny grinned, boyishly, in a manner that made you irritated. His natural penchant to be a man riddled with good-natured humour, and humour at others expense, had been vexing to say the least. But no more than his ability to also make you forget your qualms with a man like him.

Johnny would have been a good friend, but you couldn’t have handled someone like him continually trying to get under your skin.

“I guess we need another favour.” Johnny’s voice first caught your attention; however, it was Ghost that had kept it.

Another look at him, and another remembrance of his size, was yet again capable of producing a sort of enchantment that took hold of you. He was at least 6’4” if not 6’5” and seeing him in person, for only the second time, had reiterated your feeling of being a sprout compared to him.

Between Ghost & König, you felt like a little sprite, a little gaiety creature surrounded by giants and beasts. Hell, even compared to Johnny, you felt short.

“Ghost.” You spoke his code name, far more airily than you wanted to.

You were captivated by him, and his aggressive nature. He was your soulmate despite denying you and attempting to push you away, and want was only natural. The desire to be around each other, to hear each others voice and grow deeper connected, was only natural.

Fate was not to be ignored, fate was not going to let any of you, not the three of you, part from the other. You were, and always would be, connected and bound together.

You were watching Ghost, and he was watching you, his chin tucked ever so slightly. His eyes had narrowed, minimally, and his fingers flexed around the gun he held in his hands. The tension between you was skyrocketing, thick and heavy, and bubbling over with desire and mutual need.

“You want some privacy-“ you struck Johnny again, as hard as you could with everything you could.

“Y/N! Did you kill my husband?!” Em’s voice was far more panicked than before, concern for her husband's well-being at your hand was not understated.

“Not yet.” You reassured her, though you felt tempted by the idea of murdering her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We had to deal with something—“ Johnny trailed off, ending the half-sentence abruptly. You thought it had been the end of it, and then you heard him speaking again. “Gonna let us in, love?”

“You don’t call me that.” You grit your teeth and bend down to gather your thrown items, ultimately standing and bundling them in your arms. “Why are you here? Didn’t think they allowed stop-offs when you’re doing the military’s work.”

“Got a job, went sideways. We only have an hour, two at max. Can we come in?”

Your eyes had been caught by Ghosts’ again, and your heart racing. There was such a draw to him, beyond the fear and the apprehension, you just wanted to be around him.

“You wanna come in?” Your question was aimed at Johnny, but looked at Ghost, and then turned back. “Your cut looks good, healed okay. You have another?”

“Not me. Got time?” Johnny’s grin seemed permanently affixed to his face, another layer to the charming Scotsman.

“I do now.” You mumbled under your breath and turned back to your door, opening for the three of you.

“If you murder me...” you looked back at Johnny, your stomach flipping end over end. “... I’ll haunt you.”

“So paranoid, lass.” Johnny’s retort was airy, and he was clearly amused, though you hadn’t seen the humour in it at all.

“Are you allowed to be here? Aren’t you on a time constraint?” You questioned them both as you stepped inside and waved them in.

There was hesitancy on both, parties, neither of them immediately wanting to step into your house.

Though Johnny was more receptive to coming in, even he had waited a moment before he stepped over the threshold and entered your place. As he had, you dropped your bag down onto your floor and kicked off your shoes. You flicked on the light switch and cast another look back at the two of them.

Both were wearing tactical gear, although Ghost seemed to have more, and while you could see the flag of their respective home countries on each of their uniforms, you were drawn to the UK flag on Simon’s.

“You can come in, maybe explain why you thought it was okay to give me a heart attack.” Your invitation was both ambiguous and intimate, depending on the two men who heard it.

Johnny had spared no effort to step into your townhouse, almost needing to step sideways with his gear; however, Ghost hadn’t been so eager. He stood on the other side of the door, staring you down with piercing blue eyes that struck deep into your soul.

And as you got a better look at both of them, you noticed the distinguishable sight of blood. Soap had seemed to be better off than not, with the man only receiving specks of the hemoglobin on his arms and forehead; however, it seemed like Ghost had a gash on his arm.

It didn’t look deep, but it was open, and it needs to be taken care of.

You didn’t want to know the details of how it happened, you didn’t think you could stomach the idea of it; however, you knew it must’ve been a sporadic event. His sleeve was ripped, torn or cut to find the wound, and there was already dried blood around his gash.

“Shit.” You winced at the sight of it, knowing that this was the explanation for their sudden appearance at your house. “You need that looked at, and it needs to be sewn.”

“Thought we should make a house call. Em gave me your address.” Johnny set the rifle in his hands down, much like Ghost had, and started undoing the Velcro straps of his Kevlar vest.

It is unclear to you why you didn’t notice before, why you hadn’t seen the wound on his arm and the missing portion of his sleeve, but now that you had, you knew you needed to fix it.

You didn’t need details, you hadn’t wanted details, and even if you had, you doubted they would tell you. Or at the very least fabricate a lie like Em.

That’s what you expected, that’s what you had anticipated, however you were once again surprised when Ghost had stepped forward toward your couch, littered with folded clothes you had forgotten about, and spoke with a gruff thick accent.

“Dealing with leftover shit, damned bastard set traps.” His gruff British accent had a surreal affect on you, the visible tremble of your hands and the definite acknowledgment of how attractive you’d found it, mentally at least.

It came naturally to your mind, and settled into your thoughts warmly.

An innate desire to hear it again, whispering the same kind of sexually fuelled words that had been uttered on the night that you had gone out drinking. It had been a turn on for you that night, the uttered sounds fuelling your need to find self-pleasure, and that had been shared with the two of them.

And you’d just as easily found yourself captivated by his thick British accent, and König’s German one.

“I have a habit of asking doctors for extra supplies just in case. I have surgical thread, I can sew it up.” You spoke quickly.

You were far more anxious being in your house with these two men, one being your soulmate, than you were in the hospital room with a crowd of them.

There, you felt standoffish.

Here, it felt intimate.

“I’ll just...” you glanced at the folded clothes, thanking your self-preservation for hiding your underwear in stacks of scrubs instead of keeping them out.

Still, you’d felt momentarily embarrassed by the state of your clothes folded and left out, and you’d quickly picked them up and set them back in the basket.

You’d wanted to put them away before you’d gone to work and never had the chance, your morning starting chaotically by your phone alarms failing.

“I’ll be right back. Umm...sit, make yourselves....just sit.” You turned away from them and headed toward the stairs, grabbing hold of the railings. You held onto both as you climbed the steps to the bathroom, stepping inside and opening the cupboard to the left.

You grabbed your first aid kit from the bottom shelf and tucked it under your arm, using your free hand to grab the antiseptic and gauze. With everything you needed, you headed back downstairs and to the living room, side-eyeing the two of them as they were in very different positions.

While Johnny was unceremoniously draped across one of your second hand armchairs, Ghost was standing near the couch, however he wasn’t sitting. He was staring dead on at a picture of you when you were younger that was taken at your favourite spot in the world.

Devonshire Beach was at the cusp of a massive lake, one that stretched for miles upon miles. The water was warm and relatively clear, with a sandy bottom. The lake had remained shallow enough to touch the bottom for what seemed like a mile before your feet wouldn’t reach, and the soft sand had continued well onto the shoreline.

In the picture you were seven or eight, covered in wet sand with a wide grin on your face and the sun at your back. You had just come out of the water after spending all day at the shoreline, and in the water, and there was no shortage of happy weeks there.

Devonshire Beach was one of the only times and places you’d actually enjoyed being in your dad’s presence. Every other time, you’d found ire for the man who would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his child.

But when he took you to Devonshire Beach, and let you run wild, you were truly happy. When you were in that water, on that beach, your father's indiscretions didn’t matter. You had the water, you had the sand, and you had the endless lake to spend your time in.

“That’s my favourite place in the whole world. I spent weeks there every summer when it was my dads turn to take me.” You set the first aid kit on the coffee table, talking to both of them, but mostly Ghost, as he had looked at your picture.

“I try to go back once a summer for a few weeks. Honestly, if I could live there, I would.” Your small conversation attempt with the roguish soldier was one-sided though you knew he, and König, acknowledged what you said and thought, when you felt that flourish of warmth in your body.

You thought of it, of the lake and the beach that you loved. The untouched source of happiness you experienced with your divorced father, and the soft glow of the sun. You were sharing that memory with them, all while Ghost was studying the coutures on your walls and Johnny looked like he was sleeping.

“I have the first aid kit, I can fix your arm.” You broke the silence and drew his attention away from the pictures on your wall, back to yourself.

His eyes had been striking, impossibly bright against the dark around his eyes and the bleached skeleton mask. He had turned further to face you, only taking two long strides to the couch, and sitting down almost silently.

“This might hurt,” you reached into the first aid kit for the kit of needles you had, as well as the gauze and wipes, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghost was silent but observant.

He had extended his arm to allow you access to the gash, and a better look at the tattoos he had on his arm. You had taken a brief look at the ink marking his skin, the story of each tattoo simultaneously cohesive and almost.

Although you knew there was some meaning to them, to him, you weren’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You apologized prematurely and dabbed the antiseptic wipe against the edge of the wound first, watching him carefully for any indication that it hurt.

“Does this feel okay? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?” His answer, predictably, came through your mind.

Doesn’t scratch the surface, love

“I don’t have any numbing gel or cream, so this might hurt more—“ you were cut off, rather abruptly, by his thick accent verbalizing his state of mind.

“I’ve been through hell, this is nothing.” His blue eyes bore into your own, and there was a cathartic minute where your gazes had been locked on each others.

Heat, intense and deep, had struck you like lightning. It was powerful and all encompassing, an internal combustion that was directly rooted in your fated bond.

Soulmates intertwined with each other in every captivating way.

Eventually, you dropped your gaze and finished cleaning the gash on his arm.

You had exchanged the antiseptic wipes for the surgical thread you’d taken from one of the doctors there. While there was no trauma bay, nor really, or any surgery rooms, a few of the doctors that worked there also worked in the city.

And they had known you wanted to stock up on your own miniature medical stash at your place. All it took was a conversation, a simple favour the next time they were in the city hospital, and at least one would try to abide by your request.

As you threaded the needle, you hummed a song under your breath. You worked quickly to tie and cut off the excess, only to hesitate before you made the first mark.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Your concerns for him, about hurting him, were high. You hated the idea of not having some numbing cream or gel, and without freezing it could be incredibly painful.

With his silence, you had started the process of stitching his wound, weaving the needle and the medical thread in and out of his skin to close it again. You worked in silence under the weight of his icy gaze, a slight tremble to your hands as you worked.

You hadn’t been this close to him in months, not since you’d first met him, and he was intimidating. He was built like a mountain, with his height and weight relative to his thick size and strength. He could easily kill you with his hands, and everything else about him was just as pertinent to terrifying anyone he came across.

“Are you okay?” You questioned Simon again, doubling down on your insistence that you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “Simon..?”

You sat up on your haunches and reached for his mask, fingertips grazing the hard shell before he stopped you. His hand snatched your wrist and squeezed enough to make you startle. His eyes narrowed, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you figured he might have been scowling at you.

In exchange, you had tried to tug your wrist away, stumbling forward as he held you firm. He had leaned down, drawing himself closer and allowing you to see the darker flecks in his blue eyes.

“I never take my mask off.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice was tight, squeaking almost. “I won’t touch it again.”

Johnny, to his credit, had noticed the shift in tension and flipped himself right, placing his boots on the ground. His own wondering gaze had flitted between the two of you, and his lips had become pursed.

“Y’okay, Y/N?” There was a protectiveness, a kind that would be present between a brother and sister.

“I’m fine. I’m almost finished.” Your hands shook, and you felt real fear, real apprehension. You worked as quickly as you could, tying off the rest of the stitches and giving it a final wipe with antiseptic.

When you were done, you threw everything back in the first aid kit and zipped it shut, hastily returning it back to the bathroom.

You’d almost hoped they’d have been gone by the time you returned, both were still present however they were getting ready to leave. You shuffled into the living room, still on the edge of fear, with your heart racing.

“The stitches need to stay in for 4–14 days, depending on how fast you heal. You could cut them yourself, but if you have a medic or doctor on your...base or wherever—“

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve said our asses twice now.” Johnny had finished securing his Kevlar vest, and the Velcro that kept it in on place, and then he picked up his gun. “Three weeks in Scotland, yeah?”

“Mandatory time off. I haven’t used my vacation hours and they won’t give me anymore.” You explained softly, not being able to look at Ghost for longer than a few seconds. “Plus it's been almost 4 years since I’ve seen Emilia.”

“You mean for more than 12 hours.” Johnny added, stretching his arms above his head. “She’s excited for ya, been talking nonstop about you and her going out for your birthday.”

I forgot about that, your thoughts betrayed you, 25 in two weeks

Birthday? When is your birthday, schätzchen? König’s voice had crackled in your mind, his question softened.

“Apparently 25 is a big deal.” You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t celebrate my birthday usually.”

“Please for the love of God, humour my wife.”

Johnny practically begged, teasing her endearingly. “Let her take you out.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and hummed, watching Johnny leave your house first, stepping forward to clsoe the door behind them. “I promise I’ll let her drag me out.”

“I love my wife, I’d die for her, but sometimes...” Johnny grinned, only minutely serious, and then he glanced back at Ghost. “LT...?”

You watched him standing just outside the doorway, his eyes once again boring into yours. As you stepped forward to close the door, one solid hand had pushed you back against the doorframe, and another cupped your chin.

His hand was large, fingers partially obscured by gloves that were cut off at his first knuckles. He had stepped close to you, trapping you between his body and your door. With one hand cupping your chin and his unrelenting eyes keeping your gaze hostage, you were breathlessly waiting for...something.

Tension was climbing, and it felt as if everything else surrounding you had become dull and stagnant. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, you were unable to stop your heart from beating wildly.

Slowly he leaned in, closer and closer until his voice was nothing more than a whisper to you.

“Shouldn’t have scared ya, love.” It was as apologetic as you imagined he could get. “Fixed me good.”

“Don’t....get shot or anything. At least not before you get to an actual doctor.” A dry, humourless sound was heard between you, and then his hand tightened on your chin.

“LT! We gotta go!” Johnny called out from the front steps of your place, urging Ghost to leave.

Another moment, brief as it was, and then he pulled away. “Have a good night, love.”

He stepped away from the front door, watching you with intensity until you closed the door behind them and switched the lock.

[reiderwriter]

🌙 Like You Did With Her 🌙

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

Part of the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Requested: Can I request Spencer x female!reader who are in an established relationship and she sees him kiss cat that one time. And once the case is over she’s not actually mad cause she understands he had to but she kinda plays it up a bit like ‘I don’t think you’ve ever kissed me like that’

Warnings: BDSM themes, dom! Spencer Reid, mentions of cheating, voyeurism, cuckolding, exhibitionism, bondage, handcuffs, penetrative sex (P in V), consensual degradation (use of whore and slut), anal play, cum play, implied unprotected sex, unconventional sex location (non-public), rough sex, clit stimulation, etc.

A/N: Additional warning - you may not see God's blessing if you read on. To say I got carried away would be an understatement. If you're reading this and you know me, do not ask questions. Simply separate the art from the artist. It's what I want (I'm being dramatic).

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You'd promised Spencer that you wouldn't let Cat Adams or anything she said or did get to you. You'd waven him off on his “date,” kissed him goodbye, and then sat on his couch for hours worrying.

And you'd kept worrying as the hours passed, until you'd heard voices in the hallway and then movement, and the door was opening and you saw it.

Your boyfriend savagely pushing another woman up against a wall, fighting for control, his large hands spread wide and tensed against skin, his lips sucking and kissing and preening, and showing his control.

You watched for entirely too long before you accidentally made your presence known.

It was a game to Cat, and you knew enough about her to know that you couldn't show any reaction. You didn't know if she'd only get more dangerous if she knew just how much you'd enjoyed watching that.

You held the conversation still, letting Spencer push at whatever game it was he was playing with Cat, but you weren't wholly there. Instead, your mind was playing the comparison game.

You loved Spencer. Spencer loved you. When you had sex with Spencer, it was clear that Spencer loved you.

And maybe love was all there was to it because based on what you'd now seen, there wasn't exactly that much heat when you did it.

If he could be so rough - and you wanted him to be rough - then why wasn't he being rough with you?

He may have been playing games with Cat, but you'd fucked him enough to know the subtle postures of his arousal. You caught it in the way he held himself, the way his breathing hitched, the way he was looking.

Not just at her, but at you, too. As if he were caught between the two of you, unsure who to force to their knees first.

So you let him do the talking and tried to distract yourself from a moment of arousal that you feared would never be satisfied.

To your credit, you lasted two weeks. You hadn't made love to him that night because it was too soon, and he was desperately grovelling in apology for something you weren't angry about in the slightest.

Sure, you should've been angry. If not because he'd made out with another woman than he'd made out with a sociopathic serial killer specifically, one who'd made his life a misery. But you couldn't bring yourself to be upset when your hands worked their way between your legs every time you thought about it.

A week after, he caught you pleasuring yourself, and he'd taken over, kissing you gently and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

His touch was pathetically gentle, and after you came, he rolled off the bed and took himself to the bathroom, leaving you alone.

A week after that, he initiated sex again, but it was soft, sweet, and so warm that you felt almost ashamed for wanting him to choke you out even just a little bit.

Spencer wasn't exactly unaware of your preoccupation.

You hadn't kissed him without frowning in two weeks, and you hadn't initiated anything sexual yourself. There was still the casual intimacy, the friendship, the I Love You’s, but you seemed distant and he knew he fucked up.

You drew a line in the sand when he started coming home with flowers.

“Spencer-? What is this?” You said as he pushed the bouquet into your hands, kissing you hello as he walked through the door.

“Flowers. Lilies, to be specific, you like lilies, right? I didn't ask, I should've asked-”

“Why did you buy me flowers?” You said, still just staring at him and the guilt on his face.

“I thought - You like flowers.”

“I do. But I also like to know the reason behind the flowers, so spill.”

He hesitated for a moment and let out a sigh, running his hands through his hair as he looked between you and the flowers.

“Lilies are apology flowers.”

“Spencer,” you said, almost exasperated, throwing your hand sin the air and walking back to the kitchen.

“You're upset. You're obviously upset. I kissed Cat, and-”

“You did a little more than kiss her.”

“Y/N,” his voice getting slightly deeper, his voice warning you to tread lightly. “You're jealous.”

“I already told you I'm not,” you said, even though that was half a lie. “It's just-”

“Just what? Jealousy? Speak to me, Y/N, you've been ignoring me all week.”

His brow was furrowed, his stress evident in the hard lines of his body, his stiff shoulders, the line of his mouth. You wanted to keep pressing his buttons until that anger, that stress, boiled over, and you got to experience what Cat had.

“Sorry,” you said, dropping the lilies on the counter in your kitchen and turning around to face him once again. “I haven't been ignoring you, though. Ignoring someone is when you make out with another woman in a doorway, not knowing your girlfriend is sitting on a couch watching the entire thing.”

“Y/N!”

“What? I'm not allowed to tell the truth now? Are you afraid you'll feel too guilty?”

“I am so sorry, Y/N, it was-”

“I'm not.” You said quickly as he stepped forward. You knew that if you let him get further in his apology, he'd bundle you up in his arms, and gently carry you away to kiss and hug and cuddle and have sex in the most dignified, loving way imaginable. You didn't want that.

“What?”

“I'm not sorry. I lied earlier. I'm not sorry, I'm fucking envious.”

You slid your hands down his chest as he stilled again, watching g your hand descend to the front of his pants. You grabbed his belt and pulled him closer.

“Spencer, why have you never fucked me like that?”

His eyes widened in shock, but they quickly flicked back to your hands as you slowly unbuckled his belt.

“I… I didn't fuck her, let's get that straight.”

“I know,” you said, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I was watching.”

His hands gripped the counter as he stared at you straight-faced, finally locking eyes with you as you pulled his belt free and dropped it to the floor.

“I don't want to treat you the way I treated her,” he said, voice quieter but still full of tension, as if ready to shout at any second.

“You don't want to fuck me?” You asked, even as you grabbed his cock through his pants, taunting him with the fact that he did. You knew he did, because you held the evidence in your hand.

“No…! Yes, I do, but not... like that.”

“Not like what?” You said, pushing his shirt up and out of his pants so your hands had more room to explore, fewer layers of clothing to obstruct.

“Like… like a… fuck, stop distracting me.”

“I'm not distracting you, I'm trying to prove to you that this is meaningless and that you should bend me over and fuck me like a cheap whore.”

“Y/N!” he said, either exasperated, or desperately horny from your grip on his hard cock.

He grabbed your hand and pulled it away from him, pinning it against the counter with his own.

“Stop.”

“No,” you spat back at him, pressing closer to him and wiggling your hand free so it could stroke his dick again. “Not until you make me.”

His lips dropped to yours in a kiss, but this time, you could tell you'd made progress. An annoyed harrumph echoed through the kiss, and you fought his tongue back as he tried to take control of your mouth, attempting to gently lead as he always did.

“Y/N,” he moaned, as your hands fought off his to fondle his cock, unbuttoning his pants and pulling it free as you stroked it gently, teasingly.

You had to show him a taste of his own medicine.

“Y/N, we need to talk, keep your hands to yourself.”

“No,” you said, stroking harder, spotting into your hand while keeping eye contact with him. “Unless you want to try and stop me?”

He watched your hand fall back to his cock, watched you tease the tip with one small stroke, then another, and then another.

And then he finally broke.

He pushed your hands off quickly, twisting one arm up and around your back, pinning it there as he grabbed his handcuffs and attached your hands together behind your back.

“Spencer!” you gasped.

“Cheap whore? That's what you wanted?” He said, pulling your hips back so his cock could nestle in the fabric of your skirt.

You nodded, rolling your shoulders to test the limits of your new restraints. Restraints you knew had been on Cat two weeks ago. You wondered if he was thinking about her now as his cock got harder and harder. You wondered why that turned you on so much.

“Okay. I'll give you what you want, but don't complain after.”

“Please, like you could actually hurt me that much.”

His hand immediately crept up to your neck and wrapped around it delicately. He didn't press down, but the threat was there as he leant down to whisper in your ear.

“Y/N?” You nodded in response, not chancing talking back. “Shut the fuck up.”

His hands pulled your skirt up first, and you found yourself without underwear just as fast, though you felt it suspended between your knees. He ran a finger through your folds, pushing your legs wider with one hand as the other grabbed a fistful of hair and slowly forced your head onto the counter.

This was new. All of this was new. The position, the location, the emotion. The handcuffs. You struggled against them again but didn't say a word, as his hand gently came down on your bare ass.

“Ah,” you cried out in surprise, jumping slightly as you felt the impact.

“I said be quiet,” he said from behind you, inspecting your pretty pink pussy as you displayed yourself for him.

One finger slowly slid into you, and you bit your lip to hold back a moan. It was joined by a second finger, and then he started moving them.

He'd touched you before, buried himself deep inside even, but this new angle felt different, and your eyes rolled shut as he pumped in and out. With two weeks of frustration, you were perfectly wet for him already, and you were almost embarrassed about the wet sounds his ministrations were causing already.

“S-Spencer,” you moaned, pushing your hips back into him, in time with his fingers.

He pulled out his hands and slapped your ass again, hard, as you cried out.

“You want to be treated like a cheap whore, but even they follow instructions, Y/N.”

You heard him spit on his hands again, and then his digits returned.

Except they didn't return to your pussy, but a spot higher up.

His fingers lubed up your ass with his spit and your arousal as he gently slid a finger into your ass, and you cried out in shock, or pain, or arousal, or whatever it was that had your head sagging to the counter, your legs lifting onto your tiptoes to allow him better access to your holes.

“You're even tighter here than there…” he said, almost curiously, as of transfixed by watching his fingers enter and exit you.

You were so distracted by his fingers, you barely noticed his cock probing at your pussy before it slid into you entirely.

You really couldn't help the mess you made of the kitchen counter. When he pushed into you, he used his free hand to lift your leg slightly, and inadvertently pushed your clit into the edge of the kitchen counter. With every thrust of fingers and hips, you ground into the edge, pussy flooding with juices as you were stimulated on all fronts.

You almost begged him to play with your nipples as well, just to see what the experience would feel like, how hard you could cum when every area of your body was being bombarded with pleasure.

As it was, the cock and handcuffs probably would've been enough. But you felt the shame of your arousal dripping down your leg, piddling at your feet. You heard him questioning which part of the experience it was that had led to you being such a desperate slut.

Was it his cock? Was it the fingers in your ass? Was it the handcuffs? Was it the fact that you were still imagining him doing exactly this to another woman while you watched on?

You didn't know, and he didn't degrade you further by asking.

His hand gripped your hair again, pulling you back harshly so your back arched, and your clit painfully pushed down into the edge of the counter.

With a scream - a loud, sudden, uncontrollable thing - you came, letting loose a torrent of cum down your leg.

Still, he kept thrusting, but he let go of his previous vow of silence.

“You are such a cheap whore, aren't you?” He said, removing his finger from your ass, hands gently gripping your hips as he pulled your ass cheeks, inspecting how far he'd stretched you, how much your hole gaped open.

“You've been so jealous that I wasn't tossing you around all this time. My cock could've been buried inside someone else, and you'd have enjoyed that. Wouldn't you?”

You could only moan in response, too scared to confirm or deny. You wanted more.

“You know, Y/N,” he started, leaning down to your ear again, squishing you painfully against the hard counter. “Cheap whores don't deserve cream pies.”

Just as you approached another climax, he pulled out of you, letting you crumple to the floor without his weight counterbalancing your own.

Then he hooked a finger under your jaw and lifted your head up. He barely managed to grunt out “close your eyes” before his cum was shooting out over your face.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, I love you… I love you, I love you, I love you, I love-”

Your lips parted in shock as a spurt hit your chin, your eyes. It was even in your hair. He aimed after that and managed to get a good amount of it on your tongue as you grimaced away from his hold.

But his hands held you still, and you swallowed it, even wiping the spurts from your cheek and eyes and licking off your hands as you cleaned up.

When he was finished, Spencer let you go and leaned back against the kitchen counter. When you could open your eyes again, you stared up at him in shock before collapsing down and laying on the cold floor of your kitchen, chest heaving.

“I knew…. I knew it would be more…” you said, unable to find the words to describe the deeds you'd just done.

“But I wasn't expecting… most of that.”

“I'm so-”

“Do not fucking apologise,” you demanded, pointing a stern finger at him as he pulled himself together.

“Next time you bring flowers home, I'm going to be expecting that as a follow up,” you laughed, letting him help you off the floor and release you from your constraints.

“So,” he said, playing with the cuffs as he gave you an awkward, straight smile. “Bondage, huh?”

You burst into laughter as you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him all the way to the bathroom.

“By the way,” you said, beginning to strip yourself off, distracted only by your attempts to strip him off as well. “You're cleaning the kitchen after we're done.”

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.

Epilogue

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: implied fuck boy!Tangerine, bitchy!Tangerine in the beginning, reader is named Peach, unprotected sex, passionate sex, not much foreplay (they're desperate lmao), swearing, insecurities, praise kink, degradation, emotional, Tangerine is all over the place and bad with his feelings!

~ i'm so sorry i feel like this took forever <3 enjoy! @j23r23 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not," you smile, your nails drumming on the desk as you pick at the petals of the roses in the jar near your computer. "Ah ha, he loves me. Knew you were so full of shit," you hum happily. 

"Piss off," Tangerine loudly grunts in your ear and you tilt your head, scrunching your nose. You've told him not to yell like that—you've warned him that the earpiece is sensitive and you'll lose your hearing if he continues like this—but he never listens.

Being the Twins handler for almost four years now you've learned how to deal with their quirks.

Lemon, as ruthless as he is, is too trusting. He's also loyal to a fault and he'd die for Tangerine in seconds; something you've had to account for in your missions so it doesn't happen. 

Tangerine on the other hand? Recklessness under the guise of control. He'd burn the entire world down for Lemon without hesitation, his temper as bright as the flames of a wildfire.

Unexplainably however, you were drawn to him the most.

While he pushes your buttons like no one else, you also tend to push him in ways that leave him wanting—no needing—more.

"Tan," you warn again, "don't talk so loudly, they'll hear you!"

"Stop your yapping in my ear then, luv," Tangerine snaps, his comment snarky and you hear a loud humph as it sounds like someone crashes into something.

Tangerine sounds out of breath and you use your mouse to click on the map on your computer. You zoom in and ask, "Where's Lem? You aren't supposed to meet any security for a while—"

"He's busy, darlin'. And your little shortcut turned out to be not so short after all," Tangerine says and you hear a loud grunt. It's obvious he's in the middle of a fight.

Your blood runs cold as you chew on your lip. Your hands quickly dance over the keyboard as you try and find another way for them—an easier way—

"Hey, Peach, will ya stop breathing so damn loudly, it's distracting me," Tangerine's voice interrupts your worry and you hold your breath when you hear a loud thwap and then a grunt—immediately accompanied by cursing and more hoarse shouts. 

"Tangerine!" his name spills from your lips as you hear louder blows. "Tan?" you whisper when the line disconnects and a low buzz is heard in your ear. You fumble to discard the earpiece onto the desk in front of you and then you focus on finding Lemon. 

If anyone can help Tangerine, it's Lemon.

With a frown, you activate the tracker you'd promised not to slip into Lemon's jacket, and a little red light blinks on your computer screen. He's not far from where Tangerine is. You lean over and connect to the microphone on your computer.

"Lemon?!" 

You hear a crack and then the shuffling of clothes against the microphone in the tracker. "Peach?" Lemon grunts, "Ya cheeky lil' bird, I told ya not to track me," he lets out a breathy laugh, and another smack is heard, "Fuck me, these fuckers just don't die easily!" 

"Lem? Where's Tan?" you ask, seeing that the tracker Tangerine wears voluntarily on his suit hasn't moved in a while. "Is he okay? I think the earpiece broke."

Something must have happened to his tracker too if it's malfunctioning.

"Yeah, which is why I say I should wear it—but he's bossy and he's your favorite," Lemon says. 

"I don't have favorites!" you insist, your cheeks burning.

"Sure, whatever," Lemon chuckles and then adds, "Ah, speaking of the devil—I can see 'im now. Damn, he's beat up ain't he. Bullocks. Y'know your little plan was shit, Peach, security swarmed us almost immediately!"  

You pinch your eyes and guilt settles in your stomach. "I know, I know, I'm sorry,"

You hear Tangerine's voice distantly as he grumbles, "Fuckin' arsehole broke my earpiece when he punched me—I lost contact with Peach," he complains and you hear shuffling. Your stomach fills with unwanted butterflies at the sound of his voice and how your codename rolls off his tongue. 

"She can hear ya," Lemon says, his smirk evident in his tone, "Say hello, Peach."

"She tracked ya?" 

"Yeah, and bugged me too apparently."

 "What the fuck, my tracker doesn't do that," Tangerine says and you hear an infliction in his voice. 

"Yeah, cauz you always have the earpiece."

"Because she likes me better,"

"That's what I said!!" 

"Oi, you wankers, I can still hear you," you interrupt, "Will you just come back to the van now? The mission's a bust," you finish. While they continue to bicker for a moment, Lemon finally shuts down the tracker—by breaking it you assume—idiot—and it isn't until the van door slams open that you hear and see them again. 

"Oi, now you're takin' the piss," Tangerine exclaims, glaring at his brother as he runs a hand through his mussed hair. He enters the van and you stand. Your eyes scan over his appearance; his suit is torn and bloodied and he has a gaping cut on his forehead. His ear is also bleeding from when you assume the broken earpiece had shattered. 

"Christ," you whisper and walk over to him. Lemon smirks as he walks by the both of you and collapses onto the second chair near your desk. He's less beat up than Tangerine—who'd taken on more men you assume—but you remind yourself to check on him later anyway.

Tangerine senses you come up to him and he tenses when you hold his cheeks in your hands and check his wounds. "Tan, this looks bad," you say. 

"Peach, I'm fine," he grumbles and turns his head away. He sounds grumpier than usual.

"Look, I'm sorry—I'm sorry I messed up, I—"

Suddenly, Tangerine explodes. His hand comes up around his ears as he scrunches up his nose. "Will ya just stop talkin' for one fuckin' second?!" he yells and even Lemon, who had been a silent bystander to the conversation, looks up from where he's bandaging his hand. 

Your eyes widen and you blink at Tangerine. "W-what?"

He presses his index on his temple and narrows his eyes at you. "I have a fuckin' headache 'cause of you and you talkin' my fuckin' ear off all the damn time! And now I can barely hear because it's ringing so fuckin' hard!" he points to the blood inside his ear. 

You flinch at his tone and try to control the tears threatening to spill as he harshly berates you. 

"Right," is all you say, "sorry," your voice sounds small and you push by him and out to the front of the van to start the engine. 

* * * 

When you arrive outside their house—well, your house too since you've been living with them for the past three months—you don't talk to Tangerine. You don't even look at him.

Instead, without a word, you walk up to your room, tears still brimming, and slam the door behind you. 

Your stomach hurts and your nails dig into your palms as you run a shower. You desperately want to wash away any memory of what happened tonight. 

It isn't uncommon for you and Tangerine to fight—but he's never shouted like that and never in response to your worry.

Once you finish with your shower and walk out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around your body, you jump when you see Tangerine standing in the middle of your room.

He'd clearly freshened up too but, unlike yours, his hair is freshly dried. You aren't surprised—you know he hates sleeping with it when it's wet. 

He's wearing a casual pair of beige slacks and a white T-shirt. The fabric strains against the muscles in his arms as he crosses them across his chest and you look up, feeling a burn in your cheeks.

Tangerine's ear has been bandaged and his cuts and bruises look kindly tended to. Lemon, you assume, he's always been soft on his brother even when he's acting like a jerk. 

Tangerine is staring at you intensely, his blue eyes shining a shade darker than usual. 

"Shit, stop being creepy," you grumble, holding your towel tightly around yourself. "Have you come to say you're sorry for acting like a prick or just stare a hole into my head?"

Tangerine's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. He stalks closer to you, pink lips parted and his hands find your hair near your nape. He pulls you in, seemingly unbothered by the squeal you make or how you're unable to move your hands to push him away. 

Not that you'd want to push him away anyway.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" you hiss, staring at him, "have you gone mad?"

Tangerine just continues to stare into your soul. "You're so damn annoying," he mutters.  

"I'll scream and Lemon will come and beat the shit out of you," you threaten, challenging him. You know Lemon would never do such a thing and you'd be a fool to scream. 

"But, fuck me, I like you so damn much," he finishes his sentence, and then his lips find yours. His hand tightens in your hair as he kisses you. There's no tenderness in his kiss, no hesitation or remorse, just pure passion as he wraps his arms around you and holds your back as he pulls your chest to his. 

You clutch the towel, making sure it feels secure, and kiss him back. You make a small sound behind his lips but you can't deny the heat in the kiss or how badly your stomach tightens just right. The steam coming from your bathroom is taunting as it surrounds you; sticky and warm. 

"Tan," you mumble as his hand comes around your jaw and he turns your head to kiss your neck. 

"Shut up," he growls, "you talk too damn much." He squeezes his eyes shut and the words fall easily from his lips as they press to your skin.

"God, you don't understand how hard it is for me; hearing your sweet voice in my ear while I'm trying not to get fuckin' stabbed or shot to death! You don't know what you do to me, darlin'. You have no fuckin' clue. It's fuckin' torture," he says as his hand tightens in your hair and you whimper.

"Tan, m-my towel," you tell him, struggling to hold it up as his body presses against yours.

This makes Tangerine snap out of whatever trance he's in for a moment and he looks down at you. His eyes have softened just a little and his tone is sultry when he asks, "Let it fall. I don't care. Do you?" His lips quirk up. "I've dreamt of you naked a thousand times, luv."

Your eyes round at the intensity of his words. You want to tell him to fuck off—that you've never thought of him like this. Never imagined his lips on yours or the way he'd feel inside you. But then you'd be a liar, and you aren't a liar. 

Instead, you drop the towel, your eyes still intensely locked onto his. The cold air sends a shiver up your spine and Tangerine's hands find the skin on your back instead of the towel. His eyes haven't left yours and he looks surprised that you'd done it. He hasn't looked down and his cheeks have turned a dusty pink. 

"What?" you move your hands up to his cheeks and hold them, "you said you'd dreamt of this. Well?" With as much confidence as you can muster, tilt his head to your naked body. You can feel your hands tremble against his cheeks, all kinds of insecurities and uncertainties bubbling inside you and just as you're going to pull away from sheer embarrassment, Tangerine speaks; 

"Fuckin' hell, you look so much better than in my imagination," his hands slide up the curves of your hips and breasts. His touch is surprisingly gentle for how passionate he'd been in the beginning.

You watch as his eyes roam around your body and he runs a hand over his jaw, staring at you with pure admiration. "You belong in a fuckin' museum," he whispers behind his hand. 

"Alright, lover boy," you roll your eyes and shift to move away but his hands find your hips and he hoists you up into his arms. You gasp, your arms finding his shoulders and your legs cling to his waist as your wet hair sprinkles water over his face. It's a weird position to be in considering you're naked.

"Tangerine!" you cry as he carries you over to your bed and you squeal when he drops you and hovers over you. 

"Let me worship you, darlin'," he whispers as his knee slides in between your legs and he kisses your lips again. He disconnects them and looks at you seriously, "Please," he pleads and your eyes widen.

Tangerine never says please.

You find yourself nodding, too lost in the haze of it all to hear the small voice in your head screaming how stupid this is.

He'll throw you away after. He doesn't care. He'll hurt you. He'll break your heart! 

You kiss him again, his lips moving against yours rhythmically. You're so lost in pleasure that when he sits up on his heels to strip his shirt, you whine and grasp at his arms. "Shhh, I'm here, dove," he chuckles, enjoying the power he has over you. When he leans over you to kiss you again, this time your hands find his abs and you can't help but explore them. 

"You countin' them, luv?" he chuckles after a moment and his lips find your nipples as he squeezes one of your breasts in his hands. You make an embarrassed sound that quickly turns into a moan when he positions your hips just right so the fabric of his slacks hits your clit. 

"I know, I know," Tangerine teases as he senses how needy you're becoming. "Shit, you're just a little slut, aren't ya, luv? Knew you'd wear those dresses to tempt me—didn't ya?"

You nod. You had. You didn't think it worked—he always played it so cool.

"You should know I would wank one out after seeing you—your thighs so visible and," he pauses and uses his hands to spread you open until he sees what he wants, "and that pretty pussy. So fuckin' pretty—

—you let me have a peek sometimes didn't you, naughty girl? Knew you did it on purpose," Tangerine says. He sounds satisfied with himself that he'd found you out and his grin widens when you nod. 

"Just for you," you whisper, looking up at him with hooded eyes. "Please, Tan," you whine, you're already so wet for him. 

"What do you want, hm? Tell me," he smirks and dips his head down to kiss your neck as his hands wander around your skin. He sits back up and removes his slacks and boxers. Your eyes downturn on his cock and you bite your lip. God, is he really this beautiful everywhere? How fucking unfair. 

Tangerine's hand comes up to your chin, "Where do you want me?" 

You look into his eyes, unsure how to ask him for what you want. Tangerine smiles, his thumb touching your lip. He's gentle, his eyes softer now, "Peach," he leans in and kisses just behind your ear. You shiver. "It's okay. Tell me where you want me," he smiles against your skin. 

"Inside me," you say, your voice small

Tangerine hums and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, "Where inside you, luv? I want to hear you say it for me."

You feel your cheeks warm and you stare up at him. "In my pussy," you say and Tangerine's eyes light up and he smirks.

"My pleasure," he says and shifts his hips until you feel his cock press against your pussy. He feels you tense as your hands tighten around his shoulder.

"Hey, it's just me," he says, pushing in slower now. He looks concerned as one of his hands finds your hair and pushes the strands away from your eyes.

Yeah, that's the issue, you want to tell him but you just nod, squeezing your eyes shut. 

"Look at me," he says as he pushes inside you fully. You gasp, arching into him and your breathing becomes harsh. He's so thick and long. Tangerine doesn't move and you let out a whine, your eyelids fluttering. "I said, look at me. I won't move until you look at me, darlin'," he whispers sternly. 

When you finally look at him he smiles, "Do you trust me? I'm not gonna hurt you—promise." 

You nod, biting your lip. Of course, you trust him. "I trust you," you answer breathlessly. 

"Good girl," Tangerine praises and kisses your forehead. He starts to move his hips, pulling in and out of you with torturous strokes. He feels so good.

As he fucks you, he leans his forehead on yours, occasionally whispering praises into your ear as he tells you how pretty you look with him buried inside you. 

"So fuckin' pretty with my cock inside your pussy, hmm," he grunts, continuing the pounding of his hips. "You close, luv? Already?" He teases you with a smirk and kisses your lips. You let out small moans, skin warm and sticky as you nod. 

"Good," he smiles and uses his thumb to rub your clit, adding pressure as he fucks into you. "So good for me. All for me, hmm?" 

"Y-yes," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. 

"Open your eyes, Peach," he demands and you do so instantly. "I want to look into your eyes when you come apart around me."

With that, the tension breaks inside you. Your body feels weak from the pleasure and your chest rises and falls rapidly once your high finishes. You let yourself relax into the mattress for a moment, ignoring the sudden stream of thoughts—good and bad—that race into your mind. Tangerine's lips touch your forehead again and then he pulls out, finishing on your stomach with a grunt. 

You blink, feeling the bed dip and then his warmth disappears. You panic a little but you're too weak to move. If he wants to leave, let him, you convince yourself as you stare at the ceiling. However, when you feel something cold and wet across your stomach, you flinch and scramble to sit up. 

Your eyes are wide and Tangerine pauses, removing the washcloth from your skin. He frowns a little, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly. You stare at him. He's still shirtless but he's pulled up his trousers.

"You aren't leaving?" you ask, looking around the room and you suddenly feel very bare. 

Tangerine's frown deepens but he doesn't speak for a moment as he washes away his cum from your skin and, after discarding the washcloth, he reaches behind him to hand you his shirt. You accept it without thinking and put it on, wrapping your arms around yourself as you continue to stare at him. 

He shifts, sitting beside you with one leg off the bed. He still hasn't answered and you start to feel an impending pit in your stomach. 

"Why would I leave?" he asks calmly, his voice doesn't have a hint of concern in its tone. 

You fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt, looking down. Your hair, now half-dried, is a mess from the pillows and you push it down and around your ears in an effort to compose yourself in front of him. "Well, I- I just assumed that you would—" 

Tangerine tilts his head. "You think I would fuck and ditch, did ya? Ya think so low of me, Peach?" It feels like he sounds almost amused.

You shake your head but your nerves don't stop. "I mean, what do you expect me to think, Tangerine?" you look into his eyes and continue, "You come in here, all pissed at me—you yelled at me earlier and made me feel all shitty about myself—and then out of nowhere you kiss me and then we—"

"Fuck." Tangerine finishes bluntly. 

You narrow your eyes at him. "Yeah, that," you let out a breath, "So, please, tell me. What am I supposed to think? What do you want from me now? Because I can't be one of your fuck toys, Tan. I refuse to be that girl. I- I care about you—" you feel your emotions get caught in your throat and you feel your eyes sting. Furiously, you wipe your eyes with your hands, refusing to cry in front of him. 

Tangerine hasn't said a word. He's looking at you but you can't read his expression. You hate it. You shut your eyes, ready to call it quits, and tell him to leave, but then you feel the bed dip again and you feel his hands cup your cheeks. Your eyes snap open.

"Don't cry," he whispers, his thumb sliding under your eyes and catching your tears, "Please, don't cry because of a stupid bastard like me," he cracks a smile, hoping you'll smile too but when you don't and he sighs, "Okay, I was a dick, a real fuckin' dick, and you didn't deserve any of that. I'm sorry." 

You nod, still listening to him, "You really were a dick," you whisper. 

Tangerine chuckles and nods too. "Yeah. I was," he pauses and moves his thumb across your cheeks as if admiring you some more, "Do ya really believe I'd fuck ya for this to be a one-time thing, luv? That I'd just throw ya away after?"

Your cheeks feel warm. "I- I don't know," 

"You do know. You think I would do that to ya," Tangerine says, his voice low. 

"I mean—that's what you do don't you? I've known you for years, Tan. All those girls—"

Tangerine suddenly laughs and his hands drop from your face. "Peach, you aren't those girls," he says, suddenly serious, "I wasn't just making it up when I said how hard it is for me to listen to you in my ear all the time. Not because you're annoying—which sometimes you are but that's beside the point—but because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for years. You're all I goddamn think about. Do you understand how hard that is for me?"

You just frown, shaking your head a little. "No. This doesn't make sense. Why now—why not yesterday? Or months ago? Or years ago?"

 Tangerine runs a hand in his hair and lets out a breath. "Because I didn't want to but I snapped, I snapped, okay? I'm not fuckin' proud of it. I yelled at you and I felt so bad after I didn't know what to do with myself anymore—

—you're always there for Lem and me, and I realized, after that fuckin' earpiece broke, that I hated not having your pretty voice in my ear anymore. It felt like I'd lost you—do you have any idea how scared that made me feel, even when I knew it was irrational and that you were completely safe?" His words come out jumbled and strained. "I fuckin' hated it, I hated feeling like that so I snapped," he finishes. 

You stare at him, his words hitting you hard. You've never seen him like this and it scares you, but it also turns you on some more. Why does he have to be so fucking hot? "And I'm sorry. I am. I would never throw you away. I don't want to throw you away after this—especially after fucking you—that's the last thing I would want! I– I-" 

You stare at him some more, your eyes wide, "You what—?"

Tangerine pauses, "I love you," he says, articulating every word so you hear him clearly. 

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"As in love love?"

"Fuckin' hell Peach, ya want me to scream it at ya or somethin'? I'm in love with ya. I love ya more than anythin' I fuckin' have. You're my everything. I love you so damn much."

All your anger, doubt, and shame instantly vanished into thin air. He loves you. All this time he'd loved and he was just shit at expressing his emotions? You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as happiness overwhelms you. 

"Are ya laughing at me?" Tangerine's voice cuts in the air and you focus on him. He looks surprised and hurt. 

Your smile falters and you shake your head. There is so much you want to tell him that you're at a loss for words. He looks so pretty like this, sitting in front of you, and your hands find his cheek instead of using words.

Your fingers skim the bandage that's still wrapped around his ear and you want to ask him if it still hurts. You want to ask him so many things. He's staring at you, chest heaving, and you don't think as you kiss him. 

It's softer than the previous passionate kiss you'd shared. Only, Tangerine reacts with as much eagerness as earlier. His hands find your back and he presses you against him, your lips sliding against yours. It's intense and lovely all in the same. 

"I love you too," you say quietly between kisses. 

"Say it louder," Tangerine suddenly hums, his eyes shut in pleasure. You think he needs you to talk louder because one of his ears is bandaged and hurt.

So, you do as he asks and it earns you another kiss, however when Tangerine mutters, "I wanna hear ya say it again," you know he heard you fine. His voice is so love sick you just grin and wrap your arms around him, your hands bunching in his curls.

"I love you, Tangerine," you say breathlessly, "I love you."

"You have no idea how happy ya just made ma, luv," he responds instantly, running his hand over your cheek as he looks into your eyes. "God, I'd die for ya," he mutters and you frown, slapping his arm a little. 

"Don't talk about you dying, you git," you reprimand, and Tangerine smirks. 

He kisses your neck and with a teasing tone he reassures you, "Ya have nothin' to worry about, luv. I'd much rather live for you. You have all of my heart, darlin'. It's all yours," he guides your hand to press your palm against his chest and you feel how quickly his heart is beating.

"This beats for you."

You smile and kiss his lips once more as you bring his other hand to your chest too. "And I'm yours," you whisper. "Only yours."

And until then, you'd never seen Tangerine's grin widen as widely as it did when you said those words. 

[lilacxquartz]

part 1 of 19 of kinktober: free use

satoru gojo x reader — suguru geto x reader

plot: you had a unique arrangement with your two roommates — themes: vaguely dub con due to the implications, smut, oral, kitchen sex, f!reader — w.c: ~1k

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

Life spent in the apartment you shared with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto was often peaceful enough, at least for the most part. Although unconventional, in order to keep the rent on your end free, you had a unique sort of arrangement between the two of them but then again, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

One evening in particular, you were lazily stirring away at some cookie batter for a friend’s birthday the next day, not quite hearing the featherlight footsteps that were actively closing in on you from behind.

It was sudden, but you felt a taller body pressed right up against your own, walking you straight into the counter and caging you in with firmly planted hands, anchoring themselves on parallel sides with the pushing sensation of their arousal pressing right onto you. Quickly recognising the silvery arm hair that lined up his limbs, you understood that this was Satoru—and given by just how longingly he pushed himself towards you—he must have been surely stressed.

You arched your back in heated anticipation, tiptoeing ever so slightly to give him access of what awaited just below your skirt. Albeit carefully, you swept the clutter on the counter over to the side to make room for when you would be inevitably bent over it and holding on for dear life.

Satoru’s voice was hot against your neck, rolling wisping shivers that pricked goosebumps down your flesh, “Aw, you’re so excited and I haven’t even started yet.”

You smiled a little, feeling already so needy and desperate to feel him inside of you. It didn’t take him too long for him to drop down his trousers and to hitch your skirt up before bending your body flat over the surface. Already rock hard, he guided his cock clean into your soaked entrance, groaning slightly as your core swallowed him up entirely in enveloping warmth.

Satoru’s hands locked directly onto your hips, rocking into you with a quickly increasing tempo. The speed and crashing impact combined felt so intense that your breath was lost in the moment, reducing you to a mantra of shuddering, gasping moans.

“You’re s’good for me,” he hurriedly murmured, smacking his palm against your ass, squeezing his fingers tight into the pillowy curve for almost possessive comfort.

Such enthusiastic fervour had your knees melting and weak as he continued to piston his hips away, almost violently driving himself into your hilt. His length reached deep, the tip spearing right where it hurt upon each bucking thrust. Wanting to feel you writhe and squirm, Satoru reached his hand to claw at your hair—tugging, pulling at the strands—forcing you to surrender into desperate, quivering whimpers.

“I’m close,” he warned. Satoru didn’t like to finish alone however, so he slammed himself against you with almost savage force—snaking his hand forward and propping his thumb against your clit—running hungry circles to will you to catch up.

The second that he felt you coil and clench around him, his eyes fluttered with anticipation as he too, chased his desperate release. With one final needy pump, a rolling guttural groan spilled from his lips, shuddering as he emptied himself fully into your cunt.

Pulling himself back, Satoru finally let go before taking a step aside, watching his milky release drip out of your spent hole. “You’re always so good to me,” he praised, tousling your now messed up hair before leaning back in, still not quite ready to part from you, “so fucking good.”

~~~

The following night when Satoru was fast asleep, you were up late to revise because you were pretty sure that your college had an exam tomorrow. You were however on and off falling asleep at the desk, your demeanour tense from rising stress.

In your drowsy state, you hadn’t quite noticed how Suguru had entered your room, sneaking up beside you and closing the distance. You tilted your head back to spot him looming over you with a half lidded look, his otherwise brooding demeanour betrayed by a faint blush that bled across his cheeks.

“I’m bored,” he purred, affectionately tugging at your hair to turn you to look at him. Although his tone was surely indifferent, his eyes lingered with almost possessive care.

And before you could even respond, he took a step closer towards you, reeling you inwards over his ever so slightly exposed stomach. With a needy tone, he whispered out a slight plea, wanting nothing more than your attention on him, “I want you.”

Understanding exactly what he meant, you gently nodded and relaxed your stance. Suguru began by unbuttoning and zipping down his jeans, allowing them to drop to his ankles. His arousal was already prominent enough and his cock sprung out as soon as he slid his boxers down.

“You know what to do,” he murmured in a lazy tone, his purple eyes slightly widening in heated impatience from watching your mouth part open. Suguru then slightly parted his legs, leaning closer to position the tip of his throbbing length over your lips before driving in his shaft over the slick curve of your tongue, rolling back his eyes as the head hit the back of your throat.

“God,” he hissed, choking back a grating moan as he pulled out slowly. With a greedy hand, he weaved his fingers around your hair—cupping your skull to both steady himself and to help guide your head—bobbing you along to keep up with his building need.

He could never last too long with you, but that didn’t stop him from trying to savour the moment as much as he could. His hips moved in languid thrusts, feeling the rising pleasure surface and gather, soon ready to milk himself dry.

Tensing up ever so slightly, he stiffened after one final needy push; emptying hot spurts of white ropes of his cum into your awaiting mouth. Your eyes bulged slightly from the climbing intensity, spilling tears from the rushed release.

For just a moment, Suguru stared down at you after pulling out; his face tinted cherry red at the sight of you being perfectly flustered, almost feeling the need rise within him again, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to last nearly as long—but that much was nothing new.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - Tethering Ties

Summary - Betrothed by the King's decree to repair a fractured royal lineage, neither finds joy in their union. Tensions flare at dinner, resulting in a violent altercation that leaves her injured. Aegon chooses an unconventional way to apologise, his mouth between her legs.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x Strong reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving), violence, mild language

Word count - 2485

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Her children are bastards and she is a whore."

The phrase slithered through the hallowed corridors of King's Landing like a serpent, venomous and unrelenting. It clung to my siblings and me like a second skin, an indelible mark of shame etched into our very souls.

I tried to ignore the whispers and stares, but their impact lingered, a heavy burden on my heart. 

My betrothed, Prince Aegon Targaryen, was displeased when he learned of the King's decision. Marrying his firstborn son to his firstborn granddaughter was intended to mend the fragile relationships within our family, but it brought him no joy.

As the carriage rumbled over the cobblestones, the Red Keep loomed ahead, its towering walls a reminder of past glories and present fears. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone. This was not just a homecoming, it was a return to the heart of a nest of vipers.

I accepted the hand of my brother, Jace who looked at me with a pitiful expression, which only deepened my misery. 

"Do not look at me as if I am a wounded pup," I murmured. "I refuse to wallow in despair."

Jace merely shrugged, unable to hide his concern. As I turned, I felt another arm slip into mine. It was my younger brother, Luke, his innocent brown eyes gazing up at me with unwavering trust. His presence was a small comfort.

There was no welcome party awaiting us upon our arrival, an absence that I expected. The grandeur of King's Landing seemed hollow, a silent testament to the tension that permeated the air. 

Instead, we were left to settle into our chambers, the hours dragging by until dinner, where the family would finally convene.

I absentmindedly fingered the pendant around my neck, a dragon, wrought in gold. It was a gift from my mother, a reminder of the legacy I was bound to but today, it felt more like a chain than a symbol of power.

As we entered the dining hall, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken animosity. The long table, laden with lavish dishes, seemed more like a battlefield than a place of familial gathering. 

My betrothed, Aegon, sat beside me, his face a mask of displeasure. Across from us sat my brothers, Jace and Luke.

"Princess," a voice called out, and my head shot up. My eyes turned to my grandsire, the King, who looked withered and worn. "I trust the journey from Dragonstone was well," he continued.

"Yes, Your Grace, the journey was well, tiring but well," I answered, and he smiled at me proudly.

My eyes flicked to my mother, who gave me a reassuring look and a tight-lipped smile. Not a single person in this room was entirely pleased with the arrangement the King had so eagerly requested.

This marriage was supposed to unite our fractured family, but all I could see were the chains it would bind me in. A future of duty, not of choice.

Next, I turned to the Queen, who was looking in my direction but not at me. Her expression was firm as she seemed to be scolding her son in a hushed tone, and he grumbled next to me.

"Princess, I hope you are well," he said, turning to me as his mother looked away. I held back a sigh, clearing my throat before responding. 

"Prince Aegon, it has been quite some time since we've last seen each other," I pointed out, my hand tightening around my chalice as he downed his drink in a single gulp, motioning for it to be refilled.

"Yes, that may have to do with the night your brother maimed mine," he said with a smile as if it were a simple jest.

"You are correct," I said, my grip on the chalice loosening as my confidence returned. "The same night the Queen demanded the eye of my brother in retaliation, the eye of a young boy simply defending himself from heinous accusations you informed your brother of,"

To my surprise, instead of getting angry, Aegon laughed, a loud, boisterous laugh that caught the attention of everyone in the room.

"I am glad to see that the match seems to be faring well," Viserys said, and all I could muster was a polite smile. If only he knew.

"I don't want this," I admitted quietly, feeling his scoff next to me. 

"And you think I do?" he retorted, his tone sharp as I rolled my eyes. 

"All I'm saying is that I am not going to be subdued," I added meeting his gaze head-on. He raised an eyebrow, urging me to continue.

"You may be a prince, but I am a princess," I asserted, my voice steady. "My mother is next in line for the Iron Throne, and if I wish it, I will be after her. I do not plan on being trapped in a castle, producing heirs," I finished, taking a deliberate sip of my drink.

"Oh, my sweet niece," Aegon began. "How you have grown, you do not know the joy it brings me to know my future wife is such a fierce and ambitious lady," he added sincerely.

"I quite appreciate the idea of having such a challenging partner," he whispered the words into my ear, his breath tickling my neck as he pulled away ever so slowly.

Aegon's expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something that spoke of more than just duty. Was it resentment? Regret? Or something more dangerous? I couldn't tell, and that uncertainty only deepened my unease.

Dinner continued in strained silence, the earlier tension still palpable. Each forced smile and stilted conversation was a reminder of the precarious nature of our situation. 

My mind wandered as time went on.

It didn't take long until dinner had come to an end, and the adults began to retire to their chambers. Only the younger members of the family were left behind, the room now significantly quieter. 

The tension, however, remained.

Aemond, ever the provocateur, fixed his one good eye on Luke, a predatory gleam in his gaze. He raised his goblet with a mocking smile. 

"To the arrangement of my brother Aegon and my niece," he began, his voice dripping with malice. "You have all grown into quite respectable, charming, strong individuals."

My eyes quickly flickered to Jace and Luke, sensing the tension mounting. Jace clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around his goblet, but it was Luke who reacted first.

"What did you say?" Luke's voice trembled with barely contained fury. 

He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. Aemond's smirk widened, and he rose from his seat, towering over Luke. "You dare deny it?"

In an instant, Luke lunged at Aemond, fists flying. The room erupted into chaos as the two collided, their movements a blur of anger and violence. The sound of fists hitting flesh and furniture crashing to the ground filled the air.

"Enough!" I shouted, trying to intervene, but my voice was drowned out by the tumult.

Jace sprang to his feet, moving to pull Luke off Aemond, but the younger boy was relentless, his fury driving him forward. Aemond fought back with equal ferocity, a cruel smile playing on his lips even as he exchanged blows with Luke.

Before I could react, Aemond's arm swung out wildly, and his fist connected with my face. 

Pain exploded across my cheek, and I stumbled backwards, my vision blurring. Blood trickled from my split lip, and I could taste its metallic tang.

Aegon and Jace reacted simultaneously. Jace leapt at Aemond with a roar, fists flying, while Aegon pulled me back from the fray, his grip firm but gentle. 

"Stay back!" he insisted, his voice tight with anger.

The dining hall descended into utter chaos. Jace and Aemond were locked in a furious struggle, their movements wild and desperate. Aegon kept me shielded behind him, his eyes darting between the brawl.

"Are you alright?" Aegon asked urgently, his hand brushing against my bruised cheek. The anger in his eyes was mixed with worry, a stark contrast to his usual aloof demeanour.

"I'm fine," I managed to reply pushing him away, though my voice shook.

Aegon stepped forward, his presence commanding enough to momentarily halt the fight. 

"Enough!" he roared, grabbing Aemond by the shoulder and pulling him away from Jace.

Aemond struggled against Aegon's grip, but the arrival of the Kingsguard finally brought the brawl to an end. The guards separated the combatants, their stern faces brooking no argument.

"Luke, Jace, let's go," I demanded, grabbing both of their arms. 

I cast one final glance back towards the dining hall, where Aegon was engaged in conversation with Aemond. Aegon looked over at me, and all I could manage was a solemn shake of my head.

Tonight, the fragile peace had shattered, and the consequences were far from over.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting its silvery glow as I stood in my chamber, tending to the wound on my face with a hot cloth. 

I couldn't stop the flood of conflicting emotions. Anger at Aemond, frustration with my brothers, and a deep, gnawing fear of what this marriage would truly mean. Aegon's unexpected tenderness only added to my confusion.

Just as I was about to press the fabric against my skin, a firm knock echoed through the room. With a resigned sigh, I set aside the cloth and moved to open the door.

To my surprise, Aegon stood before me as I swung the door wide.

"What do you want?" I asked curtly, annoyance evident in my tone, I turned away, expecting him to leave.

Instead, he stepped inside, ignoring my dismissal. 

"I am merely seeing if you are alright," he said, taking the cloth from my hands and guiding me to sit. He dabbed at my injury, his touch surprisingly tender.

Aegon's hand reached out, brushing against my bruised cheek. I flinched, pulling back instinctively. He chuckled softly, but there was no warmth in the sound. 

"Do not pretend to care," I snapped, hating the tremor in my voice. He didn’t retreat, just tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Alright," he admitted, his gaze unwavering. "I came to see you. It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"

"What are you really after, Aegon?" I demanded, fixing him with a sceptical glare.

"You've caught me," he replied smoothly, closing the distance between us. "It seems time has only sharpened your wit and beauty," he continued, his hand reaching out to caress my cheek.

"You've grown so beautifully over the years," he murmured, his voice sincere yet unsettling.

"All I wanted," he murmured, his tone laced with suggestive intent, "was to see how you feel, how you'd make me feel."

Without thinking, I reacted, my hand snapping across his face in a sharp slap. The sound echoed in the room, breaking the tense silence like a crack of lightning

He recoiled, a hand flying to his stinging face, while I stood there, a mixture of disbelief and indignation flooding my senses. My own hand flew to cover my mouth, stunned by both his brazenness and shock at my own action.

"Aegon," I murmured, my voice barely audible as he chuckled softly. "I didn't..." The words failed me, hanging in the air between us. 

He tilted his head, his jaw clicking before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Tell me to leave," he said, his voice a mix of challenge and invitation. I wanted to, truly, but the words stuck in my throat. 

"Tell me to stop, and I'll stop," he continued, taking another step closer, his gaze unwavering as it searched my face for any sign of resistance.

There was none.

"Okay," he murmured, his fingers threading gently through my hair. He loomed over me, a commanding presence as I sat in my chair.

Suddenly, he knelt before me, his hands hiking up my nightgown with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated, his voice low and insistent. 

I shook my head, a barely audible "no" escaping my lips. His smirk deepened, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

His face disappeared between my legs, and he began trailing small, wet kisses along my inner thighs. The sensation sent shivers through me, making me squirm in my seat. I bit my lip, a soft moan escaping as his mouth moved closer to where I wanted him most.

"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need. "Don't stop."

Encouraged by my words, Aegon intensified his efforts. He started by kissing the sensitive skin at the crease of my thigh, his lips soft and warm. His tongue flicked out, teasing me with light, fluttering touches. 

He took his time, exploring the area with a deliberate, languid pace, savouring every reaction he elicited from me. Each touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, making me arch towards him, seeking more.

He moved closer, his breath hot against my skin, and then his mouth was on me. His tongue parted my folds, moving in slow, sensual circles around my clit. He alternated between gentle, teasing flicks and firm, insistent strokes, driving me wild with desire. 

I gasped, my hands flying to his head, my fingers tangling in his hair as I held him close, urging him on.

He was relentless, his mouth working skillfully, driving me to the edge again and again. My breaths came in ragged gasps as he sucked lightly, then harder, his tongue darting out to tease and tantalize. 

The intensity of the sensations built rapidly, a tight coil of pleasure winding inside me, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Aegon," I moaned, my voice breaking as I teetered on the brink. 

He responded with a deep, satisfied hum, the vibration sending a jolt of ecstasy through me. His lips and tongue moved faster, more insistently, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

With a final, shuddering gasp, I fell over the edge, my body convulsing in pure ecstasy. He didn't stop, his tongue continuing its dance, drawing out my pleasure until I was utterly spent, collapsing back into the chair, breathless and trembling.

Aegon pulled away slowly, his eyes meeting mine with a smug, satisfied look. 

"Consider that an apology," he said, his voice a seductive whisper.

I nodded, unable to form words, my mind still reeling from the intensity of what had just transpired. His mouth was glistening with my release, and he licked his lips with a self-satisfied smirk.

With a final, lingering gaze, Aegon stood up, straightening his clothes with unhurried confidence. He turned and made his way to the door, each step deliberate, leaving me in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss.

I watched him leave, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of his touch. As the door closed behind him, I let out a long, shaky breath, trying to collect myself. My heart was still racing, my skin flushed with the memory of his mouth on me.

Leaning back in the chair, I closed my eyes, a slow smile spreading across my lips.

A/n - Aegon's idea of a "warm welcome" involves more than just a friendly handshake, he's just really into making an impression x

[endlessthxxghts]

Use Me

No outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈1.2k

Summary: You tell Joel he can use you in an unconventional way. Will he take you up on your offer?

Content/Warnings: No physical description of reader besides clothing. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Somnophilia. P in V sex (unprotected). Creampie. Finger fucking. Sweet aftercare. A moment of insecure Joel, but you comfort him.

A/N: Literally no motive behind this drabble besides the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about Joel (more than normal LOLL) in the past 24 hours. So, enjoy my delulus. Also… this Joel is one with no outbreak…but for this particular scenario, I’m picturing him physically as post-outbreak…do with that what you will.🥴🥴🥴

MASTERLIST

Joel’s coffee nearly spilled through his nose with how off guard your question caught him. “You want me to what?”

“Well, I’m not saying like every night or something, I’m just saying. If you ever wake up in the middle of the night, hard and wanting, you can…” your gaze breaks from his. “You can use me.” 

Joel usually doesn’t have middle-of-the-night erections that wake him up and force him to take care of the issue immediately. However, with your suggestion being a lingering thought in the back of his mind all damn day, he finds himself, in the middle of the night, hard and wanting. 

Your usual sleep attire is a tiny shirt with no bottoms below, and tonight, lying on your stomach with your ass to the air, you’re looking particularly tempting with the way his cock pulses when his eyes meet your glistening cunt. 

“Always so fuckin’ ready for me, ain’t ya?” He groans to himself, debating whether or not he’s actually going to take you up on your offer. 

But just like the unintentional ironic little fox you are, you roll your hips and let out a little whimper as you go, your pussy on full display to him, even wetter than mere moments ago. 

He sits up on his haunches, walking on his knees to settle himself behind you. He brings his fingers to your slick entrance, running along the entire seam and to your clit. He circles it a few times. Your hips twitch in response, a breathy sigh leaving your throat. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. He removes his now wet fingers from your entrance to rub it all over his cock, pumping himself a few times before he scoots slightly closer to you and lines himself up. 

He runs the head of his cock through your slick this time. His tip catches on your clit and pulls another moan out of you. You’re stirring now, but you’re not completely awake yet. 

Unable to tease himself much longer, he grabs onto your hips and sinks into you in one sweet thrust, your warm, tight pussy pulling him faster to the finish line than he was anticipating. 

You let out a moaning gasp — you’re definitely awake now — followed by an already blissed out call of his name. “Oh, fuck,” you cry, your hands curling its grip into the bedsheets below. 

“Shit,” Joel moans, his hips fucking into you harder now but maintaining a steady pace. “This what you wanted, girl?” He grunts. “Wanted me to fuck this sweet pussy whenever I fuckin’ wanted?” 

“Ohmygod,” you rush out in a near yell, “yes, Joel, yes! Just like that, baby, fuck-”

“So fuckin’ good to me, sweet girl, ohhh fuck-” he moans, his hips faltering in its rhythm. His hand moves around your waist and to the front of you, the pads of his fingers finding your clit and circling it — just the right amount of pressure to get you to your finish line before him. 

You’re a babbling mess at this point — his name mixed with expletives the only vocabulary he’s reduced you down to. “‘M close,” you’re able to utter out. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. He bends his body over you, his lips near your ear as he damn near snarls, “Soak my fuckin’ cock, baby, let me feel you.” 

His ministrations on your clit don’t stop, but the desperations of his thrusts increase, harder with every pump. He bites down on your shoulder, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t finish before you, and the radiating pain and pleasure from the pressure sends you roaring to your climax — the room filled with nothing but the wet squelches of your slick and your high-pitched moans, loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

Your sweet sounds sends him into a frenzy, his eyes rolling back at the way he’s literally slipping in and out of you now. “Gonna cum, baby?” you whine at him, nearing overstimulation but truly not wanting him to stop. 

“So fuckin’ close, baby,” he tells you, he’s back up on his haunches, both his hands back at your waist, chasing his own impending orgasm. 

You muster up some strength and lift your ass up to meet his hips, your back arching like a cat in the sun. You give him some pushback, meeting his every thrust as you make it a point to squeeze him each time. 

“Atta girl, fuck-” he takes a shuddered breath, “‘M gonna fuckin’ cum, where do ya want it?” he grits out. 

“Inside!” you blurt out, all your inhibitions and logical thinking gone from your brain as he fucks you into oblivion. “Inside me, please, baby, please, love feeling you inside of me- love having you drip out of me just for you to stuff it back inside-” you’re cut off mid ramble with a gasp, you feel his cock pulse as his warm release paints your walls, a rugged groan from Joel filling the air. 

“Goddamn, baby,” Joel utters as he catches his breath, slipping out of you, but not going anywhere just yet. He watches your filled cunt, and in moments, his hot cum is leaking from your hole — his cock tries to jump at the sight of it. He takes his fingers, scoops up the residue, and pushes it back into your hole, fucking you slow with his fingers for a moment as your breathing picks back up, moans threatening to escape as your hips squirm against him. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he tells you. He helps flip you on your back, leaning down to kiss your tummy as he slips away for a few moments and returns with a warm cloth to clean you up. 

He’s gentle with it, thoroughly wiping the outer areas while patting the more sensitive areas clean. You still whimper at the feeling, more so because having him touch you down there sends butterflies fluttering all throughout your body. “I got ya, darlin’,” he soothes. 

“I know you do, baby,” you say as you reach your hand out for his face. He tosses the cloth into the hamper in the corner of the room as he leans into your hold. You pull him in for a sweet, lengthy kiss, your tongues tangling as Joel finds himself wrapped around you once more tonight. 

You’re dozing off again when you feel Joel’s voice vibrate your chest. “Say that again, baby?” you mumble sleepily. 

“Was this…was this okay?” he asks softly, sleep filling his voice but too much concern lacing it to allow himself to submit to his fatigue. 

You grab his face again, lifting your head to meet his lips. 

“It was perfect,” you smile at him. “Now go to bed, so I can wake you up in the morning.”

He gives you a smirk that heats your cheeks. “Goodnight, darlin’,” he mutters as his head rests on your chest again, dozing immediately.

My current brain capacity is telling me that I want to write, but I can't deal with really big storylines right now.. so. A bunch of stories on the shorter side it is - at least, for the time being🥰 I love you all, and thank you for the endless support. Also !!! Gif above is courtesy of @/nicolethered

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EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[reidmarieprentiss]

A Reid Christmas

Summary: A few Christmas prompts mashed up from this link !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: holidays, fluff

Warnings/Includes: a kiss maybe..., this is sooo chesy

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: i am in a christmas mood and i want to spend it with Spencer Reid

main masterlist

The first time you stepped into the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Despite your experience in Human Resources, this assignment was a significant departure from the typical office conflicts you mediated. Erin Strauss herself had requested your assistance in an internal investigation involving the BAU’s Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. Apparently, accusations had surfaced suggesting Hotchner had bent a few rules, presumably in an effort to protect his team.

You walked into the bullpen wearing your usual crisp blazer and pencil skirt, clipboard in hand, determined to remain impartial and professional. You could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity and apprehension from the team as they watched you approach Hotchner's office. They were used to being scrutinized by external forces, but having HR conduct an investigation in their workspace was a new one.

Hotch, as they called him, was calm, collected, and unwaveringly professional throughout the entire process. You conducted your interviews meticulously, documenting every detail while observing the dynamics of the team. You spoke with Morgan, whose easy charm and casual demeanor couldn’t completely mask his wariness; with JJ, whose warmth was tinged with protectiveness for her team; and with Rossi, whose years of experience made him sharp and insightful. Emily Prentiss was direct but guarded, and Penelope Garcia was her colorful, effervescent self, despite clearly disliking your presence in their sanctum.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

Your first meeting with him was brief, almost rushed. He’d walked into the conference room where you were working, a stack of files in hand, his tie slightly askew. He apologized for interrupting, his voice quick and soft, as though he was already analyzing you and your purpose there. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, surprised by the firm but gentle grip. “I, um, wasn’t aware we had a guest this week. Are you working with the team?”

“Not exactly,” you replied with a polite smile, offering your name. “I’m here conducting an internal investigation on behalf of Erin Strauss.”

His eyebrows raised in recognition of the name, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he nodded, offered a fleeting smile, and excused himself. It was brief, yet something about his presence lingered in your mind.

Over the course of the week, you caught glimpses of Spencer in action. He moved like his mind was always three steps ahead of everyone else, which, based on his IQ and eidetic memory, it probably was. You couldn’t help but admire his passion for his work, his encyclopedic knowledge of nearly everything, and the quiet, almost awkward way he interacted with his colleagues. 

By the end of your investigation, you’d gathered enough evidence to conclude that Hotch was innocent of the accusations. It was clear that his actions, while unconventional at times, were always in the best interest of his team and the cases they pursued. You presented your findings to Strauss, ensuring that your report was thorough and unbiased.

On your last day in the BAU, Spencer stopped by your temporary desk. He held a book in his hands, a slim volume with a worn cover.

“I noticed you reading during your breaks,” he began, his voice soft but clear. “You, uh, seemed to favor non-fiction, so I thought you might like this. It’s one of my favorites.” He handed the book to you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You looked at the cover and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just Spencer,” he corrected quickly, his ears tinged pink. “And, um, thank you. For, you know… being fair. To Hotch. To all of us.”

“It’s my job,” you replied warmly. “But you’re welcome.”

As you left the BAU that evening, book in hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your week there had been more than just another assignment. Meeting Spencer Reid had been… unexpected. You didn’t yet know how much that brief encounter would change things, but something about it made you smile all the way home.

The next Monday started like any other. Your morning coffee sat steaming on your desk as you sifted through a stack of paperwork, preparing for a meeting. Everything was perfectly routine until you noticed an envelope that hadn’t been there earlier. It was plain white, slightly creased, and unmarked except for your name, written in a careful, slightly curled scrawl that instantly brought a smile to your lips.

You picked it up, already curious, and slid a nail under the seal to open it. Inside was a neatly folded piece of stationery. The handwriting, now familiar after that week in the BAU, made your heart skip just a little. It was undeniably Spencer Reid’s.

You unfolded the paper, eager to see what he’d written.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter doesn’t come across as strange. I’ve never been particularly skilled at expressing myself in person, especially when it comes to matters that make me nervous, so I thought writing might be a better option.

I wanted to thank you again for the work you did with the BAU last week. You were fair, professional, and kind—qualities that are sometimes hard to come by in situations like that. It’s clear that you’re exceptional at what you do, and it was genuinely nice to have you around.

That brings me to the reason for this letter. I’ve been debating whether to write it all weekend, and if you’re reading this, it means I finally worked up the courage. I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner sometime. There’s a little Italian restaurant near the Smithsonian that I think you’d enjoy. Of course, if Italian isn’t your preference, I’m more than happy to go somewhere else.

If this isn’t something you’re interested in, I completely understand, and I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Either way, I wanted to let you know that I enjoyed meeting you and hope our paths cross again.

Sincerely,  

Spencer Reid

You finished reading the letter, your cheeks warm and a soft smile tugging at your lips. The fact that he’d taken the time to write a letter—so formal, so earnest—touched you deeply. It wasn’t every day that someone asked you on a date in such a thoughtful way. 

You glanced at the clock, debating how to respond. After a moment, you pulled out a piece of your own stationery and began writing back.  

Spencer,  

Thank you for your letter—it was a lovely surprise to find it on my desk this morning. I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. Italian sounds perfect, and I trust your recommendation.  

Let me know what day works best for you. I’m looking forward to it.  

Y/N

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

As you finished the note, a small thrill ran through you. You had no idea where this might lead, but one thing was certain: you couldn’t wait to see him again. You tucked your response into an envelope, sealed it, and headed toward the BAU to deliver it personally.

The bullpen was bustling with activity when you arrived, the second you stepped through the doors, though, the atmosphere shifted. A few heads turned, and you could feel the curious glances of Derek and Emily as you offered them a polite smile and a quick “Good morning.”  

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you approached Spencer’s desk, your heart pounding against your ribs. He was seated, deeply engrossed in a stack of case files, his long fingers flipping through pages with a precision that somehow made you more nervous. The moment he looked up and his gaze locked with yours, you saw it—a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if bracing himself for rejection.

For a split second, you wondered if this was a mistake, if he would regret asking you out or if you’d misread the sweetness in his letter. But then you reminded yourself why you were here and smiled, a warm, sweet smile you hoped would ease his worry.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him. He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

“H-hi,” he managed, his voice just as soft, laced with nervous energy. His hands fidgeted with the papers in front of him, then quickly stilled when he realized he was doing it.

You held out the envelope, the edges of your smile turning playful as you added a wink. “I think this belongs to you,” you said lightly. The moment he reached out and his fingers brushed yours to take the note, you turned, leaving before the heat of his gaze and your own nerves could make you second-guess yourself.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, a sensation that made your stomach flutter in the best way. You glanced back briefly, catching the way his expression had shifted—his brows slightly raised, his lips parted in surprise, and the smallest hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Spencer sat frozen for a moment, still staring at the envelope in his hands. Slowly, he opened it, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the note inside. He recognized your handwriting instantly, and his eyes scanned the words with a growing sense of disbelief and elation.

By the time he finished reading, Spencer was grinning—an unrestrained, joyful smile that lit up his whole face.  

“Yo, Reid,” Derek called out from his desk, his voice breaking through Spencer’s trance. “You okay, man? You look like you just won the lottery.”  

Spencer quickly folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered, his tone betraying just how far from fine he really was.  

But Derek wasn’t buying it, and neither was Emily, who leaned over with an amused smirk. “Spill, Boy Wonder. What did she give you?”  

Spencer shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him as he stood, smoothing down his tie. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the way his smile lingered betrayed just how much it wasn’t nothing.  

As he turned back to his desk, his mind was already racing—planning, anticipating, and counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

—

The air was crisp, with just the right hint of winter’s chill, as you walked alongside Spencer toward the town square. The streets were lined with twinkling lights and festive decorations, a soft buzz of excitement filling the air as families, couples, and friends gathered for the annual tree lighting celebration. You had been looking forward to this for days, the idea of experiencing a classic Christmas event stirring a childlike giddiness in you.

Spencer, on the other hand, had been skeptical. When you’d first suggested the tree lighting for your date, he’d tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “It sounds… kind of cheesy,” he had admitted, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s the point,” you’d replied with a laugh. “It’s supposed to be cheesy. I never got to celebrate Christmas growing up. My parents didn’t believe in it, so… I want to see what the buzz is about. Please, Spencer?”

And how could he say no to that? The way your eyes lit up at the mere suggestion of the event made it impossible for him to resist. So here you were, bundled up in scarves and gloves, your breath visible in the frosty air as you made your way through the growing crowd.

The square was alive with activity, a large tree standing proudly in the center, its bare branches waiting to be illuminated. A choir sang carols near the base of the tree, their voices weaving through the laughter and chatter of the crowd. Vendors lined the sidewalks, selling hot cocoa, roasted chestnuts, and handmade ornaments.

“Let’s get some cocoa,” you suggested, tugging him toward one of the stands. Spencer let himself be pulled along, his long legs easily keeping pace with yours.

As you waited in line, he turned to you, his expression curious. “So, no Christmas growing up? Not even a tree?”

You shook your head, your breath puffing in the cold air. “Not a single ornament or candy cane. My parents thought it was frivolous. But I always loved the idea of it—the lights, the warmth, the magic. I’d watch Christmas movies and dream about what it would be like.”

Spencer’s face softened, and he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours. “Then I’m glad we’re here tonight. You deserve to experience all of it.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. After getting your cocoa, the two of you found a spot near the tree, the anticipation in the crowd growing as the time for the lighting drew near.

When the countdown began, you turned to Spencer, your excitement bubbling over. “This is it!” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with joy.

He couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm, his heart squeezing in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. As the crowd shouted, “Three… two… one!” the tree came to life, thousands of lights twinkling in vibrant colors, casting a warm glow over the square.

You gasped, your face lighting up in awe as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers around you.

Spencer wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at you, your expression radiant in the glow of the lights. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

When you turned back to him, catching his gaze, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. The moment was perfect, the air between you filled with something unspoken but undeniable.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said, your voice warm. “Even if it’s a little cheesy.”

Spencer smiled, his hand finding yours. “Cheesy isn’t so bad,” he admitted. “Especially if it makes you this happy.”

The two of you strolled through the square, your hands brushing occasionally as you walked. The festive lights cast a warm glow on the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with the sound of carolers and the gentle hum of happy conversations. Your cocoa had cooled by now, but neither of you seemed to mind, too caught up in the magic of the evening.

Spencer pointed out the intricacies of the hand-carved ornaments displayed at one of the vendor stalls, his voice soft but animated as he explained the origins of some of the designs. You listened intently, charmed by the passion in his words, the way his eyes lit up when he shared something he found fascinating.

And then, as if the universe itself decided to add its own touch of perfection to the night, a soft flurry of snow began to fall. You looked up in surprise, a delighted laugh escaping your lips as the delicate flakes drifted down from the sky. The crowd around you buzzed with excitement, children darting through the snow and couples huddling closer together.

“The first snow of the season,” you murmured, holding your hand out to catch a flake. It melted instantly against your glove, but the chill lingered, making you shiver slightly.

Spencer tilted his head back, his gaze following the snowflakes as they fell. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath clouded the air in front of him, and when he looked back at you, his expression softened.

You stood there for a moment, the world around you fading into the background. The square, the lights, the music—all of it seemed to blur into a quiet hum as your eyes locked with his. The snow gathered lightly on his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked, standing there with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

“I think…” Spencer began, his voice tentative as he took a small step closer. “I think I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart pounding as he reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek. The touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he let them drop.

“Then maybe you should,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, but not from the cold.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, and he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You stood on your toes to meet him halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was warm, tender, and filled with a kind of sweetness that made your chest ache. It wasn’t rushed or practiced—it was soft and genuine, as though neither of you wanted to break the spell the moment had cast.

The snow fell gently around you, dusting your shoulders and hair, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was Spencer’s hand coming to rest lightly on your waist, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to stand still.

When you finally pulled back, the tips of your noses brushing, you opened your eyes to find Spencer gazing at you with an expression that made your heart skip. His cheeks were pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, you couldn’t be sure, but his smile was unmistakable.

“That was…” He paused, searching for the right word. “That was perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound carrying in the crisp winter air. “It really was.”

Spencer reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. “You, um… you’ve made tonight unforgettable.”

“So have you,” you replied, your voice warm. And as the snow continued to fall, you found yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something truly magical.

—

As the days turned into weeks and the holiday season picked up pace, you and Spencer began spending more and more time together. It started with casual dinners and coffee dates but quickly grew into a comfortable rhythm of late-night conversations, spontaneous plans, and shared moments that brought a new kind of warmth to both your lives. 

Spencer, ever observant and thoughtful, seemed to remember every little thing you’d said about wanting to experience Christmas the way you’d always dreamed. He took it upon himself to make this season unforgettable for you, and the results were nothing short of magical.

One evening, he showed up at your apartment with a small stack of DVDs in hand, a proud but slightly sheepish smile on his face. "I thought maybe we could have a Christmas movie night," he said, holding up the collection like a peace offering. "You mentioned you didn’t get to watch a lot of them growing up, so I picked out a few classics."

You couldn’t help but grin, already charmed by the effort he’d put into it. "That sounds perfect. What did you bring?"

As you flipped through the stack, your smile widened. There was It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, Elf, and A Christmas Story, among others. But when you got to Die Hard, you raised an eyebrow and held it up with a laugh. "Seriously? Die Hard?"

Spencer adjusted his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "It’s set during Christmas. That technically makes it a Christmas movie."

"Oh, you’re one of those people," you teased, poking his side as he squirmed slightly under your touch. "I’m not sure I can agree with you on that."

He shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s a classic. You’ll see."

The evening was spent curled up on the couch under a cozy blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between the two of you. Spencer had insisted on starting with It’s a Wonderful Life, claiming it was the quintessential Christmas movie. You had agreed, though not without playfully poking fun at his almost academic defense of its merits.

By the time Elf rolled around, the bickering had reached a friendly crescendo. "Will Ferrell as a grown man in an elf costume? Really?" Spencer asked, his tone skeptical but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Yes, really," you shot back, grinning. "It’s hilarious and heartwarming, and if you don’t laugh at the ‘angry elf’ scene, I might have to reevaluate this relationship."

"Fair warning," he replied with a small chuckle, "I don’t laugh easily at slapstick humor."

But when the scene came, and Buddy the Elf called Miles Finch an "angry elf," Spencer let out a laugh so unexpected and genuine that it made you laugh harder just from hearing it.

"See?" you said triumphantly, nudging his shoulder. "I told you it’s funny."

Spencer shook his head, still chuckling. "Fine, you win this round."

The debates over Christmas movies became a running theme for the season. He swore by the timeless elegance of White Christmas, while you couldn’t get enough of the chaotic hilarity of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You both agreed, however, that Love Actually had its moments but was wildly overrated.

"Okay, but Die Hard is still the best Christmas movie," Spencer would insist every time, earning a dramatic groan from you.

"You’re impossible," you’d reply with mock exasperation, though the smile on your face gave away just how much you loved these little arguments.

Between the movie nights, the impromptu snowball fights, and the endless discussions over which holiday tradition to try next, Spencer was determined to give you the perfect Christmas season. And with every laugh, every shared glance, and every stolen kiss under the mistletoe, you couldn’t help but think he was succeeding.

—

The evening began with Spencer showing up at your door, his arms overflowing with bags of oddly-shaped gifts and rolls of colorful wrapping paper. His sheepish grin was enough to make your heart melt before the night even started.

“I may have overestimated my ability to wrap these on my own,” he admitted as he stepped inside, carefully setting everything down on your living room floor.

You arched an eyebrow at the assortment of gifts spilling out of the bags. “Spencer, how many people are you shopping for?”

“Not many,” he replied defensively. “Just my mom, the team, Henry… and you.”

Your face warmed at the last part, but you decided to tease him instead of letting it show. “Well, let’s see what we’re working with. But just so you know, if you’re terrible at this, I reserve the right to laugh.”

“I expected nothing less,” he quipped, his grin widening.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to unfold. Spencer’s approach to wrapping gifts was as meticulous as his research, but unfortunately, precision didn’t translate to skill. By the time he’d managed to tape one corner of a box, you were already stifling a laugh, your hand pressed to your mouth.

“What?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed as he held up his first attempt. The paper was unevenly cut, the tape crisscrossed in random directions, and the edges bulged where they shouldn’t.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said between giggles, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “A true work of art.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “I don’t think art is supposed to be this lopsided.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, sitting down beside him and taking the gift gently from his hands. “Let me help you. Watch and learn.”

You walked him through the process, showing him how to fold the edges neatly and tape them discreetly. He tried to mimic your movements, but somehow his wrapping attempts still ended up slightly crooked. You didn’t mind, though—it was endearing, watching him try so hard.

“You’re too nice to laugh at me again,” he said after his third attempt, glancing at you with mock suspicion.

“Oh, I’m laughing on the inside,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But you’re improving. Kind of.”

When the gifts were finally wrapped (with a mix of your expertise and his earnest efforts), you moved on to building a gingerbread house for Henry. Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet as he carefully held up the walls of the tiny structure, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re doing great,” you said encouragingly, but when one of the walls started to tilt, you couldn’t resist stepping in. You walked over and gently placed your hands over his, steadying the gingerbread walls.

Spencer froze at your touch, his heart skipping a beat. He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he took in the patience and warmth in your expression. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that made your own heart flutter.

“Teamwork,” you said with a small smile. “That’s what Christmas is all about, right?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, still looking at you.

Once the house was haphazardly assembled—complete with a slightly leaning roof and more icing than structurally necessary—Spencer produced a box of ornaments and tinsel for your tree. “I thought we could decorate your tree, too,” he said, his tone hopeful.

The idea was sweet, but execution? Not Spencer’s strong suit. Within minutes, there was tinsel tangled in his hair, a rogue strand of lights coiled around his wrist, and more glitter on the floor than on the ornaments.

“There is tinsel. Everywhere,” you said, dissolving into laughter as you surveyed the chaotic scene. “I think you got more of it on yourself than the tree.”

Spencer pouted, brushing a strand of tinsel off his shoulder. “I guess I’m not very good at Christmas.”

“Aw, don’t be such a Scrooge,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shot back, but his faux irritation was betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips.

By the time the night ended, the gifts were wrapped, the gingerbread house was (miraculously) intact, and the tree was decorated—albeit slightly crooked and glitter-covered. But to you, it was perfect, because it was filled with moments like these: Spencer’s quiet laughter, his shy smiles, and the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. 

“You’re not bad at Christmas, Spencer,” you said as the two of you stood by the tree, admiring your work. “You’re just… uniquely festive.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

And as you leaned into him, the glow of the tree casting a warm light over the room, you realized this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—and it was all thanks to Spencer.

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

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[supernovafics]

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit language, lots and lots of fluff<333

summary: waking up next to steve the morning after everything’s changed

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | ❝𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆❞

Fall Semester 2015

He was your first real friend here. That felt pretty certain after just the first time you two hung out in his dorm room because your roommate was having sex in yours, and your other option would’ve been camping out in the library. 

Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to accept Eddie’s offer. You two were still pretty much strangers at that point and had only had one brief conversation in a broken-down elevator. However, somehow, it didn’t feel like a bad decision. 

Over the last month of being in college, there had been no one else that you’d been able to hit it off so easily with. In ways, it reminded you of how friendships formed in elementary school— bonding over the most random of things and then promptly becoming the best friends for a week or two. This friendship with Eddie already felt like it would last longer than just a few weeks, though. 

“What about California?”

You shook your head. “Ended up being too expensive.”

You two were settled on his floor and talking about what brought you both here, and you’d been surprisingly honest and admitted that you had really wanted to get out of your quiet hometown and had done everything you could to make that happen; applying to colleges in a bunch of different states, and then ending up here because it made the most sense in the end. 

“What about you?” You asked, turning the question over to him. 

“I wasn’t the best in high school, but I somehow got accepted here,” He told you and you nodded. “At first, I kinda didn’t wanna go, but my uncle was really adamant about it, so I did it. And it hasn’t been too bad so far.”

“Aside from the elevators that break down way too easily,” You joked, giving him a small smile.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, aside from that. But apparently, they're the best way to make friends.” 

You nodded, laughing too. “Unconventional, but effective.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

It was a tangle of limbs and zero space— your head on Steve’s chest and an arm draped around his torso and his wrapped around you, keeping you close. The position itself was surprisingly comfortable but you were starting to feel way too warm. 

You weren’t even entirely sure what time it was or when you and Steve had finally fallen asleep after talking and doing a bit more than talking throughout most of the night, but you could see that the sun was out and it didn’t feel as if you’d gotten more than four hours of sleep.

Instead of shifting out of the position, you simply pushed the blanket down off of you with your hand and leg that wasn’t entirely entangled with Steve’s because you refused to completely detach from him. The cool air hitting your bare legs immediately made you feel a thousand times better and you softly sighed in contentment. 

“You okay?” You heard Steve sleepily mumble. 

“Yeah, I was just a little warm,” You whispered back, eyes still shut as you attempted to lull yourself back to sleep. 

“Sorry, are we too close?” He asked and started to pull away, but you quickly stopped him by pushing yourself further into your side. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I like this.”

“Okay,” He said and you could practically hear the smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

That made you open your eyes and tilt your head upward to look at him. The sleepy smile on his face made you want to kiss him, and realizing that you could do that whenever you wanted to now warmed something inside you.

As if feeling your gaze, Steve’s eyes opened and he looked down at you. “You’re staring.”

You pushed up further so that you could press a kiss against his cheek. “You’re really cute.” 

“And you say I’m the flirty one,” He said as his arms tightened around you and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

You shook your head, the smallest smile on your face. “I wasn’t trying to flirt, just stating a fact and giving you a very sweet compliment.” 

“Okay, in that case, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Steve shifted a bit, keeping you close but maneuvering so that he was on his side and facing you. You followed suit, moving a little and letting the side of your head fall against your pillow as you kept looking at him. He leaned in a little, nose softly brushing yours before closing all of the distance and pressing his lips against yours. One of his hands slipped beneath your t-shirt and gave your waist a squeeze, which made you hum softly into his mouth. You pulled back from the kiss after the briefest moment. 

“Wait, I need to ask you something,” You said, eyes meeting his. “Do you like Monopoly?” 

He let out a laugh. “That’s such a random question, but yeah. I can’t remember the last time I played it, though.” 

“We finally played it again for game night and I kinda wished you were there,” You told him as you reached out to push a hand through his messy hair. “I had a feeling you would’ve gotten just as competitive as Robin.” 

“I do get very competitive at Monopoly,” He nodded and then turned his head a bit so that he could press a quick kiss against your wrist. “I don’t know if we’d be able to survive it.” 

You shook your head as you smiled. “No, we would be fine because you’d be competitive with everyone else, but super nice to me.” 

“Okay, yeah, that’s true,” He smiled back at you. “I’d never make you pay if you landed on any of my properties.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re really cute too, by the way.” 

You smiled wider. “You are the flirty one.” 

“Yes, and I’ll happily admit it,” He said before kissing you again.

It was the sound of your phone loudly ringing, indicating your alarm, that interrupted you two that time around and startled you so much that it made your head harshly bump against his. 

“Ouch, sorry.” 

“What’s that alarm for?” Steve asked, rubbing his forehead. 

“For you. And I completely forgot about it,” You answered as you turned and reached over to grab your phone and stop the incessant ringing. “I set it last night after you mentioned the final project that you needed to spend all day today working on.” You also quickly turned off the alarm that was set for fifteen minutes from now. “But, and hear me out on this one— don’t leave.” You turned back over and faced him again, taking note of the amused look on his face. “I’m kidding, for the most part, I know you have to go. But, I do have a fresh toothbrush you can use, and I still have your t-shirt if you wanna change into something else. Wait, actually, no you can’t use that shirt. I refuse to give it back to you now.” 

“Honestly, I never expected it back.” 

“Good,” You said before letting out a soft contented sigh and burying your face in his neck.

Things got quiet then and you half-expected him to say that yes, he did have to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, neither of you moved for a bit. 

You could feel yourself slowly falling asleep, but you didn’t want it to happen, and although you wanted Steve to stay and be both your pillow and your blanket at that moment, you knew what you actually needed to do right then. 

You pulled back from his neck to look at him. “Okay, I’ll stop holding you hostage now.” 

“You can keep doing it if you want,” He said, sounding equally as tired as you and you decided not to protest his words.

“Okay,” You said softly with a quick nod before shifting around so that you were pressed back against him and then pulled his arm around you. 

You felt his mouth against the top of your ear. “I wanna take you out tonight.”

You hummed in response. “Out?”

“On a date that both of us know is a date.” 

“Okay,” You nodded. “Do I get to know where?”

“No, I want it to be a surprise.”

“Of course you do,” You said playfully. “Lucky for you I’m completely free tonight.” 

You weren’t sure how long you’d fallen asleep that time, it could’ve been ten minutes or an hour, but the feeling of Steve pulling away from you stirred you awake. 

“Go back to sleep,” He said when your eyes opened and you turned over to look at him. “I’ll see you later.” 

You shook your head as you stood up from your bed and rubbed your eyes. “No, I’ll walk you out. Just to the door, though. I don’t think I can make it downstairs.”

“Okay,” He said, smiling at your tiredness. 

It slightly startled you to see everyone in the living room; Robin and Vickie on the couch and Talia on the small loveseat. 

“Hi… You guys remember Steve,” You said much more awkwardly than intended. The entire moment suddenly felt like a walk of shame; even though you and Steve hadn’t had sex and you were already home. But it was just that, aside from Talia, the last thing your other two friends knew about you and Steve was that you hadn’t talked in a month, so it must’ve seemed insane seeing him walk out of your room right then. 

Vickie nodded at your previous words and smiled. “Talia filled us in on everything.” 

“Steven, you’ve been missed around here,” Robin said, a smile on her face at first, and then she gave him a serious look. “We’ll have another talk later.” 

He laughed a little. “Can’t wait for that.” 

You finished walking Steve to the door, and Robin, Vickie, and Talia went back to watching the sitcom playing on the TV, but you had a feeling that they were very much listening to you and him.  

Steve stepped out into the quiet hallway and then turned around to face you. “I’ll text you later about our date.”

“Okay,” You said softly, trying to think of some sort of joke to say but it was hard to do when all you really wanted to do right then was kiss him. So, you did, quickly pushing up on your toes and pressing the quickest kiss against his lips. 

“Maybe I should stay, actually,” He said when you pulled back and his hands reached out to settle on your hips. 

You almost agreed, but you shook your head instead. “No, go. You’re not gonna fail any classes because of me.” 

“Okay,” He said before leaning down and giving you a final kiss on your cheek. “Bye.”

“Bye,” You said and then proceeded to smile and lean against the doorframe as you watched him walk away. 

“Oh my god, she’s so in love.” 

“Shut up,” You said in response to Robin’s teasing words as you pushed the door shut once Steve turned the corner. You tried to sound as serious as possible, but it was way too hard to wipe the smile off of your face. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Steve’s hand found yours barely a minute into the car ride, intertwining it with his and resting them on your thigh. 

You settled yourself into his passenger seat, getting comfortable for however long the drive would end up being. “So, you’re taking me to dinner.” 

“Maybe…” He responded, and it slightly amused you how vague he was still being about everything even though his earlier text of, “I’ll be at your place at 7. Make sure you don’t eat dinner,” could really only mean one thing. 

You decided to play along, though. “Or is it bowling? Roller skating? A movie?”

“Those are really good guesses,” He joked, which made you laugh. 

“What’s the right answer?” 

He took a quick glance over at you and shook his head. “I’m not saying.” 

It wasn’t until twenty minutes later when he was parked in an unfamiliar but very crowded parking lot that he finally told you.

“Do you remember our first date?” He asked, and at first, all you could do was smile at his words.

It was such a silly question that you really couldn’t help but make a joke. “Weirdly enough, I don’t. Wait, who are you again?” 

“Ha ha,” He playfully rolled his eyes at you.

“I’m sorry, I had to,” You said, pulling your intertwined hands up and giving the back of his a quick peck. “Of course, I remember our first date. We had a great time watching the second Hunger Games movie.”

“Yes, and we were supposed to get food before the movie, but you weren’t hungry so we skipped dinner and just did the movie. This is the place that I was gonna take you then.” 

You nodded at his words and then looked away from him when you remembered something else from that night— where your head had been then and how you’d been feeling. “I’m sorry.”

Steve gave you a confused look. “Why?”

“This feels so shitty to say now, but I lied then. The reason that I suggested we skip dinner was because I just wanted the date to be over faster. Oh my god, saying it out loud makes it sound even more shitty.” You met his gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be. That’s okay,” Steve said as he gave your hand a light reassuring squeeze. “Honestly, that makes a lot of sense.” 

“It’s so stupid, though, because then during it, when we were watching the movie, I kinda regretted lying because of how well things were actually going with us.”

He gave you a smile then. “It was really good.”

You nodded. “Yup, I even let you kiss me that night.” 

“Can I kiss you right now?”

You shook your head, biting back the smile tugging at your lips. “That’s not proper date etiquette, Steven. All kisses must be saved until the end.” 

He nodded understandingly, but there was an amused smile on his face. “Ah yes, makes sense.” 

You held his eyes for a moment and then looked away and finally stepped out of his car before you ended up breaking your own stupid rule.

His hand found yours again as you two headed inside the restaurant. It was a lively and busy place, and at first, you figured that was why Steve had picked it, but once you two were settled in the short line behind other people waiting to put their names down at the hostess stand, you noticed the open doors that led to the dining room area straight ahead and then the shelves and shelves of books to the left. 

Before you could say anything, Steve was leaning into your ear to be heard over the noise. “It’s kind of a book-themed restaurant. You’ll see all of the decorations on the walls when we sit down later.” He then nodded his head in the direction of the bookshelves that you’d just noticed. “And there’s a used bookstore attached too.”

You looked up at him. “This place is perfect.” You then shook your head at yourself. “Now I feel like even more of an asshole for lying to you that night.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it, if we would’ve gone then, you probably would’ve fallen in love with me on the spot,” He told you, a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Embarrassingly so, probably,” You playfully nodded in agreement. 

It was quite hard to imagine things working out between you two in any other way than this one, though. It almost felt as if everything needed to happen in the way that it did between you and him. And with how damn near perfect everything felt right now, you were completely okay with how slow everything had moved— how stupid and confused you both had been at times— because it happily led you here. 

You looked around for a brief second. “How did you know I would like this place before we even met?”

“The only thing Eddie told me about you before our date was that you were an English major, and after a quick Google search, I found this place and I figured it would be perfect,” He explained and then gave you a nonchalant and almost shy-looking shrug. 

You pushed up on your toes and quickly kissed him instead of verbally saying anything in response to his thoughtful words that made you feel as if you were going to explode because of how sweet they were. 

When you pulled away, he smiled at you. “I thought that wasn’t proper date etiquette?” 

You didn’t get the chance to answer his question because you two were at the front of the line and Steve was putting his name down after the hostess said that there would be about a forty-five-minute wait to get a table, which you were perfectly okay with.

Steve let you lead the way as you went down different aisles; it was pretty quiet between you two. Whenever you were looking through books, you always got that way, focusing on finding something instead of anything else.  

After about fifteen minutes, you were slotting another book back in the spot you pulled it from and then looked at Steve. “God, sorry, this is probably so boring for you.” 

He shook his head and gave you a small smile. “No, I like watching you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “If I didn’t really really really like you, I would think that’s very creepy.” 

“Phew, good thing you really really really like me then,” His arms circled around you and you returned the embrace immediately, letting your arms wrap around his neck as you looked up at him.

You were almost certain that you two were going to kiss, but you pulled away when you noticed a person at the end of the aisle— you didn’t want you and Steve to become the kind of couple that was so disgustingly adorable in public. You grabbed his hand instead and continued to lead him down the aisle. 

You picked through books with your free hand, nothing really catching your eye enough for you to actually pull it off the shelf, and then you noticed a title that looked really familiar so you grabbed it immediately. “Woah.” 

“What?” Steve asked, looking down at the book you now had in your hand. 

“Okay, this might be a stupidly long story,” You started. “So, I had to read a different book by this author for one of my classes. I ended up liking it a lot and also his writing style too, so I looked him up, and I saw that he did this historical fiction book; some World War II thing. It actually sounded interesting, and I immediately thought of you when I found it because I thought you’d probably like it. But, we weren’t talking at the time, so of course I didn’t tell you about it or recommend it to you.” You pointed to the book in your hand. “This is that book, and now I really wanna get it for you. This also now reminds me of our first date and when I said that I’d find you a book to make you not hate reading. If you do end up actually hating this book, though, I give you full permission to lie to me when I ask what you thought about it.” You got quiet as you looked down at the book again and then back up at him. “Okay, I’m done rambling now.” 

Steve smiled at you and your rambling. “I can’t wait to read it.”

You laughed a bit. “Okay, you don’t have to lie yet.”

“I’m not lying,” He told you. “If you get like this anytime you talk about books, then I’ll read any one you give me.”

That warmed your heart so much that it made you not care about pressing the sweetest kiss against his lips in front of the other people in the narrow aisle.

His hand was still against your cheek when you pulled back from the slow kiss and told him, “I’ll happily read to you too, like in Mexico, if you want.” 

He nodded. “That sounds great.”

The text that the table was ready came earlier than expected. You two were sitting on a small bench that was right outside the restaurant and you were in fact reading to him. 

“Thoughts so far?” You asked as you and he stood up to head back into the restaurant. “Remember lying is encouraged.”

“It’s surprisingly good. And I’m not lying,” He answered as he pulled the door open for you. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You weren’t entirely sure who initiated what. 

You had kissed Steve first, you knew that. But, it was meant to be a goodbye one— you were standing outside of your apartment door after having dinner at the restaurant and you both could recognize that the night had come to its natural end. Instead, though, the kiss felt like the opposite; it distinctly felt like the start of something rather than the end. And it did start something. 

You were being softly pressed back against the door as Steve deepened the kiss, mouth moving against yours so seamlessly as one hand came up to cup your cheek and the other found the curve of your waist. 

There was a part of you that suddenly felt so certain that this would never not feel so fucking right to you. Sure, it had been barely twenty-four hours since things shifted and changed into what you and Steve were now, but it felt so easy and not at all rushed or abrupt. It was as if this was something that had been slowly building until here you two finally were— making out against your front door without a care in the world because you both were so equally smitten and enamored by each other. 

You wanted absolutely everything with him, and perhaps he was able to tell that from the look in your eyes when you pulled back from the kiss to catch your breath for a moment. And maybe it was in your head, but it seemed as if he was nodding in agreement with you. 

He was in the middle of leaning in to kiss you again when the door opened abruptly and you let out a surprised yelp as both of Steve’s hands immediately found your hips to keep you from falling back. 

“Shit, sorry,” You recognized Eddie’s voice before you turned around. “I don’t even wanna know what you two were just doing.” 

You didn’t expect to see him in this moment. He came over to the apartment earlier to return something that he’d stolen from Robin a few days ago, and you had used that moment as your opportunity to tell him about you and Steve.

“I guess I did end up playing matchmaker for you after all,” Had been his immediate response after you told him that you and Steve were together. “Once again, I expect the biggest shoutout at your guys’ wedding.” 

You only rolled your eyes at him in response because you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Technically, he was entirely right— you wouldn’t have even met Steve if it wasn’t for Eddie. And it was a bit insane to think about that. 

“Also,” He continued. “I feel slightly offended that I’m the last to find out, even though I’ve known you the longest.”

“It’s one of the privileges that come along with Rob, Vick, and Tal being my roommates,” You said, a teasing smile on your face. “You’ll be back to the top in a few months.”

At the end of the summer, he was going to move into Talia’s room since she was graduating and doing her master’s program at a school in New York. It was an almost too obvious decision that, of course, made the most sense.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” You said to Eddie now. You mindlessly leaned back against Steve because it felt slightly weird not having zero space between you two. It wasn’t until after you did it, that you wondered if you were doing too much, being too much, but then Steve’s hand was finding yours and giving it a light squeeze, and the thought was quickly pushed away.

“Vickie put on this weird Christmas baking show and we’ve all been watching it since you left,” Eddie explained and you nodded. “I’m now being forced to grab the takeout from downstairs, though.”

“You’re back!” You noticed Talia turning around from where she was on the couch. “How was the date?”

Before you could say anything, Robin was turning around too. “Eddie, grab the food before it gets stolen by the same asshole from last time!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” He called out before heading down the hallway. 

The door was more than halfway open at that point, and you turned again to look at Steve again instead of doing anything else.

“You wanna come in?” You asked because you simply just really wanted to keep the night going with him. “If we hate watching the baking show, we can go to my room and finally watch Freaky Friday.” 

From the smile on his face, you could tell that he didn’t want the night to be over either. “Okay.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff , @lilacccs , @thehairington86 , @welcometohellsock

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[kiwriteswords]

I Promise You This

Chapter One: All That Emptiness Knows Just Where I Live

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: Chronic illness, reader with past abusive relationship, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, language, future sexual themes

Rating: Mature for mature themes and future chapters.

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Y/N, the newest and youngest profiler in the BAU, is haunted by her past—an abusive relationship and an illness she keeps hidden from her team. Though skilled in her work, she distances herself emotionally, fearing vulnerability. Aaron Hotchner, her reserved and perceptive boss, begins to notice the cracks in her carefully constructed walls as they navigate high-stakes cases together. Drawn to her resilience, Hotch finds himself increasingly protective of Y/N. As their bond deepens, both must confront their own emotional barriers, leading to an unexpected connection amidst the darkness of their work.

AN: I originally posted this story back in 2021, but for a multitude of reasons, I stepped away from the fandom and removed it. Now, in 2024, I’ve decided to return and revisit this fic with a fresh perspective. I’m currently in the process of rewriting the entire 45-chapter story, adding new depth, and refining the plot. As I re-upload the chapters, I will be including trigger warnings (TWs) for sensitive content. However, if I miss something, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Your comments, shares, and likes/kudos are incredibly encouraging and motivate me to keep working on this rewrite, as well as inspire new content. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy the updated version of this story!— Ki

Masterlist | I Promise You This | Ao3

You stare out the jet’s window, your eyes tracing the clouds below. Sleep eludes you, and the quiet conversation among your team members fades into the background. Music hums softly in your ears, a barely audible escape. You know the odds—three missing children—and yet your mind feels curiously empty.

Laughter breaks through your thoughts. You glance over and see Morgan teasing Reid, as usual. The whole team joins in, and even Hotch chuckles. If he’s laughing, whatever Reid said must have been good.

You smile faintly, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Isolation is familiar to you—whether you're buried in a book or lost in your music, you’ve always found comfort in keeping a certain distance. It’s not about not fitting in, at least not entirely. The team welcomed you when you joined. They accepted you. But you’ve never quite let yourself feel like you belong.

Only in your twenties, you’ve already lived more life than most people twice your age. A childhood overshadowed by responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours, and a turbulent adolescence marked by health problems that kept you in and out of hospitals. You were the kid who missed weeks of school but somehow still pulled straight A’s. The one who didn’t go to prom, didn’t have a high school sweetheart, and definitely didn’t have a tight-knit group of friends.

Then there was him. The boy who promised you the world but only gave you heartache. The one who made you feel small, unworthy, broken—both with his words and his hands. The one who convinced you to stay, even when every fiber of your being screamed to leave. You did leave, eventually, but not without scars, some of which never quite healed.

No one on the team knows any of this. To them, you’re just Y/N, the youngest, least experienced profiler in the BAU. A fast learner, sure. Someone who pulls her weight in the field. But you’ve made sure your past is buried deep, nowhere near your file. Only Spencer ever asked why your academic timeline was a little... unconventional. You gave him the same story you’ve told everyone else: You took time to travel.

The truth? You finished undergrad earlier than most, and jumped into grad school while working at a local field office. It was around that time the BAU reached out, and suddenly, your life was moving at a pace you could barely keep up with. Your health remained an ongoing battle, but that was nobody’s business. You’ve never let it slow you down, and you’re not about to start now.

Therapy helped. It gave you the tools to face your past and, more importantly, to reclaim your future. Joining the BAU felt like a step in the right direction—a chance to put your trauma to use, to give your pain purpose. And if you keep your distance from the team, it’s not because you don’t trust them. It’s because trusting people still feels like a risk.

The jet dips, signaling the approach to Phoenix. Your body tenses involuntarily. You haven’t been back here in years, not since... him. You’re not sure how you’ll react once your feet touch the ground again.

"What are you listening to?" Hotch’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You jump, startled by his sudden appearance across from you. He watches you with that quiet intensity, and for a moment, you wonder how long he’s been sitting there.

"Nothing important," you murmur, pausing the music and slipping your headphones out.

Hotch’s gaze lingers, and you shift uncomfortably. It’s not that he’s unkind—far from it. But there’s something about his presence, his authority, that makes you second-guess yourself.

"You seemed deep in thought," he notes, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just zoning out," you reply with a shrug. "Long flight."

He nods but doesn’t push. Hotch is observant, more so than the others. He’s noticed the way you isolate yourself on these flights, how you always seem a little more on edge than you let on. But he hasn’t asked, not yet. You’re grateful for that.

"What were you all laughing about earlier?" you ask, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

"Reid’s latest hairstyle," Hotch replies with a smirk. "Morgan’s convinced he’s trying out for a boy band."

You laugh softly, surprising yourself. "He does have that early 2000s look going for him."

"Maybe next week he’ll try the ‘classic detective’ look," Hotch says, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

For a moment, the tension eases. You almost forget where you’re headed.

"Have you gone over the case file?" Hotch asks, his tone shifting back to business.

"Yeah," you nod, glancing back out the window. The familiar skyline of Phoenix looms closer. You take a deep breath. "I haven’t been here in a long time."

"Family here?" he asks casually, clearly not realizing the weight of the question.

You shake your head quickly. "No, I just... used to live nearby for a while."

It’s technically the truth. But the memories attached to this city are ones you’d rather not revisit.

Before Hotch can respond, Morgan sticks his neck out from across the aisle. "You lived in Phoenix? How did I not know that?"

"It was a long time ago," you say, deflecting with a practiced ease.

Morgan grins and steers the conversation back to the case, but Hotch lingers for a moment longer, watching you. There’s something about you that doesn’t quite add up, something just out of reach. He’s known you for a year, yet you’re still a puzzle he hasn’t managed to solve. And maybe that’s why he keeps trying.

As the jet touches down, you pull your bag over your shoulder and follow the team out, doing your best to leave the past behind. But Hotch’s eyes stay on you, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if someone might be able to see through your walls after all.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Entirely Unconventional

Part 2: Uncomfortable Silence

She caught you before you could go back into the room, the time passed between those two masked men entering the room and you heading back in was languid.

Had it been minutes of you standing there, shocked and unaware of your next step? Or was it mere seconds that you’d watched them walk, awed by their size?

“Should we call the police?” Your student nurse grabbed your arm and yanked you out of view of the window in the door, her harsh whisper laced with fear.

You could see it in her eyes, the apprehension, and confusion circulating in her irises and written on her face. She was leaning into you, trying to look into the room while simultaneously on edge, an understandable reaction to the night’s drastic change from slow paced to wild.

“No,” you answered her with your semi-controlled calm, “it’ll be okay. You just…leave this to me, okay?”

You slid her hand off your arm and pushed it back to her side, taking a steady moment to reassure her and her fears. She was nervous, anxious since this had been the wildest experience she had since she started here, and you couldn’t blame her.

Working in a rural hospital had led to a cycle of some kind of comfort that was rooted in the normalcy of day in and day out experiences. You had dealt with the smaller medical problems like cuts, bruises, broken legs and viral or bacterial infections, and everything bigger than you could handle was sent to the city.

This was new for you, and it was new for her. You didn’t negate her fright, her apprehension at dealing with this. Instead, you redirected her.

”I’m going to take care of this, you…” Your arms were still full of meds and lines that you’d hook up to Em’s husband. Balancing them was hard to do while trying to keep your state of calmness in check. “…will handle the other patients we have with nurse Steves, okay? If you need me, knock on the door, and I’ll be there to help.”

”Are you crazy? Seriously, you’re out of your mind! We should call the police and lock down the hospital! They could rob us!” She reached for you again, wild eyes radiating anxiety and fright.

”If they wanted to hurt us or rob us, they would’ve done it already.” Your voice of reason was held by a thin string that could easily be frayed, if only due to the two giants that were in the room with Em. “Relax, take a deep breath. It’ll be fine, don’t call the police.”

Your reassurance wasn’t wholly embraced by her, although she had watched you approach the door. Before you even knocked to announce yourself, you looked over your shoulder watching your student nurse’s wide-eyed gaze, a moment of your eyes locked, and then she had turned away. You held your breath, urging yourself to calm before exhaling slowly and rapping on the door twice.

The sound was soft, and your hand had just as soon touched the metal knob, then the door was ripped open. You were standing face to chest with one of the masked men. You didn’t dare raise your head, you didn’t dare look at him, even acknowledge him when he stepped aside to let you pass.

Furthermore, you had taken note of his appearance as you could see it, his height well over 6’5”, and the same dark and slightly dusty or torn black shirt that you’d seen on your patient.

His build was suitable for his size, reiterating your initial thought that he was a giant in the flesh and the knowledge that he could crush you. There was an empty holster that you hadn’t seen before strapped to his left thigh and secured with a thick metal clasp, and the lack of a weapon set in place had made you question your decision to come back inside.

Regardless of your apprehension and heightened fear, you took as wide a berth as you could manage around him, stepping inside the room. You heard the door click behind you, and your nerves had gotten the better of you, making you jump. You grit your teeth, scolding yourself as you moved toward the bed and the rolling tray to the left.

”Allergies?” You questioned Em, turning your head to cast your gaze on her, where she was seated to his right. “Does he have any history with reactions to medication?”

“No.” Her answer was short and soft, her hands set directly on her husband’s hand, her eyes glossy. “Nothing.”

”He’s going to be fine.” You reassured her, despite feeling on edge and rattled from the moment the two strangers had entered the hospital. “I promise, it’s just a few cuts. He’s passed out, but when he gets adequate fluids and a little-“

Your eyes slipped from Em, moving past her to the other giant in the room. Unlike the first you had seen, this man was shorter, but not by much. On his face was a skull mask that was missing the jaw, the white of the skull looked like it had been bleached by the sun. And while there was no jaw, the rest of the mask was made whole by black fabric that was painted to make up the missing jaw.

His eyes were light blue, as you’d noticed the first time you saw him, rimmed and surrounded by intense black paint that gave him an overwhelming darkness that shrouded him. His stare was hard and unyielding, an edge in his eyes that rattled you to your core. You felt as if you were looking at a demon head on, trapped beneath the gaze of a predator. Fear, like before, had coursed through your veins.

Fear, and an inescapable hellish heat that started to circulate in your body. You were uncomfortable with how he was looking at you, with the hardness in his eyes that bordered on hatred.

”Shit,” you finally pulled your eyes off him and looked down at the bag of fluids you had to hook up, and the vial of medicine you’d yet to measure out, “shit, shit.”

”Is everything okay?” Em questioned you, pulling her eyes off her husband to focus on you.

”I’m fine, I’ll be fine.” You grabbed the bag of the intravenous solution and balanced it in one hand, while the other had reached for the necessary connecting tubes. “No allergies? No reactions to medication?”

”No.” She answered you again, watching your process of hanging the bag off the hook attached to the bed, and then connecting the IV lines.

”I would ask if he’s afraid of needles, but…” Your attempt to lessen your anxiety was met with a soft sound from Em, and silence from the rest.

“Johnny’s going to be fine.” Em reassured you anyway, a small smile on her face.

As you were preparing the needle, you took a cautionary glance back at the man you’d heard Em call Ghost, and found yourself looking at both giants. Your stomach flipped, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and you dropped your gaze again.

After cleaning the place where you would insert the IV, you did another check of the veins to see if they would be respectable to the needle, though it could be different once you’d actually tried to insert the needle.

After taking a breath with rattled nerves, you started to push the tip of the needle in, thankfully hitting his veins without them rolling on you, or giving you grief.

Using one hand to keep the needle and cannula temporarily secure, you reached for the table to grab some medical tape to secure it properly. After the tape stuck, you removed the needle and checked the solution, double-checked your process, you were able to dispose of your gloves and needle in the medical waste bin.

You took a step back and exhaled slowly, moving to the monitor to check over his vitals. Everything you were doing, everything you’d been trained to do, was standard practice and yet, you felt as if you were under incredible scrutiny.

You didn’t even know if the two masked men were watching you, you didn’t know if you were even worthy of their attention, and still, you felt rattled.

”He should be up in a few hours, I can get started on cleaning the lacerations. And I’ll stitch them up-“

”Dissolvable stitches,” Em insisted, stopping you before you could move past the monitor, “we won’t be back to have them removed.”

A trip to visit her family, the excuse she had told you, was front and centre in your mind. You had spent four years living with Em at university, you knew when she was lying and what gave her away. The subtle flicker of conflict in her eyes, the twitch of the corner of her mouth, the shake of her hands…

”I can do that, I’ll have to get them.” You glanced toward the monitor and then the meds you’d left on the tray, debating whether it was worth the hassle to bring them or leave them.

You would be back in a minute, less than that but leaving them alone…

”You never did find your soulmates, did you?” Em’s question threw you off guard, the weight of your relationship state hanging in the air.

And you were once again hit with inescapable heat, and a flash of fear. You were being watched again, or maybe you had been this entire time.

”I have to go get the dissolvable stitches.” You denied answering her question, stepping around the end of the bed while being unable to really catch your breath.

It felt as if there was a weight on your chest, restricting your ability to breathe properly. You were struggling, your body overwhelmed with something unseen and unsettling, liquid fire and the strike of fear or something like it in the pit of your stomach.

You reached for the door and turned the handle, a striking squeak falling from your lips as you opened the door, coming face to face with your student nurse.

”Don’t do that!” You scolded her, halfway through the door and on the edge of the room.

She appeared as wide-eyed as before, cautious and fearful of what could happen through her misleading imagination. Every possible scenario was likely rattling her mentally, and she was cautiously prepared to dial 9-1-1.

”I wanted to make sure you were okay, you were in there for a while.” She leaned in, curious to see what was going on, and her attempt cut off after you fully stepped out and closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you off from the rest of the room.

”It's fine, how are your patients?” You questioned her, walking quickly toward the medicine cabinet, rifling through until you came upon the dissolvable stitches, and even after they were in your hands you hesitated. You hesitated and decided to give yourself more time to breathe, to find your composure before you had to go back in.

”Most are sleeping, a few are restless. I gave room 5 their nightly dosage, and room 7 was up and is back in bed.” She explained what she had done while you were in that room, speaking quickly and throughly. “Are you sure you don’t need help? Backup?”

”I’m fine.” You denied her again, curling your fingers around the liquid stitches, and then stepped away from the cabinet.

You turned your back to her and took two solid steps and then found yourself pausing, as a dull sensation had echoed in your mind. It had been familiar as radio static or even ringing in your ears, a pitch that wasn’t quite distinguishable.

”Y/N?” She asked again, noting your pause.

”I’m fine.” You walked back to the room and knocked again, to announce yourself, before you cracked open the door and slipped in.

”You okay?” Em had questioned you next, sitting up and locking eyes with you. “You look as if you saw a ghost.”

Her second statement was made with some kind of toying or teasing, something you had brushed off in order to finish with her husband and get some air. You stepped in front of the monitor and set the liquid stitches down, replacing them with some antiseptic wipes, and after you pulled on a new pair of gloves you turned back to your patient.

You ripped open an antiseptic wipe and began the process of cleaning the wound that would need stitches, even though you knew that some should have been traditionally held together. You didn’t question Em, you didn’t want to push her current emotional state anymore and settled for doing this.

Cut after cut, you had cleaned hm up to the best of your ability, only having to pause once to grab tweezers to clean glass out of a wound. As you worked, you dug deeper into your mind in an attempt to escape being watched. You had retreated while you worked, cleaning what you could see while keeping an eye on the monitor.

You worked, you used the liquid stitches, and you kept your head down. Silently doing your job, silently contemplating what was happening to you and your mind. You had never felt such innate heat, such a sense of urgency or dread, fear or this kind of weight on you. It was entirely new to you.

Uncomfortable. Silently working, uncomfortably watched.

”I’m not a doctor, I can’t prescribe antibiotics.” Despite that, you slipped a hand into your pocket and removed a small pill container that held no information pertaining to the patient.

Just like Em asked for.

”He needs to take these twice a day, with food. They can be hard on you if you take them without food.” You reached over the bed and handed them to Em, watching her take them before you stood upright again. You didn’t dare raise your eyes, you couldn’t take the possibility of being glared at, like you were a target or someone to be hated.

”I’ll come back and check on him and the IV in a while, he should regain consciousness soon.” You took another look at the monitor, checking his vitals before you exhaled. “When the IV is empty, I’ll come take it out.”

”Are you sure…” Em redirected her attention to you, holding your gaze for a sliver of a moment before she looked behind her, staring unflinchingly at the two giants in masks.

”Sure of what?” You slipped the liquid stitches into your pocket, along with the other leftovers on the tray.

”…you’ve never found your soulmates?”

”Not everyone is that lucky.” You walked around the bed toward the door, keeping your head down and your hands steady in the pockets of your scrubs. “I’ll be back soon.”

[thepixelelf]

ah! love - 3

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, a little... angst? but we know it ends up okay (best friends to lovers) relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings: none notes: joshua centric!! also they live somewhere where it gets cold sometimes. I know that Joshua's had a little less time in the a!l spotlight, so I hope this satisfies the shushus[?] out there! this is the first >1k bday fic I've written in a while idk what came over me lol

ah! love masterlist

Joshua saves the day...wait, the night?

Joshua loves his kids. More than anything, though that thought sometimes scares him if he thinks too hard about it. The point is, he loves his sticky little mischievous imps, no matter how many times they throw up in the middle of the night, or run around with food half-chewed in their mouths because they've yet to develop a fear of choking like he and the rest of his partners have, or the half a million other things they don't warn you about parenthood. He loves his sons, end of sentence. Period.

But that's not to say they were his idea. Like a lot of the current life he feels overwhelmingly lucky to live, none of this was his idea. He hadn't even dreamed of it -- even his sleeping consciousness couldn't have been so creative as to spin the love story that led to his present. He hadn't fathomed marrying you and his other two best friends.

The marriage was Seungcheol's idea. But apparently you and Jeonghan were already thinking about it, too.

Joshua had been entirely caught off guard.

He was thinking too rigidly, he realized. Their marriage isn't legally recognized in any sense, and it was for that reason that he'd never even considered it in the first place... but it's still his marriage, whether penned and signed or not. There are three rings on his finger to prove it.

The kids were Jeonghan's idea. Well. The kid was sort of his, Seungcheol's and your idea. Jeonghan had said he'd always dreamed of having two kids -- a boy and a girl, like him and his little sister. You'd had your own fears about children, as did Seungcheol. You were scared you wouldn't know how to parent, wouldn't be able to raise a child in the way they deserved. Seungcheol worried how a child raised in their unconventional family would be treated by their peers. They'd all chosen the life they would live together, society's judging eyes be damned, but the child wouldn't have a choice, least of all an informed one.

Over the breakfast that was long forgotten after Jeonghan made his casual suggestion and vulnerable confession, you and Seungcheol eventually needled him down to one kid. Maybe.

As for Joshua, he didn't say a word. He was too lost in his own head, imagining a swaddled baby in your arms, and you in his. A shimmering mirage of his lips pressed upon your forehead, before he bent slightly to kiss the baby's tiny hands.

One kid may have been Jeonghan's, Seungcheol's, and your idea, but with Joshua, and circumstances as they were, you came home with three.

So perhaps some of this was his idea.

Not this, though.

"Papa...?"

Joshua blinks himself awake. His room is mostly dark, but warm light filters in from the hallway. The culprit? A little boy with one hand on the doorknob and the other wiping the corner of his bleary eye. Joshua can't tell who it is by looks alone, since the boy is all but a silhouette in the doorway, but he knows from the sound of his voice that it's Vernon.

Slowly, he removes his arm from around your waist. It's unlucky, maybe, that tonight you chose to sleep in Joshua's room, and then Vernon decided this was the place to be, too. He scoots away from you, then tries to lightly step across the room to kneel in front of Vernon. "Hey, bud," he whispers, trying desperately not to wake you up after a long day. "Can't sleep?"

"Bad dream," Vernon mutters.

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Bad dream?" Joshua sat up from the couch he was sleeping on just a minute ago, and he watched you whip around like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

But you only had a glass of water in your hand, and you winced as you turned off the tap. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

"You didn't." Not really, anyway. The couch wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on in the first place, which was why he offered you his room to sleep in while you needed a place to stay for the night. Actually, both Jeonghan and Seungcheol had offered their beds too, and it became a bit of a squabble, but you'd settled things by just picking the room offered to you first.

"Liar," you said, and even though the only light in the room came from the moon through the balcony windows, he could hear the smile the word came through. Still, there was a certain tiredness in your voice.

"Seriously. What's wrong?"

A sigh left you.

"Come, sit," he insisted. "Talk to me. You know I'll annoy it out of you eventually."

Another sigh came from you, but this one of reluctant, amused acceptance. You walked across the combined kitchen slash living space in in their three-room apartment, set your water on the coffee table, and sat on the other end of the couch from him. Too far for his liking.

"What's your mood like tonight?" you asked him as you relaxed into the cushions, your head resting so that you stared at the ceiling.

"On what scale?"

"Hm... holiday rom coms?"

He thought hard for a second. "The Princess Switch 2: Switched Again."

You snorted, rubbing your hands over your face. "Not good then?"

"Well, you did have to abandon your apartment because the heat turned off and your dumb landlord is completely MIA." He shifted his body to face you, one arm propped up on the back of the couch to lean his head on. "But you showed up here wearing a comedic amount of layers, so the day had its funny moments."

A laugh bubbled from your throat, and Joshua found himself smiling in the dark. "I guess you're right. How's your mood in terms of..." You let your head flop to the side to look at him. "...a hug?"

He had to wonder sometimes if you had absolutely no idea what he would do for you if you asked. A hug wouldn't be on that list-- it was so easy that it didn't even constitute consideration.

But his heart warmed, because even though he knew he'd never refuse to give you something so simple as a hug, you knew he wasn't constantly the physical affection kind of guy. You wanted to ask him. You wanted his comfort, but only if he was willing.

God, was he willing.

"All yours." He opened up his arms, and you all but sank into him.

You both stayed like that for a while, silent, but warm. He was satisfied with you in his arms, but he could tell your mind was still stewing.

"You gonna tell me what's got you up so late?" he muttered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on your sides.

"Do you ever think about the future, Joshua?"

Sometimes. But it was always with you in it. "Not really."

Leaning back, he brought you to lie almost on top of him, so now he was the one staring at the ceiling.

You sighed. "I try not to... at least not too much. But sometimes, on nights like these, I'm scared that I..."

He waited for you to continue, but when you didn't, he gently patted your back. "That you what?"

"That I want too much."

Joshua breathed in. Held that air for a few more seconds than necessary. Breathed out. He wondered if it would always be like this-- you being brave enough to speak aloud the fears he kept locked up.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, because what else could he say?

Me too?

No. He couldn't know if you meant it in the same way he felt, and it would be selfish to let his words and feelings out now, while his two other best friends were asleep mere meters away.

You chuckled, as if to dispel any vulnerability you'd revealed. "Easy for you to say."

You had no idea.

"I'll protect you."

"Ah, right. Did you read my mind? We'll have to sleep out here tonight."

Not yet catching up to your joke, Joshua loosened his arms around you and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

You lifted your head, a cheeky, bitable smile on your lips. Your voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. "There's a monster under your bed."

⭒-⭒-⭒

Joshua ends up in the kitchen downstairs, all three boys sitting on the counter since Papa Seungcheol isn't there to discourage it. He tried to help Vernon right back into bed, he swears, but as soon as Seungkwan roused from his sleep and asked Vernon what was wrong, a conspiracy of monsters under each of their beds spiralled out of control. Even Chan got dragged in, heavy sleeper that he is.

Now, Joshua's showing them his ultra-secret monster repellent recipe. He melts an ice cube on a warm pan like a slab of butter, then pours warm water over it. Hiding more ice in his hands, he pretends to pull it from the pantry and adds that to the "mixture" too.

The boys watch, entranced and more than a little tired, as Joshua carefully pours the pan's contents into a measuring cup filled with yet more ice. He then pours that into a spray bottle they use to water the plants and screws the lid on. "There," he says proudly, presenting the bottle in front of the boys like it's a fine wine.

"What's going on down here?" your soft voice comes from the bottom of the stairway.

Joshua winces. "I was hoping I wouldn't wake you."

"It's alright," you say, though he can tell you're still fatigued. You walk over to the kitchen and pet the first boy's head that you reach, Chan's. "What are you all doing up?"

While Vernon makes grabby hands for you to run your fingers through his hair as well, Seungkwan answers. "Papa Shua's making monster-go-away juice."

"Monster-go-away juice?" you echo, then turn to Joshua with feigned shock and a quiet gasp. "Not your secret recipe?"

Joshua smiles. You're always so quick to match his humour. "I know." He throws the boys a look before meeting your eyes with full, teasing seriousness. "But I think they're ready."

Your eyes glimmer with laughter, but you hold yourself back for the sake of the bit. Turning to your sons, you wag your finger. "This is powerful stuff, boys. You have to use it carefully."

Chan's eyes are wide, sparkling with awe as he takes in your every word. Seungkwan and Vernon are equally rapt. Joshua's going to have to explain all this to the more straightforward husbands tomorrow, but tonight? Seeing the adorable looks on his sons faces and the playful tilt of yours is totally worth it.

"But don't worry," he chimes in. "It only works on monsters. It's harmless to humans. See?"

In a flash, he points the bottle at you and pulls the trigger, spraying a thin mist of water-water right in your face. You flinch in surprise, affronted, but only Joshua can tell. You laugh, then look at the boys again. "See? Nothing." You snatch the spray bottle from him. "It doesn't do anything to papa Joshua, either."

Okay, he thinks as you spray him not once, but three times, he deserves that.

"Now, papa Joshua and I are going to take care of any monsters, and then we're all gonna go to sleep, okay?"

The boys nod, and Vernon yawns, then motions for you to pick him up. You send a look Joshua's way, and he sends one right back. He gathers both Seungkwan and Chan in his arms, but before you start the trek up the stairs, he stops you. Each of the sons in his arms get a kiss to the top of their head, and then he leans over and presses one to your temple. Lastly, he bends down and, while Vernon has raised his arm to once again rub his eyes, Joshua kisses his tiny little hand. Just like he imagined over breakfast not so long ago.

No, waking up in the middle of the night to save his sons from imaginary monsters was never his idea. Neither was this life, or this family.

But Joshua wouldn't have it any other way.

[applejuicebegood]

Best-friend!Dick Grayson HCs (Hero!Reader)

Fem!Reader

A/N: I haven't written anything for Mr. Grayson yet, I feel ashamed. This is based of the Young Justice Dick Grayson btw Masterlist

You met through the original Young Justice team. Both awkward tweens attempting to mirror the legacy of the Hero's the group was founded upon.

He was the unintentional balance between Kalders unrelenting seriousness and Wally's extreme extrorevtism. He could cancel out the chaos of Conner's fits of anger and Artemis's petty fights with Roy. He became your stability within this extremely unconventional friend group you had found yourself in.

Stripped of his family and a normal childhood, it was rare for Dick to grow confident in the stability of any relationship. Only, stability is what you embodied for him. You were like the serene guiding point in a crowd of uncontrollable teenage angst and anger.

In the early days of the team where Dick assumed the position of 'team-leader' was innately his, he would secretly mimic your intense control of not only your emotions but your abilities and skill to hopefully appear more qualified.

To him, your skill is battle was artful. You moved with a grace that he had never seen replicated in any dancer or gymnast that cycled through Haly's Circus. You were entrancing and almost addicting to watch. His footwork and faints becoming tighter and more effecting the more he watched you train, and eventually training with you.

It was how you initially grew close as teammates. Long sparing sessions where you're combat and skill was so perfectly reflecting off of each other. You both would stay on the training pad for hours, trying until you gave in to knock the other off of their feet. It appeared unless, you both were obviously equally matched in skill and fight IQ. With Wally and Megan taking bets on who would go down first, neither of them ever actually paid up since you both would have to tap out from pure exhaustion.

But it was the rush of understanding that made you train with Dick until you both couldn't feel your arms. It was the exhilarating thrill of knowing someone entirely understood your limits and skill as well as they knew their own.

And when it came time for Dick to have someone covering his blindspots, it was you with your back against his. You had spared and trained and bled so much together that your weaknesses and habits had become a second nature.

You knew Dick had a tendency to keep his kicks wider, putting him at a speed disadvantage to regain stability on his feet. Giving you more opportunity to keep his sides covered as he leapt back to cover your right, where he knew you had trouble keeping track of.

It wasn't just your synchronization that made you such a good pair, it was the tenderness you knew that the other needed afterwards.

After brutal missions where your knuckles would be caked with dried blood and the adrenaline high was making you too dizzy to think, Dick would slink his arm under yours and carry you back into the safety of the hideout. He would guide you to a bed, willing you to shut your eyes and breath deeply. He would lean his forehead against yours, having you match the pace of his breath to level your nerves.

He hated it when other people would treat your injuries and he wasn't there. This scared, paranoid part of him had to be present with you. He needed to have his hand open for your to hold in a vice grip as Megan dug the bullet from your leg. He needed to be sitting by your shoulder as you slept, the oxygen mask fixed over your face, so that when you woke up- it could be Dick smothering you in his arms as he silently sobbed against your shoulder. So happy that you hadn't left him just yet.

And as much as he worried about you and the team, it felt good to worry. It felt good to have so many people he cared for and needed to keep safe.

He helps wrap and clean your hands before and after missions. Smoothing his thumbs over the tightness of your calloused palm. He smiles as you groan in relief as he works out a stubborn knot.

Your his sister in everything but blood. His reminder that he was able to find another family after his was taken.

It's funny in that his last memories with his mother was her asking him if he wanted a sibling. Dick liked to think that she, where-ever her soul rested, pre-determined your presence in his life. That she still managed to give him a sibling.

When you were both still young teenagers, you encouraged him to try for the Gotham High gymnastics team. Thinking that it would be good to separate that part of himself from hero-work. Of course he made the team. And of course you would always be front row to everyone of his competitions. Your voice would hurt from how loud you cheered and screamed as the gold metals were hung around his neck.

He treats birthdays and other holidays very seriously. He's got a list for everyone on the team of things they said they needed or liked. His gifts are so personal and sweet but it's the cards that make you tear up.

Being Hero's from such a young age, both of you struggled with really bad nightmares. It was common when the two of you were 14 for Dick to tap on your bedroom door late at night. His eyes wide and his raven hair tousled across his tight forehead. You didn't have to say anything to each other, at least not until the morning. You would pull back your covers and pat the space beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. You both would lay there, looking up at the ceiling until his weak, hoarse voice would break the silence. 'Can I hold your hand?' You nodded, settling on your side. You poked your open palm out from the covers, waisting for him to lace his fingers over your knuckles. He finally let out a relived sigh, shutting his eyes as he squeezed your hand in a thank you you knew he couldn't say.

He snorts when he laughs, something only you know about since you have been one of the only ones to make him laugh so hard. You find it insanely adorable.

Slightly overprotective. He really hates it when you're out late at night and you haven't texted. A smaller, traumatized part of his assuming the worst. He likes to keep his shoulder close to yours if your walking down a busy street together, or his hand hanging behind your upper back if your making your way through a thick crowd.

You quite literally grew up together. You were there for every embarrassing fumble in conversations and violent breakdown. You were there, side by side, when you got your highschool diplomas and when you immediately had to stop a drug trade right after the ceremony. You were there through everything, and Dick is going to try his absolute hardest to make sure your there for the rest of it.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Jimin

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Cream] 2/2

You're just so sweet, he can't help himself.

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past trauma, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though, just hybrid things (scenting, grooming, biting, licking, scruffing, and more), hurt & comfort

Length: 1.7k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: I hate this chapter so much.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

When you come out of the shower, you don't bother with clothes- even the towel around you feels too much, any fabric covering you suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. And it's not like you've got something to hide either- he's gonna see you naked at some point anyways. 

So you simply throw yourself back into bed, hair still dry since you only wanted to really rinse off the sweat from the night's fever- making Jungkook playfully smack your leg. "Don't throw yourself around like that." He scolds, but you just roll over and sigh, rolling your eyes. 

"Did you have fun?" He asks, and you know he can probably still smell your pathetic attempt at trying to release some of the tension building up for you. 

It failed- you've passed the threshold, you're no longer able to really.. get off yourself anymore. And it's frustrating. 

"No.." you mumble, as he gets up presumably to shower too. He's not leaving you- you trust in that, and from the sounds of it in the bathroom, you're right too- he's just cleaning up, he's still gonna stay. 

What you don't expect however is for him to emerge from the bathroom fully nude. 

He's entirely unbothered by it, sitting down comfortably on the bed while you're short-circuiting. "We don't have to do anything, you know that, right?" He offers, and you nod after a moment. 

"I just feel like.. I don't know." You huff, throwing yourself onto your back in frustration. "It's.. too fast." You explain. "It's.. all the.. thrill will be gone." 

"You're worried I won't be interested in you after this?" He wonders, and you shrug, before nodding towards the ceiling. "That's bullshit." He says. 

"You say that now cause you're horny." You huff, crossing your arms, cat tail swishing over the bed. 

"Nop, still flaccid." He jokes boldly, making you sit up in a scandalized manner, causing him to laugh loudly, eyes sparkling in their crescent shape, cheeks round. "Listen.. things simply work differently for you and me." He explains. "We're not human. We're not Jimin or Yoongi." He offers, and you look down at his knees to not accidentally stare at his junk. "And I'm not like whatever you think I'll be like." 

"Prove it then." You challenge, making him smile boyishly. "I'm not joking!" You scold, and he laughs, nodding. 

"I know." He agrees. "And that makes me happy." He tells you, making you smile warmly as well. 

Because he's right. He's already not what you thought he'd be like. 

And it causes your confidence to rise enough for you to move, shed your towel to present yourself bare as well, simply to offer him the same as he offers you. 

Yourself. Unfiltered. 

And despite the fact that right now, he could do anything he wants with you- 

He just reaches out to hug you, and hold you. 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

It's funny how he adapts to your rather.. unconventional heat. 

He's not interested in sex, because you're not either- you're more so needy for physical comfort, having him close, nesting with him, and occasionally playing around, his hand catching your fluffy tail but never too hard to hurt. 

Jimin and Yoongi probably think you're currently soiling the sheets with sweat, and you are- the dog hybrid gently caring for you whenever your body falls into a fever from the confused hormones inside you raging wildly. He'll hold you, open the window so you can cool off a bit, and helps you wash as soon as your temperature regulates again. 

And it's clear to you now that, while he's not gaining any sexual gratification from this, he's still satisfying a need of his own. 

Because you want him. You like him. You trust him. 

You don't fear him, no matter what he does. 

He can growl, he can be loud, he can be wild, manhandle you around or playfight over who gets more blanket- you don't ever become scared of him. There's not a single second where you jump back from him, no instinct in your bones to shy back away from him at any point.  

You're currently purring, rolling around in nothing but a shirt and panties, while he wears even less, only his underwear covering his most private parts. 

Right now, even though you're not actually actively trying to mate, Jungkook would not let neither his owner, nor Jimin anywhere near you. You need to be protected right now, and that's his job- one he takes very seriously. 

Especially now that you're both no longer talking at all, no words needed as he runs his hands over your skin, simply offering romantic affection with no underlying goals in mind. And you clearly enjoy it, holding onto his hand as it runs over your cheek, nuzzling into his touch as he moves to hold you again.  

He worries, a little. Your waves of fever have become worse and worse every time they happen- and he wonders if he might have to go against his instincts after all, and get help from the other two humans in the neighbouring house. 

He doesn't want you to suffer- and if he can't help you, he needs to find someone who can. 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

You’re shed your shirt you wore earlier, leaving him will full access to your bare body- the only thing the two of you are wearing being standard underwear.  

He was definitely right about you owning the probably most cute and yet arousing underwear he could’ve imagined- lace rimmed panties decorated by a little bow and sparkling little charm in the middle. And he also has to admit that your bed is extremely comfortable- already making him a little excited about how to ruin the sheets one day if you’re up for that at any point in the future.  

But right now, none of his or your touch has any sexual intentions at all. There’s no heat in your affections- just the need to be close, just the desire to be offered something physical.  

You’re slowly easing out of your panicked state too, body apparently deciding that he’s no longer any kind of threat or danger- in fact, you’re actively seeking him now, clinging to him, hands kneading on his body occasionally, while he himself has become a little more bold as well, moving to pull you closer to him, face hiding in the crook of your neck where your scent is strongest. “How’re you feeling?” He asks quietly, and you instantly start to purr at the sound of his voice alone, causing him to laugh.  

“I don’t.. Want this to end yet..” You mumble, pulling his arm over your waist to hold you- something he happily does, hand on the small of your pack feeling your soft skin.  

“Doesn’t have to.” He shrugs, opening his eyes to look at you. “We can cuddle like this whenever you want.” He offers, and at that, your tail curls, legs caging his in.  

“Whenever I want?” You ask, and he smiles, nodding. “What if I always want to?” You wonder. “As soon as you come home from work.. Or when we go to bed.. What if I wanna sleep in the same bed every night?” You demand, and he can’t help but laugh.  

“I guess we can swap around every now and then.” He offers. “You can sleep in my bed over at Yoongi’s with me.. And I can sleep here in your bed with you from time to time..” He explains, and you nod.  

“But you need more pillows.” You instantly argue. “You almost have none.” You huff, rolling a little onto your back now, his hand reaching out to squeeze one of your tits playfully, making you laugh and turn over entirely to hide from him.  

But that’s not how it works for him, as he instantly takes the invitation to sit up and pull you back towards him, playfully biting at your neck, making you laugh loudly as you try and wiggle out of his grip. But he’s got a good hold on you-  

And you also don’t really want to get away from him either.  

“How about we take a nice long bath now?” He wonders into your neck. “Put the sheets in the wash, put on some clothes. I bet you Jimin is probably worried about you by now.” He tells you, and you shrug.  

“He’s got Yoongi.” You huff. “And I got you now.” You turn to look over your shoulder at him. “And you’ll only need me, right?” You ask, and he smiles.  

“Of course.” He agrees. “What else could I need other than a true princess?” 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

“There you are!” Jimin beams, instantly hugging you- making you cringe slightly, though you don’t actively pull away from him. “Everything okay now? Are you sure?” He rambles, while Yoongi puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder to calm him down.  

“She’s fine, a little drowsy.” Jungkook teases, making your tail swipe from side to side. It’s clear to everyone that you’ve bonded over the almost week you’ve spent together- something having clicked into place it seems like, as you jump towards the kitchen with Jungkook in tow closing the fridge just to scold you playfully for ‘acting like you own the place’.  

“She’s.. Really happy.” Jimin hums almost to himself, Yoongi patting his back gently. 

“Not a bad thing.” He shrugs. “Get used to it. After all, looks like we’ll have to adjust the housing situation soon.” 

“Why?” Jimin asks, almost offended.  

“I mean-” Yoongi says, before looking towards the kitchen where you’re currently busy jumping behind Jungkook with your hands on his shoulders while he puts a pot on the stove. “-I personally would like to not accidentally listen in on whatever they’re up to in the future.” He laughs, making Jimin blush a deep red, never having thought about that.  

“Oh.” He simply says- 

Feeling a bit odd at the realization of slowly having to let you go. ♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

[concreteburialplot]

Wallflower 🌸

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist: Here | Crossposted: ao3 | Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Overwhelmed at your first college party, you catch the attention of the most popular guy in the room. Not only does he offer a comforting escape from the chaos, but he also provides a place to stay when your roommate kicks you out for a hookup.

Warnings: mutual pining, panic attacks, overstimulation, alcohol consumption, college parties, frat boy!danny lol, minor altercation / brief angry sam, hint of forbidden twin?, weed, one bed trope technically?, very soft, enchanted by TS vibes, eventual smut in future parts, 18+ MDNI

A/N; This is my first fic for gvf, pls be kind 🥲 - this is a work of fiction and does not reflect any members of the band or their real lives/actions/etc. - i hope you like it 🥲💞🌸

It was only your 3rd weekend away at university and your extremely extroverted roommate somehow talked you into a frat party. You followed Katie into a massive, bustling house illuminated only by strobe and neon lights. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette and marijuana smoke, making your nose scrunch up at the pungent smell. 

She pressed a gentle but firm hand on your back and nudged you forward, not realizing until then that you had been frozen in place.

Katie somehow managed to glide through the crowd effortlessly, skillfully maneuvering without bumping into anyone. She even asked someone for directions to the kitchen, to which they eagerly pointed out the way. It was so foreign to you, the concept of speaking to strangers and receiving such kindness in return so quickly. Perhaps it was her brighter face and friendlier persona that made the difference. 

Following the directions from a blonde girl wearing only a bikini, you made your way across the house into a surprisingly spacious kitchen. The room had an unconventional layout, resembling a triangle with an oddly-shaped island at its center. 

There were people scooting around the edges of the crowded kitchen trying to reach the liquor bottles and jell-o shots strewn across the counters. Surrounding the ample island were party goers all engaged in a rowdy conversation. You followed their focus to the one commanding their attention and landed on what could quite possibly be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Long brunette hair flowed past his shoulders and had a slight wave that framed his face perfectly. Even in the dim light of the kitchen you could make out the sharpness of his features. The air in your lungs seemed to vanish and your ears tuned out the booming laughter and thumping party music. Your chest swelled with a feeling of rampant heart rate and your stomach dropped into a flurry of butterflies. Suddenly, you felt even smaller and more out of place than you’d ever felt perhaps in your entire life.

Your life-of-the-party, sunshiney roommate wrapped her fingers around your wrist and dragged you to the group of people on the opposite side of the island, next to where the stunning man stood. She made it to a tall male in a t-shirt with cropped sleeves, large enough to show his ribs.

“Danny!” Katie exclaimed, getting his attention.

“Oh hey!” He smiled wide as he turned away from the counter to face her. “You made it!”

“Y/N this is Danny,” She gestured to the boy with dark curly hair that was tucked beneath a backwards cap, “I met him at the bookstore yesterday.”

You wondered what sort of magic Katie possessed that allowed her to make friends everywhere she went.

He kept a kind smile on his lips as he waved to you.

“Hey.” You sheepishly smiled and waved back to him.

Your roommate gestured back to you, “Danny this is Y/N.”

He gave you a soft grin before directing his attention back to your roommate. “Did you ever get your textbook situation figured out?”

The party had only grown more unruly in the short time you’d been there. You slunk into the background of the lively kitchen until your hips met the cold counter. You tugged at the pink top Katie had lent to you in an attempt to cover a bit more of your midsection. Not only had she persuaded you to party tonight, she also convinced you to borrow some of her clothes, since yours were too “casual comfy”. She managed to get you into a baby tee paired with a high-waisted white skirt paired with your usual white Converse. You didn’t necessarily feel exposed or vulnerable in the outfit, it was just not your preferred level of comfort.

Loud cheering rang through the house and even though you could tell it was from a distance, the loud sound still made you wince. Almost immediately afterwards, a clearly wasted man in a tank stop shoved his way past you, pushing you into the granite counter. The encounter caused you to tuck your crossed arms even tighter against your body. 

“Sam,” Danny spoke over the blaring music to the male that was keeping the group laughing to get his attention. “Sam,” He repeats, though the lanky boy was too caught up in whatever conversation he was in to notice. Danny gently tapped his shoulder which finally got the boy to look over at him. “I’m gonna go find Josh.” He nearly yelled over the music and thumbed over his shoulder towards the living room.

“Okay.” The male nodded in acknowledgment.

Just as his gaze fell from his friend, it landed on you. It was clear that he didn’t expect there to be anything to get his attention as he blinked to do a subtle double take. His eyes flickered over to his friends across from the geometric-shaped island. He snapped right back into the flowing banter like a puzzle piece. The ease of how swiftly he melted back into the conversation reminded you a lot of Katie and her magic socializing powers.

While Katie didn’t originally know the people beside you, it only took for her to ask them to pass the tequila for a friendship to be born and for you to have a mixed drink in your hand. You swirled the contents of your plastic red cup, watching as the ice cubes crashed into each other. It felt as though you’d faded into the background and became one with the cabinets and counters. You weren’t anywhere near as outgoing as her and you knew nobody else at the party. It was just you and the shitty alcoholic punch that was quickly getting watered down in your cup.

“Well, you sure look like you’re having fun.” Spoke a voice from beside you. It wasn’t until then that you realized you had zoned out. Your eyes snapped up to the now half-empty kitchen, and you wonder when it was that everyone cleared out, including your roommate. Finally, you followed the voice and trailed your eyes up to find the long-haired boy from before.

Your cheeks heated up and your gaze immediately dropped back down to your cup. “Oh um, yeah.” You forced a quick smile back up at him. “Having a great time.”

He let out a laugh that was more reminiscent of one someone would offer after a witty joke. “Well that was incredibly convincing.” He said sarcastically although his tone was light and playful.

You could feel the redness spreading on your cheeks getting caught in your (quite obvious) lie. “I just don’t know anyone here.” While it was the truth, it wasn’t exactly the whole reason you were miserable. “Except for my roommate, who,” You sighed and motioned towards where she had stood before. “Disappeared on me.” You let your arm fall to your side in utter defeat.

“Well, let’s fix that.” He said, holding out his hand. “Hi, I’m Sam, I’ve also been known to go by Sammy, Sammy Boy, whatever tickles your fancy really.” He grinned, big and wide, and most importantly, kind .

You offered a small, timid smile back before reaching out and slipping your hand into his. “Y/N.”

His smile only grew as he firmly grasped your hand and gave it a good, firm shake. “An honor to make your acquaintance.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at all his eccentric verbiage. “Nice to meet you too, Sam.”

The alcohol must’ve been hitting your system more than you thought since you probably would’ve barely been able to speak a single word to this man if you had been sober.

“Is this your party?” You asked, trying to cover your bases before talking any more shit about the ensemble.

He laughed hard that time, “Me? In a fraternity? God no.” He shook his head and took a sip of his beer. “It seems like everyone ended up at this party, even you, Wallflower.” He offered a playful smile.

Your cheeks burned hot at the nickname even though it was meant to be comical. “Oh,” You chuckled nervously and your gaze fell back to your red cup. “Parties just aren’t my thing, my roommate just dragged me here.”

“What couldn’t you like about a party like this?” He stepped back and stretched his arms wide. If you weren’t mistaken, his tone sounded half facetious. He smiled then stepped back towards you. “Besides the god-awful music, of course.” He kept his grin as he took a sip from his beer bottle, a lime wedge clunking against the glass walls.

You chuckled at his theatrics, he was quickly becoming one of the most interesting people you’d ever met. “The music isn’t so bad, not really my taste but, it’s not the worst part.” You shrugged. “It’s mainly the people.” Your gaze followed past the boy, through the kitchen arch entrance into the living room where the hoard of college students danced and mingled. “Too many people.” 

“You sound like my brother Jake.” He laughed fondly. “He loves to party, but with the right people. That’s why he’s not up here. My other brother though,” He peeked over his shoulder at the party. “He’s in there somewhere having the time of his life right now.”

“And you?” You questioned, turning your face up to him. “Why aren’t you out there?”

The corners of his mouth turned up like it was the easiest thing in the world, like forming a smile was what he was born to do. “Well, because I’m talking to you, silly.” He stated as if it was obvious.

Heat rushed to your cheeks once more. “Oh, well I don’t wanna keep you from your friends.” You shook your head and tried to keep your eyes on him as you spoke but failed and your gaze fell back to the melting ice in your cup. “I’m sure they’re waiting for you.”

“I’m not in a rush.” He replied simply, keeping his focus earnestly on you. “I’m sure that I’m the last thing on their minds right now.” He joked.

“I suppose you’re probably right.” You chuckled and met his eyes.

Suddenly, a visibly wasted frat boy fashioned in a neon green tank top shoved his way between the both of you. The abrasive action not only shoved Sam backwards but also bumped into your cup splashing a bit of drink onto your shirt. You gasped at the unexpected force then hissed at the coldness now spreading across your skin. 

Sam set his beer down harshly on the island, hard enough for the glass clank to ring through the small space. “What the fuck man?” His tone was irritated but not quite angry yet, until his eyes noticed the blue alcohol bleeding across your baby pink top. 

The boy, who looked like his name was Kyle, drunkenly smirked at the remark, as if irritating Sam seemed like fun to him. “You should be thanking me for getting your girl wet.” 

You’d only known Sam all of maybe 30 minutes but you could tell he wasn’t one to pick fights, however you questioned that truth when you watched his brows lower at the male. He stepped towards him with a strongly pointed finger. “Really bold of you to be so disrespectful to someone who could easily get your ass kicked out of here.”

The boy scoffed at him, “Oh what are you gonna do, ban me from every party?” He asksd as if it’s a joke.

“That exactly.” Sam stated calmly though you could tell it was anger he was suppressing. “I know every fucker in this house, all I’ve gotta do is point you out, and boom,” He shrugged casually. “Say goodbye to every party of the year.”

It was obvious that the boy only half believed him but the threat of being exiled from the campus’ largest and most anticipated parties had his eyes widening. 

“That’s what I thought.” His arm swung towards the kitchen exit. “Now get the fuck out, and don’t let me see you again.”

He nodded quickly and sped out of the kitchen. When Sam’s gaze returned to you it quickly softened and his hands immediately found your arms to comfort you. “I’m so sorry.” He apologized even though it wasn’t his fault. His eyes landed on your chest though you knew it wasn’t disrespectful. “Here.” He swiftly pivoted behind you to snag the roll of paper towels, snapping off a few squares before dampening them in the metal sink beside you. He brought the dampened pieces and went to help clean your shirt but stopped himself before making contact. His chocolatey eyes snapped up to you with a look of apology. “May I?” 

You were stunned by everything that had just occurred so you just nodded. His touches were gentle, patting the colorful stain away. “I’m sorry that happened. I know you just said how you were already overwhelmed with everything.”

You sucked a breath in through your nose trying to steady your breathing, attempting to act normal even though the event overstimulated you enough to border a panic attack. “No it’s okay, I just-“ You closed your eyes and let your chest fall as you exhaled. “This stuff is just, it’s a lot.” You kept your focus off of him feeling somewhat ashamed of it. You’re in college, something so minor at a party shouldn’t bother you, right?

He paused his actions to glance up at you before returning to his work on your shirt. “Don’t apologize. Like I said, my older brother Jake doesn’t like crowds either.” He informed softly, taking extra care to not touch you too much or make you uncomfortable. “I’m used to this.” His shoulders pulled into a shrug. 

“Thanks.” You nodded, grateful for his kindness. You allowed a quiet fall between you as you focused on calming down. After a bit of him going back and forth with new paper towels with little success, you sighed looking down at the vibrant blue splotch. “It’s okay, it doesn’t look like it’s gonna come out.”

The edge of his mouth curved into a slight frown knowing that despite his best efforts, you were right. “I’m sorry.” He added the last used paper towel onto the pile beside you. “Hey, let me at least get you a fresh shirt.”

After cleaning up the mess of paper towels, he led you away from the crowd and upstairs to rows of ample bedrooms. 

“I thought you weren’t a part of this frat?” You asked as he went directly to a specific door. 

“I’m not,” He twisted the doorknob to a surprisingly empty bedroom. The rest of them seemed to be …preoccupied. The room looked like a stereotypical college dorm just in an elaborate fancy house. There were sports posters on each side of the walls above two separate beds, along with soccer and golf gear spread over the floor. It was surprisingly clean but you wondered if that was by design, if it was only clean because they anticipated having company tonight. Without turning the light on, Sam found his way to a wooden dresser and dug through it. You furrowed your brows in confused concern since he just informed you that this was in fact not his room. If you knew him better you’d scold him and ask what he was doing rifling through someone else’s belongings but you held your tongue in favor of curiosity. 

The moonlight peering through the window casted a sparkling light across his features. He seemed to glow, the light loved his smooth tan skin, the sharp edges of his face and the honey in his eyes. It felt wrong to ogle at him like he was some Greek sculpture but you couldn’t help it. He was just so beautiful .

You promptly averted your stare when he finally turned back to you and held out a folded shirt flat on two hands like a gift. “That guy your friend was talking to in the kitchen? That’s my best friend Danny.” He smiled fondly, evidently proud of his friendship. “He does live here and so I end up crashing here all the time so, I have some backup clothes.” He tilted his head to the shirt. “It’s clean, you can borrow it for the night if you want.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept up to your lips at his gesture. You gently took the rusty brown shirt and thanked him. He led you to the nearest empty bathroom for you to change.

Being alone in a bathroom at a party tended to be a great place to gauge where your head was at so, when you stood in front of the mirror and assessed yourself you noticed a couple things. You looked absolutely ridiculous with the giant blue splotch across your chest. There was a slight warm redness in your cheeks indicated that you were a little tipsy but not enough to numb your fingers or lips. And finally, a fluttering had made home in your tummy and a smitten grin kept threatening to creep across your lips. You wondered if the pink in your cheeks was truly the alcohol or something else entirely. 

After you changed into the borrowed shirt, you stepped out of the bathroom to find Sam leaning against the stairway railing mindlessly waiting for you. Once his eyes finally landed on you, the edges of his mouth tugging into a smooth and soft smile. “Ah, it looks great on you!” He exclaimed with an arm stretched out to his side before softly landing on your shoulder. 

The warmth in your cheeks worsened at his compliment, which you quickly tried to squash by telling yourself that he’s just being nice. “Thanks.” You replied in a voice smaller than you intended. 

If this had been any other night, with anyone else, you would’ve definitely already been on your way home by now, but you couldn’t possibly cheat yourself out of time with the most interesting person you’d ever met. Even so, the idea of going back to the chaos downstairs wasn’t appealing at all. 

Almost as if he could read your mind, he straightened up a bit like he’d just thought of an idea. “By chance, do you happen to play pool?”

Your brows furrowed and your head tilted slightly like a confused puppy. “Um, a little, a long time ago. I don’t really remember how though.”

His lips tugged into a wide smile. “Perfect! Let me show you something, follow me.”

Now, it wasn’t your brightest moment, letting a random boy at a party lead you downstairs into a basement but for whatever reason you trusted him. He was far too kind to be devious – besides, what sort of sinister person wears a cream-colored knit sweater to a frat party?

You followed him down some carpeted steps into a brick-lined basement. You looked around the room taking it in fully. While it was still busy with people, the atmosphere was much different. The music was softer, and the chatter wasn’t nearly as loud. The room was full of games, from pool tables to air hockey to darts and even some arcade games. It was accompanied by an espresso-colored leather couch and wooden bar stocked with what looked like every bottle of liquor imaginable. The basement was much more your speed than upstairs would ever be.

Sam must’ve noticed your amazement, giving you a tiny smirk. “Much better, isn’t it?”

“Worlds better.” You grinned up at him in gratitude, though a twinkle of fear sparked in your stomach at the thought that he may just leave you there to rejoin his friends upstairs.

That worry melted away when he was instantly greeted by nearly everyone in the room. You were beginning to learn that he had friends everywhere he went. The only one you recognized was Danny from earlier which surprised you since he seemed like the life of the party earlier and it was his party after all. Next to him stood a shorter boy with long brown hair somewhat reminiscent to Sam’s. In opposition to Sam’s sweater, this boy wore a button down held together only by the last two buttons before being tucked into his jeans. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow the long corded, crystal necklace that laid down his exposed chest. When you heard Sam’s voice beginning introductions, you blinked your eyes up to the mystery boy’s face only to find his eyes already on yours with a smirk. Your cheeks burned in hopes that neither of them noticed your wandering eyes. 

“Well you already met Danny, but this is my brother Jake.” Sam grinned introducing him. “Jake this is Y/N, Y/N this is Jake.” He gestured between you both. 

Jake smiled at you but you took note of the corner of his lip curling into another smirk. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He pulled the pool stick he was using off the table until he stood it up beside him holding it like a staff. 

“Hey.” Your lips tugged into a tightlipped smile as you tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear before waving at him. 

Sam then grinned wide and clapped his hands together, startling you a bit. “Okay! Now you said that you don’t know how to play, right?”

“Not really, no.” You shook your head, stepping back to turn towards the vacant pool table parallel to the one Jake and Danny were playing on. Your eyes lingered on the green fabric table top and tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you realized that you absolutely did not remember how to play. 

Sam noticed your lingering apprehension and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "Don't worry, it's easy! I'll walk you through it, Wallflower." He said the nickname in a playful manner, poking light fun at your timidness.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Jake take note of the nickname and it made you wonder why - was it because it was clear why it was your nickname or the fact that Sam had already given you one?

He picked up a pool cue and handed it to you, demonstrating how to hold it properly. "First, you want to get your grip right. Hold it like this," he said, gently taking your hands and positioning them on the cue. His touch was soft but firm, and resembled electricity against your skin.

You tried to mimic his stance, but it felt awkward and unnatural. Sensing your struggle, Sam stepped closer, his chest barely brushing against your back. "Here, let me help you," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His hands gently adjusted your grip and guided your arm into the correct position. "Now, keep your eye on the ball you're aiming for."

You nodded, trying to focus despite the buzzing in your stomach. Sam's presence was both comforting and extremely nerve-wracking. "Like this?" you asked, lining up your shot.

"Exactly," he confirmed with a large, prideful smile. "Now, just take a deep breath and strike."

You took a breath, steadying your nerves, and struck the cue ball. It rolled smoothly across the table, colliding with the intended target and sending it into a pocket. Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. "I did it!"

Sam laughed, clearly pleased with your success. "See? I told you it was easy."

As you and Sam continued to play, Jake wandered over, with a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Hey Sam, I got a few pointers to give, don’t you mind?" he asked, already picking up a pool cue before the other answered. 

Sam’s tone and deadpanning glare made it obvious that he was used to but far too old for the competitive big brother behavior. "Alright, Jake, let's see what great pointers you got." Sam rolled his eyes already knowing where this was leading but stepped back with a good-natured chuckle to keep peace. 

Jake sauntered over, exuding a casual confidence with every step. While he and Sam both oozed confidence, they were much different in their own ways. Sam was self-assured in the way he could be the center of attention in any room by being solely his authentic self. Jake’s composed demeanor was different. He didn’t make himself the center of attention in the room, he just was - you’d barely been in the room 60 seconds before he captivated you.

Jake stood beside you, his presence more imposing than Sam's, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "Alright, Y/N, let's see how you're holding that cue."

You showed him the way Sam had taught you hold, feeling slightly nervous under his intense gaze. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Nah, you've got it wrong. Here, let me show you."

He moved behind you, much like Sam had, but his approach was different. Jake's hands were firmer, his touch more assertive. He adjusted your grip with a practiced ease, his fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "You need to be more confident with your shot," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Pool is as much about attitude as it is about skill."

Sam watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. You tried to focus on Jake's instructions, but his proximity was a bit overwhelming. "Like this?" you asked, adjusting your stance under his guidance.

"Exactly," Jake replied, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. The sensation alone had goosebumps erupt across your skin. "Now, don't hesitate. Just go for it."

You struck the cue ball, and it collided with the intended target, sending it into a pocket with a satisfying clink. Jake's grin widened. "See? Not bad at all."

You glanced over at Sam across the room, who surprisingly gave you a thumbs up, his smile genuine despite the shift in dynamic. "Nice shot, Y/N!" he called out.

Jake stepped back, leaning against the table with a satisfied look. "Alright, Sammy boy, she's all yours again," he said with a perpetual smirk and a wink in your direction.

Sam rejoined you, his demeanor as warm and patient as ever towards you but you caught him shooting a slight glare over at Jake. "Great job, Y/N. You did so good!" Even though Jake’s proximity had your heart thumping, you were happy to have Sam’s comforting presence back.

Blood rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, “Thanks.” You replied meekly. Between Sam being well, Sam, and Jake’s oddly competitive behavior, you had to admit that you were a tad overwhelmed with it all. Although, it wasn’t necessarily an entirely bad feeling just, a lot for someone who never went out all that much before. It was a lot and your social battery was quickly depleting.

You ended up finishing your rounds with Sam while Jake and Danny continued to play their own game. Every so often you found yourself peeking over at Jake who was cool and focused with a cigar perched between his fingers. 

Surprisingly, you won your game but wondered if Sam had let you win. Regardless of whether your success was genuine, it filled you with a rush of accomplishment. If the night hadn’t been so long already you might’ve even initiated another game, but the ache of sleep started to weigh heavy on your bones. 

You rounded the table with a smile wider than you’ve had in weeks, thinking that maybe college wouldn’t be as scary as you spent so much time stressing over. 

“Thanks for teaching me.” You used both hands to keep the cue in place while you leaned against it tiredly. 

“Ah, you were a great student.” He waved away your politeness. 

You blinked up at him, finally able to see his face clearly in the better lighting of the basement. He looked even more striking under the warm glow, the soft yellow light highlighting his beautifully sun-kissed skin. His features were defined, with sharp angles and a complexion so smooth it was almost unreal. But the most captivating part of him was undoubtedly his eyes. In that light, they were a mesmerizing shade of dark caramel brown, drawing you in and momentarily distracting you from everything else.

“Oh, um,” Blood rushed to your cheeks, turning them a deep pink. “I don’t think so, but I had a really good time.” For some reason the admission felt vulnerable. 

He smiled, “Well, I’m glad. I did too.”

You glanced over to the circular wall clock to find that it was well past 1 am. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize it was so late.” You sighed and met Sam’s gaze again. “I really should get going.”

“Oh,” He faltered a bit, “Did you need a ride? I’m sure I could find someone sober around here.” He twisted his body around to check the room for any candidates. 

You chuckled and shook your head, setting your cue on the pool table. “No it’s fine, I was just gonna walk.” 

“Oh, I can’t let you walk home alone! There’s creeps out there!” 

You mulled it over in your head and while you didn’t want to inconvenience him further, he had a point that hadn’t dawned on you yet. “Well, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s no bother at all.” He gestured towards the exit upstairs. “You ready?” 

You nodded and followed him up the stairs. Despite it being so late the party still raged on and kept the house chaotically crowded. Before you could really process an escape route, Sam grabbed your hand and began weaving through the crowd. You knew it was just precautionary and in reality it didn’t mean anything, but the action still filled your tummy with rampant butterflies and your chest with rapid thumping. 

Once you were safely on the porch, he released your hand and looked down at you. “You okay?” His brows curved up in concern. 

“Yeah.” You nodded with a small smile. It was almost embarrassing how brave you felt after surviving a rowdy frat party. 

“Okay good.” The smile he gave you was so sincere it almost made your heart ache. “Which way we headin’?” 

“That way.” You pointed to the left where the freshman dorms were located. 

“Cool, I live that way too.” He hopped off the porch while you opted for the three steps down he had skipped. 

You were both grateful and disappointed for the fact of your dorm was rather close to the party. As much as you craved your bed, it meant the end of this night with him would come sooner and you weren’t sure you were ready for that just yet. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but,” He prefaced a question, “Was that your first college party?” 

A gush of warm August wind washed over you, blowing your hair back. You let out an embarrassed chuckle, “Was it that obvious?” 

He let out a genuine laugh, “Not necessarily.” He lied, his shoulders pulling into a shrug. “Just a hunch.” He teased in a way you could tell wasn’t meant to be malicious. Even though he couldn’t relate, his words somehow sounded completely understanding. 

You fidgeted with your fingers since you didn’t have pockets in your borrowed skirt to shove them in. “You see, I have a history of being dragged to parties.” You joked even though you were exaggerating just a bit, only being ‘dragged’ to maybe 2 large high school parties, 3 if you count the one in middle school. You weren’t a stranger to alcohol or partying though, just preferred it in small, controlled settings with people you knew. “Like I said, I just don’t like strangers.”

“Well, strangers aren’t always bad.” He leaned a little in your direction with a raised brow. 

You giggled, “I guess you’re right.” And paused, “Afterall, I met Jake.” You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle a laugh at your own joke. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with a completely deadpan expression and eyes filled with mock disapproval. The sheer dramatics of his reaction shattered your resolve, and you burst into laughter, throwing your head back.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” he said, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, a playful smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m jokinggg!” You defended nudging his shoulder and felt better once his smile returned to his lips. 

You went to follow him once he resumed on the designated path but stopped short. “Hey, actually this is my dorm.”

He spun on his heels crunching the gravelly asphalt beneath his shoes and pointed up to the brick building. “You live in Lakewood Hall?” 

“Yeah?”

“I live in Lakewood too!” He exclaimed in a way you’d never seen someone be so excited over something so mundane. You were certain that he could probably find joy in just about anything life had to offer.

“Really? That’s cool. What floor?” You attempted to remain nonchalant about living in the same dorm as this wonderful man you thought you may never see again.

“3, you?” 

“Wait, same! How have I not seen you around?” You asked then began walking towards the keycard protected door. 

“I don’t know.” He said, “I guess maybe because like I said I spend most of my time at Danny’s?” As he spoke, he slipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a keycard. The door's light blinked green, and the lock clicked open, confirming that he did actually live there too.

Once on your floor, you headed to your door and felt your stomach drop when you spotted a dreaded sock on the handle of your door. Katie must’ve ended up with that tall tattooed boy you’d last seen her dancing with. You let out a defeated sigh, not knowing where else to go at this hour. 

Sam laughed and tilted his chin at your door. “Good for your roommate.” 

You shook your head, “Yeah good for her, not for me, I have nowhere to go now and it’s like 2 am.” Both anxiety and anger began to fizz in your chest.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, I’m just down the hall.” He pointed in the opposite direction of your room. “You can come chill with me. If you want.” He made it a point to add the last bit, not wanting to push you but definitely looking to spend more time with you. 

“Oh no, no.” You shook your head vehemently. “I’ve already bothered you enough tonight, I can’t possibly intrude on your bedtime.”

He laughed hard at that one, “It’s no big deal, I’m a night owl.”

“Well, I-”

He rolled his eyes playfully before getting behind you and grasping your shoulders gently pushing you down the hall. “I’m not leaving you out here alone all night.” 

As much as you wanted to protest, just about anything sounded better than sitting alone in the hall for god knows how long. 

Once he opened his door and flicked the light on, your eyes widened. It was so much different than Danny’s - most notably the smell. Before the door was even fully open you were smacked in the face with a mix of patchouli incense and weed, each one trying to cancel the other out. He closed the door behind you as you fully took it all in. Aside from the potent smell the first thing you noticed was the two beds pushed together, a clear indicator that he didn’t have a roommate. Next was the giant earth-toned mandala-patterned tapestry that hung above the beds while the wall across the room from it was covered in vintage records and posters of various artists. Unlike the sports gear in Danny’s room, Sam’s floor was littered with instruments, more than you’d ever seen in one room outside of a school band room. 

“Whoa.” Was all that managed to tumble from your lips. 

“Cool ain’t it?” He stretched his arms out wide with a proud grin. “Got this place all to myself.” 

“Lucky.” You muttered, still a bit salty you weren’t lying in your own bed right now. “You play all of these?” 

“Yup!” He plopped himself on his double bed. “I’d play something for you now, if it wasn’t so cliche.” He joked. 

You wanted to protest but you weren’t about to argue with the keeper of your temporary sanctuary. As you scanned the room once more you noticed a couple things - thumbtacks shoved into every decoration and the bong casually out on his bedside table next to a glass jar full of green. Your brows furrowed, “How do you get away with all this?” 

He shrugged with a cocky smile, “I know people.”

“I wish I knew people.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Well, ya do now.” The edges of his mouth pulled to a soft, kind grin. It was really beautiful the way his features always seemed to light up any time he smiled. 

“You’re right.” You agreed mischievously, walking over to where he sat. “I know Jake.”

His smile fell flat at your joke. “You think you’re so funny huh?”

You giggled, “Yeah, I do.” 

His eyes glanced up at your face and lingered there longer than he intended. Now it was his time to study you - not that he hadn’t already been doing that all night but now that you were alone together and he could properly take you in. He cleared his throat when you tilted your head a bit at his stare. 

“You wanna smoke?” He offered, gesturing to the glass bong that was poorly fashioned to look like a vase. 

You shook your head, “No thanks, I think the alcohol was enough for the night. But you can if you want, I don’t mind.” 

Although it was traditionally his bedtime routine, he didn’t mind skipping that night. “No I’m okay, I was just offerin’.” He tilted his head towards an expansive vinyl shelf. “You wanna pick somethin’ to play?” 

Normally, Sam was a show-and-tell sort of guy but he was interested in what you’d choose. 

You twisted around to the long row of stacked cubicles full of records. As you stepped closer to them and ran your fingers along the spines you noticed they were all weathered with tattered edges. Almost all of the records were older artists, some big names but also some you’d never heard of. You were tempted by the only modern one you spotted being Hozier but it was obvious he wasn’t a fan of newer music and you wondered if this was some sort of test. If it was a lighthearted test, the last thing you wanted to do was seem uncultured by picking the only modern artist you saw. You thought hard about a Fleetwood Mac record but instead, you opted for an Elvis one and spun around to showcase your pick. 

“An Elvis fan? Interesting.” He eyed you curiously. “Wouldn’t have initially pegged you for one. But I’m familiar with those too, Josh is a huge fan of the king.” He chuckled, pushing himself off the thin mattress to set it up on his record player. “May I?” He outstretched his hands to take the record from your grasp.

The truth was that your knowledge on music was quite limited to mostly newer artists, except for the names everyone knows. It made you wonder if there was a world that existed where he’d be the one to help you expand your musical palate. 

You shrugged, “I just like his music.” Then obliged to his request and handed the record over for him to take it gently. 

He carefully removed the black disc from the worn sleeve. “ ‘Aloha from Hawaii’ you know this is a live recording right?” He questioned as he spun the record by the edges with his fingertips.

You playfully rolled your eyes at how naive he assumed you’d be. You stumbled a bit in your turn towards the bed, the alcohol and fatigue starting to weigh you down. Finally, you reached the edge of the bed and plopped down. You watched as he precariously placed the record down and set the needle at its edge. It was a buzz at first before the grand orchestra intro broke through the silence like a punch. “Mhm, I do.” You hummed. “I love old live recordings. I think the banter with the audience is funny. Things were so different then.” 

He let out a small chuckle, “You’re so right actually.” He crossed the room to a mini fridge filled with what you saw a glimpse, just a bunch of drinks. “Water?” He plucked a fresh cold one out of the glaring white interior and held it out for you.

“Yes! Thank you!” You let out an excited sigh of relief as the alcohol and exertion had dried up your mouth. 

You snatched the water from his grasp and cracked it open before taking a greedy gulp. In the moment, that crisp cool water going down your throat felt like heaven. Your finger tapped your phone screen to illuminate it for the time, it was almost 3 am and you had no messages from your roommate. You sighed and flipped the phone upside down. “Nothing from Katie. Looks like I’m locked out of my room for the night. I don’t wanna intrude on whatever… is going on in there.” You’re focused on the water bottle in your hands, crinkling a bit with your fingers. “I can get out of your hair though, try to find a cheap motel or something.” You anxiously fiddled with your thumbs at the mere idea of doing that.

“Don’t worry about it, really. You can crash here, it’s not a problem.” He said, taking a sip of his own water. “You can even have my bed if you want, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, oh absolutely not!” You protested, using your arm to slice through the air. 

“Then you don’t mind sleeping next to me?” His voice was smoother than silk and it made a buzz fall to your core. You were now regretting your decision to debate his offer. How on earth were you supposed to fall asleep in the same room as him nonetheless beside him. 

“Nope, don’t mind!” Your voice coming out squeakier than expected and it brought warmth to your cheeks. 

His brows furrowed and perked up a bit at your response before following it with a playful smirk, like he had picked up on your nervousness and found it flattering. “Alright then.” 

He pulled open a drawer from his oak dresser and pulled out a stack of clothes before making his way to the small bathroom. When he emerged, his top half was baring his tanned skin while long sweatpants rode low on his exposed hip bones. You couldn’t help your eyes from taking a glance over, then quickly diverting your gaze away to not be caught admiring him.

He tossed his dirty clothes into a half empty hamper and made his way to the bed. He crawled beside you on the other side of the bed, pulling the gray duvet up over his shoulders. Despite he kept his distance, you could still feel the warmth radiating off of him. Against your better judgement, when you finally sunk into the bed you laid facing him since you weren’t ready to knock out just yet. His sheets smelled like cologne, woodsy and herby, similar to the patchouli in the room but with some added notes of bergamot and cedar. 

You tucked your hands flat in a prayer position under your cheek, looking at him. His brown eyes were already on you, a hint of surprise in them at your chosen position to face him.

“Thanks for saving me today.” You said quietly, just then noticing that he’d kept the record playing softly in the background. 

“It’s no big deal, Wallflower.” He matched your gentle tone with a soft smile. As silly as the nickname was, it didn't stop the swelling in your chest and the flutter in your heart. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” You added genuinely. Even though you got abandoned at the party and locked out of your dorm, it had been the best night you’d had so far since the semester began. 

He chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "We'll have to do it again."

You mirrored his glance for a moment, then smiled up at him. "Yeah, I’d really like that."

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled only by the soft music playing in the background. The warmth of his presence and the cozy scent of his sheets made you feel safe and content.

Between the long night and the calmness he brought, your eyelids grow heavy. As you let your eyes give way to slumber, a smile lingered on your lips, the events of the night replaying in your mind. In this unexpected place and with this unexpected person, you found a sense of comfort you hadn't anticipated. And for the first time since starting college, you felt truly excited about what it might bring.

Next Chapter -> 02 - I Can See You

Taglist; @deathblacksmoke @sacredthefran @measuredingold @persuasivus @broken0mens

A/N; Thank you so much for reading! Lmk how you liked it and if you want a part 2 🫣

[darksigns-exe]

strange magic - witch!nick ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: Discussions of mental health, depression, anxiety, mentions of self-harm, knife related injury

word count: 4.2k

notes: I’m reading The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki at the moment, and it might have influenced some parts of this.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

You don’t remember where exactly you’d heard his name for the first time. Someone in your circle of friends had mentioned going to see him about a minor health issue they’d been struggling with and that no conventional doctor had been able to fix. It had taken them one visit to cure said ailment. 

Now, you didn’t expect a miracle cure, but at this point you’d take anything. Whatever it takes to make this feeling disappear. No psychiatrist or therapist had helped, you’d tried everything. 

Magic or something akin to it didn’t seem too unrealistic of an option at this point. Your friend hadn’t been entirely clear on what this guy exactly did or was, all they had mentioned was that his methods were unconventional. 

Armed with the address and maybe a little too much hope, you set off. The place is located in a wooded area, set quite a bit back from the main road. You park near the front of the driveway and walk the rest of the way, just like your friend had told you to do. 

The twisted path that leads you through the woods turns you around entirely, and after a few minutes you have no idea which way you’re oriented or from which direction you’ve come. 

Every step leads you deeper into this forest. As the trees grow taller and thicker, light and warmth become scarce, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body to ward off the chill. 

The path makes another sharp turn and suddenly, you find yourself faced with an almost dream-like glade. Light pours into the space, filling it with warm, golden sunlight. In the middle, sits a lone cottage. It looks a little ramshackle, the roof is tilted in an odd way, and you think that some of the beams must be old and slowly giving into the weight of the roof. There’s something comforting about the place, though. 

The door swings open just as you reach the three steps that lead up the small porch. The glimmering little trinkets and chimes that hang from the roof above it catch your attention. Despite the mass of things that are placed all over the porch and in the windows, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Everything is where it needs to be. 

Your attention is drawn to a sun catcher that seems to be made out of broken pieces of coloured glass and mirror. The little specks of sunlight it scatters all across you and the space around you are mesmerising. Perhaps you should find one like this for your own home. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” someone speaks from behind you and you find yourself twitching with panic. 

When you turn around, you find that the source of the voice is a young man with dark hair. He squints at you for a moment, before an apologetic smile works its way onto his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you like to come in?” You’re sure that this isn’t the man you’re supposed to see, he seems way too young to be some kind of miracle healer. Maybe he’s an apprentice or other kind of aide to this Nicholas. 

You follow him into the cabin. The inside is surprisingly simple, yet incredibly inviting. Most of the space is taken up by a large wooden table. It has dents and scratches in its surface that tell more stories than any person could. Warm light floods through the room, but you can’t find a single light source. The fireplace can’t be responsible for all the light in here. 

“Sit. Please.” he motions towards one of the chairs by the table. 

You hang your jackets over the back of the chair before you sit. He doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the wooden counter. You watch as he searches through one of the shelves, until he produces two mismatched cups and saucers. 

“I hope you found the place alright?” he asks, as he picks up a variety of tins from a different shelf. 

“A friend of mine came here a few weeks ago and her directions were pretty good.” you reply.

He nods sagely, as if he knows exactly who you are talking about. 

“Your friend is feeling better? Her condition was quite worrisome.”

“It’s almost as if she was never unwell.” 

Your answer brings a smile to his face, “That’s good to hear. I don’t usually get to hear about the people who come here after they leave.”

He walks towards the fireplace and with the help of a seemingly hand knit pot holder, he retrieves the kettle hanging in front of it. He then proceeds to fill both cups with water before returning the kettle to its previous place. 

He places one of the cups in front of you, while the other is placed in front of the seat to your right at the head of the table. 

“So – you heard that your friend found the aid they needed here and decided that you would follow in their footsteps and find me. What can I do for you?”

“You are Nicholas?” you finally ask as the puzzle begins to make sense. 

His cheeks tinge the faintest shade of pink, “My apologies. Nick is perfectly fine. Nicholas always creates that image of a wise old wizard, and I’m —” he looks down his own body, “Not that.” 

The tone of his voice makes you smile. 

There’s something awfully comforting about him. Something about him sets you at ease, despite the deep-rooted worry that sits in your chest.  

“Can I see your palm?” Nick asks gently, holding out his tattooed hand to you. 

You place your hand, palm facing up, in his and he carefully pulls your hand a little closer to him. He tilts your hand for a moment, as if he is searching for something specific. The pointer finger of his other hand traces across the lines and creases in your hand with a barely there touch. 

The noise he eventually lets out feels a little unsatisfied. 

“The metaphysical can tell us a lot. But it is not without faults. It doesn’t take an expert to see that whatever it is that worries you has been with you for a long time. I can do a lot of things, dear, but I cannot magic away feelings and emotions.” He says eventually, “I can however try to help you find the root of this. That is the best I can offer you.”

For a moment, you feel defeated. Another person who wouldn’t be able to help. At this point, it really does feel a little hopeless. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision, that awful tightness returns to your chest. You can feel yourself getting dizzy and –

And then Nick’s hand curls around yours. It doesn’t stop the panic entirely, but his touch slowly the creeping darkness significantly. 

“Try to breathe. You’re safe here.” his voice soothes your nerves, wraps around you like honey, “Only very few people have left this place without an answer to their question, and I don’t think that you will be one of them.”

You don’t know why, but you want to believe him. 

“So many people said that they could help, but nothing ever came of it.” you say quietly, “I just want to stop feeling this way.” 

Nick lets out a heavy sigh, “I know what it feels like to feel left alone. If I could, I would take all of it away. But unfortunately, in this case, altering the mind is not something I’m allowed to do. I will try to help you as best as I can, though.” 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, before he releases it again.

Nick is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling through his thoughts. He gets up then. The scrape of his chair against the wooden floor takes you by surprise. He utters a quick apology, before he disappears into a distant corner of the room.

You finally have a moment to inspect the space around you. It’s as close to a witch's hut as you could imagine. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers dangle from the low wooden beams that support the upper level. Every surface is covered in trinkets and items, and you’re sure that they all have their designated spaces. The cobblestone wall above the fireplace is adorned with a pentacle made out of what you think is willow branches. They’re woven around each other to give it more structure, and in the space between the branches small flowers have been placed. You faintly remember reading that pentacle being are used for protection. 

Your eyes drift across the cluttered table in front of you and eventually land on your still steaming cup of tea. You finally take a sip of it. 

The taste of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You can’t identify every component of it, and really it doesn’t matter too much. All you know is that it feels like a long overdue hug. The first sip is enough to fill you with a comfortable warmth, like rays of sun falling through the trees on the first warm morning of spring. 

You take another sip, once again savouring the subtle sweetness of the tea. You’ll have to ask Nick what’s in this. 

Nick is still out of sight somewhere, but you can hear him rummaging around in the distance. You’d expect yourself to feel uncomfortable being somewhat alone in a stranger's house, but everything about this place felt so comforting that you couldn’t possibly feel out of place. 

Something catches your attention then. The quiet scratching of claws against wood, followed by a slightly croaky purr makes you scan across the space to find the source of it. Your eyes land on the tuxedo cat that emerges from the lower compartment of one of the many overstuffed bookshelves. The cat stretches and shakes itself before it looks around the room for a moment. It wanders under the table, and you freeze up, trying not to scare it away. When you peek under the table, you see the cat coming towards you. It takes a moment to inspect you, before it moves past you pressing its body against your calf. 

You hear the cat hop onto something behind you. Turning around to check, you see that it has settled onto a pillow on the windowsill, lounging in the little sliver of sunlight that falls through the window there. 

Nick returns a little while later, carrying a few books in his arms. He stops, cocks his head to the side, and then smiles. You realise then that he’s not looking at you, but the cat.

“Now you show your face.” he shakes his head, “Where were you when I could have used your help, huh? Out fraternising with that damn vampire's cat, I bet.” 

He sets the books down on the table. 

“That’s Jerry. He’s supposed to be helpful.” he says, glaring at the cat, “He doesn’t usually show his face when I have visitors. Looks like a good omen to me.” 

Nick takes a sip from his own cup. He closes his eyes for a second and lets out a content sigh. 

He files through one of the books, turning the open pages towards you. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can give you things that might help.” he offers, “How is the tea?”

“It’s really nice. I wanted to ask about it.”

Nick sits up a little straighter then, “Lemon balm, lemon verbena and lavender. I’ll fix up a jar for you to take home.”

He continues to explain a meditation method he’d read about a while ago. Nick shakes off your concern about having tried meditation before. 

“This is different. I think it’s worth a shot. I have some incense somewhere that might help too.” 

That evening, when you drive home, your chest feels a little bit lighter already. Maybe it’s just the idea of someone being so willing to help you. Nick has no ties to you, no reason to be this invested. But he’d still sent you home with a freshly mixed jar of the tea you’d had earlier, a written up version of the meditation technique and several cones of incense with a crescent moon holder. 

You’d also agreed that you’d come back the following week to report back. In the meantime, Nick would do research of his own to see what he could do. 

You’re not sure which of the things helps, but when you set out to see him again a week later, you find yourself feeling actually excited. 

Your visits become more and more frequent. Over the weeks, you learn that Nick doesn’t like to venture into town, and so you offer to take care of his errands there in return for his help. Weekly visits become twice a week, and before you know it, you find yourself stopping by at Nick’s whenever you can.

 Your mental health makes working pretty much impossible, and having something to do again feels genuinely good. On some days, Nick puts you to work in the garden behind the cottage. On others, you get to watch while he works on whatever it is he does in the kitchen. 

It’s almost November when he asks you to help him with the apples. 

“What exactly are we making?” you ask as you continue to peel yet another apple. 

“Half of these will be crumble and the rest compote.” 

You turn to watch Nick tip flour into a large ceramic bowl. Your momentary inattentiveness makes your knife slip. You drop it as soon as the pain hits. 

“Shit.” you cry out, wrapping your hand around your pointer finger.

Something behind you clatters, before Nick pushes himself in front of you. 

“Oh no.” he says quietly, pulling a kitchen towel from one of the cabinet handles. 

He presses the towel to your finger, before he steers you over to the large table. 

“Sit.” he urges, “Hold the towel there, I’ll be right back.” 

Nick rushes off into what you now know to be the bathroom. He returns with a few supplies a moment later. He kneels down in front of you, carefully taking your hand into his. 

“Let’s see.” He peels the towel away, and you can’t hold the wince, “I’m sorry, dear. I know.” 

He wipes the wound clean with a fresh towel, careful not to agitate it more. 

“It’ll be good in a moment.” Nick soothes, “Just have to see how bad it is.” 

The sound he makes then tells you that it’s quite bad. 

Nick picks up one of the small tins he brought over from the bathroom. He applies some of the salve to the cut. It stings just a little bit, but not enough to be of note. He wraps a small bit of muslin around your finger, before he takes your hand into his again. You watch as his eyes close and his head drops. You’ve seen Nick work his magic before when Jerry got into scuffles with other animals during his nightly outings, but you had never felt it yourself. 

As his focus narrows down on you, warmth spreads out from your finger. It travels up your arm and through your chest. You can’t take your eyes off him. Nick’s whole body seems to have a faint golden glow to it. 

Just as the warmth threatens to get too intense, it fades out. 

Nick remains with his head bowed for a moment longer. He peels back the muslin. All that remains of the cut is a small crescent moon shaped scar just above the first joint. 

“There you go.” Nick says quietly, “All good.” 

He looks up at you with a soft smile. 

Your heart makes a little thump then. You’d noticed it before when he looks at you. At first, you thought that it was nothing but the beginnings of a good friendship. By now, you are sure that it is so much more than that. But then again, you’ve only known Nick for a little over two months, and you have no idea if that is even something he’s interested in. 

The moment pops when Jerry forces his way between the two of you. He lets out a very displeased sound, making it known that it’s time for him to get attention again. 

Nick huffs out a laugh before he drops his head again. He scratches the top of Jerry's head before he eventually rises from the floor. 

It takes you a moment to catch up with him again. The way he had looked at you still lingers in your mind when you rejoin him in the kitchen. Nick hands you the freshly cleaned knife, and you resume your apple peeling duties as if nothing at all had happened. 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon continues without larger incidents. You can’t tell if it’s in your imagination or not, but you think that Nick looks at you more often. And even if he does, you’re sure that it’s just to make sure that you haven’t injured yourself again. Working with him like this is incredibly comfortable. You don’t speak a lot, but you don’t feel as if you need to say a lot either. There’s no pressure to make idle conversation. 

With the crumble finally in the oven and the last jars of compote sealed, you finally sit down in the chair on his front porch. Nick had sent you ahead with a blanket, knowing that you tended to get cold easily. He joins you just a moment a later, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you and sets the other down on the rickety little table between the chairs. 

For a while, you sit in silence, enjoying the serenity of the glade. 

You look over at Nick, only to find him shifting uncomfortably. You think that he looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. And so you reach out, poking your finger into his shoulder. 

“Nick?”

He twitches, head quickly snapping towards you, “Yes dear?” 

“Everything okay?” 

Nick takes a rushed sip of his tea. He contemplates for a moment longer, and you have to admit to yourself that the way his expressions shift as he tries to make up his mind is rather cute. 

“Interrupt me if I’m touching on something off limits.” he begins, “Sometimes when I heal I get glimpses of that person's emotions. It’s nothing deep or elaborate, just a snapshot, if you will. And when I touched you –”

He doesn’t have to finish for you to know what he’s trying to get at. The pang of relief that had hit you when the pain shot through your body still lingered with you. It’s been a while since you’d purposefully taken a blade to your skin. Long enough for you to think that the gratification wouldn’t be there any more. You’d fought so hard to keep yourself from doing it this time. 

You can’t stop yourself from crying then. Nick’s hand curls around yours immediately. He doesn’t try to stop you, doesn’t tell you that it’ll be alright. You’d kept all of these feelings bottled up inside of you for so long, that you couldn’t stop them from bubbling over now. 

Nick lets you cry until the tears stop falling. 

Against what you’d expected, you don’t find pity or worry on his face. He meets you with a warmth that takes some of the ache away. 

You tell him then.

Every detail that you’d hidden so far. The awful memories you’d kept so close to your chest. Even the ones that you’d never felt comfortable enough to share with therapists. 

And Nick listens so patiently. 

For a brief moment, you feel bad for unloading all of this on him, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees when you finish, and you shiver in the cool night air. 

“I don’t think that I’ve ever told anyone all of that.” you finally admit. 

“Thank you for trusting me with it.” Nick replies, squeezing your hand, “I want you to know that you can always come to me. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need a friend – someone to talk to – I’m here.” 

Nick offers you to stay at the cottage for the night. He’s adamant that you take his bed, not budging no matter how hard you try to change his mind. While his bed is nice and comfortable, you can’t help but feel bad for him. And after two hours of tossing and turning, you creep down the stairs into the main space of the cottage again. 

You find Nick still awake, buried deep in a book. He looks up when you step onto a particularly creaky tread. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

“Could ask you the same.” 

He places the book on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“I just feel bad about making you sleep on the sofa in your own house.” you admit quietly.

“What, you want to cuddle up?” it’s a humorous suggestion, but you can’t deny the appeal of it. 

Nick doesn’t wait for your answer and makes his way towards you. He follows you back up the stairs without another word.

Settling into bed with him is a little awkward at first. Both of you try to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to the other, even when you wouldn’t mind curling up next to him. This time, sleeps finds you easily. 

You wake up to a gloomy morning. The gentle rapping of rain on the roof makes you want to stay in bed for just a while longer. You pull the fluffy duvet around yourself, sinking just a little deeper into the warmth of the bed. You’ve been up in the attic of Nick’s cottage a few times, but never for this long. Just like the rest of the place, it’s so warm and comfortable up here. Most of the wooden cladding is covered with beautiful tapestries that mirror the Persian carpet that fills most of the space. 

Nick is still fast asleep next to you. He looks so peaceful, brow furrowed just a little bit. You almost want to reach out to smooth your thumb over the crease. You don’t want to overstep, though. 

Instead, you crawl out of bed as carefully as you can without waking Nick up. You know that he likes to start his morning with a strong black coffee. Just like you. 

By now you know your way around his kitchen and finding the ceramic filter, coffee grounds and his favourite mug doesn’t take you all too long. Manoeuvring the kettle was a different story, but you manage to make it work. 

By the time you climb back up the steep stairs towards the attic, Nick has already stirred from his slumber. He’s still hidden under the down duvet, but you can hear him quietly talking to Jerry. 

Nick looks up when he hears you approach and flashes you a sweet smile. 

“You’re a darling.” he says softly when you hand him his mug. 

You sit next to him on the bed, once again getting comfy. 

Nick takes a long sip from his coffee, letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep alright?” he asks then, turning to towards you. 

You nod, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”  

“Of course.” 

You both fall silent for a while, comfortably nursing your coffees. You shuffle a little closer to him, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. Nick’s hand finds its way to your legs, resting comfortably above your knee. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you feel yourself melt on the inside. 

You don’t know where this is going to take you, all you know is that you’ve never felt this comfortable around another person. You don’t know how he does it, but Nick manages to make you feel as if you can beat this and come up on top, and really that’s good enough for you. 

By Yule, you’ve basically moved into the cottage with Nick.  It’s quiet and comfortable, and it does wonders for your health. You know that you still have a long path in front of you, but with Nick at your side, it doesn’t feel impossible any more. You’re busy with a batch of cookies when Nick comes in, a few extra logs for the fireplace under his arm. 

He shoves his freezing cold hands under your knit sweater, as he wraps his arms around you. You let out a little squeak in reaction, to which he gives an amused chuckle. 

“Smells good, what are you making?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You lean back against his chest, “Just sugar cookies.” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Can’t wait. Do you need help?” 

You shake your head, “Go get showered. We can start dinner when you’re done.” 

Nick kisses your cheek again before he detaches himself from you, “Won’t be long.” 

As he heads towards the bathroom, Nick stops where Jerry is napping on the sofa. And when you look over to them, you realise that you’ve finally made it home. 

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Plushies 5 - Piggy

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plushies Series Masterlist but Can be read as standalone

^^Story is not nearly as serious as the gif--its just the knife bit that counts.

Summary: Date night starts with being hungry--but ends with a different kind of hunger.

Warnings: Plushie humping, unconventional toy in the bedroom, unprotected sex, daddy kink, doggy, cowgirl/riding, degrading and praise, lots of giggles at the end, mentions of a fight, cum eating, creampie, a little Protective!Joel, comedic dumbassery for these two as usual

18+ ONLY

- - - -

When you and Joel occasionally decide to treat yourself for an all out dinner, sometimes it’s a lovely table service, nice dress occasion, with a sexy glass of wine and 5 pieces of cutlery—and other times it’s at the Hungry Pot with a giant cheese smothered greasy loaded brisket and bottomless coke/root beer floats. Tonight was a Hungry Pot night. And while you were excited to indulge Joel’s starving belly after a long and physically taxing day, having him nearly start a fight at the bar only 10 minutes after the two of you were seated wasn’t exactly the date you wanted.

Not that the night was ruined at all. It’s not his fault you get so wet when he goes alpha mode.

“Bed. Now,” you command. Your warm hands force him into your room. The two of you had whisked out of there before the food was even ready. Not really because he was worried about being kicked out, but because he could see the look in your eyes and knew this was going to be a different kind of date night.

 He could barely keep his hands off you in the car, and the wet throb pooling between your legs didn’t help either.

He plops his ass down on the cushion, famish gaze looking up to you tower over him between his thighs. It’s one of the few times Joel obeys you. You push him back, climbing over his waist as his hands go to their usual spot on your sides.

“My hero,” you charm. Your lips devour his, tongue poking through his teeth. His neck strains to keep your mouth on his.

His hands move to your upper back to hold you close but you immediately grab his wrists and pin them to the bed. 

He smirks. 

“Ya like being in charge?”

You shake your head bashfully, nipping his lower lip. “Just want you—and you’re taking too long.” His ravenous eyes piercing yours then down to your lips.

“Jesus. Like watchin’ me get all riled up in front of you? Bet you do. Makes that little pussy gush, don’t it?” He greedily sucks your tongue back in his mouth, hips grinding down against his poking bulge. “My perfect, sinful angel.”

Your digits slide upwards, entangling your fingers together as the two of your hands move up along the bed, over his head while you continue to make out.

There’s sudden movement—and Joel immediately tenses, hands escaping yours—“Thefuck—what”— and he’s karate chopping something alive in the mess of your plushies that goes flying out of the bed and into the corner of your room violently. 

“S’something movin’! Get back!” He orders.

You feel your entire body being hoisted up on to your feet, Joel protectively guarding in front of you. arms holding you close as bay behind his massive figure as he scans the room ready to pounce again. 

The two of you can hear the faint lively buzzing of the thing that was living in your bed. And you finally sigh in relief. 

"Joel! That’s Mr Oinkers!"

Joel has an incredulous look back at you. Now you want to scold the man trying to protect you for yoinking him so fucking hard. You brush past the brown bear of a man despite his worrying stance and retrieve the poor squished pig from the floor. He’s got a big dent in his poor face—Joel’s punch right on target even when it surprises him. You refluff the pink piglet gently to his original rounded and exceedingly huggable shape. 

You hand it to Joel, now more curious than defensive. His large hands tentatively engulf its entire body, sending it into a little spasm of vibrations.

He stares at it with a mixture of disgust and amusement. “What the fuck."

"It vibrates when you hug it."

"Where the fuck you huggin this, between your legs? They sell this to kids?"

“Oh my god, It’s not THAT kind of toy.” Who gave this man such a dirty brain? “Besides, it doesn't have that level of power. Just give it a regular, loving squeeze and it vibrates a little. Like an interactive teddy bear when you hug it?"

His eyes don’t really say much. He twists it like a wheel, inspecting the underside, gauging the weight of the battery pack safely snuggled inside. It’s gone still in his hand, but when he gives it a firm squeeze, the little jiggles come back to life, humming in the quiet room. A small, yet distinctly Joel, smirk begins to tug at the corner of his mouth.

And--oh fuck—you know that look.

-

It’s the look of ‘Kiss this plushie’s virginity goodbye’ look—so oddly specific and yet so trademarked by your boyfriend now. 

He practically holds Mr Oinkers hostage for the next hour,  cradling it under his massive arm as he sifts through your kitchen drawers. You hover around him, partially unsure what he’s up to, but also for poor Mr Oinker’s safety. While you love Joel being rough with you, you don’t like when he gets too aggressive manhandling your poor little squishes. They have to live at least until you die and that means coddling them with delicate, loving embraces, sweet kisses and regular poofing—.

NOT LIKE JOEL RIPPING THE SEAM WITH A PAIRING KNIFE RIGHT NOW.

“JOEL!” 

The horrid sound of scratchy tearing of fabric rapes your ears like nails on a chalkboard, and you instantly go to seize the pig from his grasps.

But Joel yanks it just right out of your reach, your hand closing around thin air.

“Ah! Don’t play around when Daddy has sharp tools.”

“Fuck off, Joel, you just ripped my plushie!”

He brushes you off. “Mr. Piggy—“

“—It’s Mr. Oinkers.”

“—The pig—is just havin’ a bit of surgery—“ his  fingers dig into the fresh hole, pries apart the back flesh of the pig even more, making your ears twinge with pain at the continued horrors—“gonna sew him back up, sweet pea, don’t worry.” He looks at your bewildered and near crying state and chuckles. “Jesus. I PROMISE—gonna make him just like new okay? Now please stop worrying?” He caresses your cheek with soft grace, thumb soothing over the redden state of your eyes.

You nod, refusing to cry over it. “Okay...” you whisper, adding a quick “fucker,” and calm down now that you’ve uttered the necessary retort. “Please—be gentle…” you say meekly, eyes trained on the gash in Mr. Oinkers once smooth body. The cotton filling practically gushes out, wanting to escape like pussing blood.

He kisses your forehead. “I promise. Now go take a shower, and let me finish with my patient here, yeah?”

With a final little kiss to your forehead, you do as he tells you. 

Afterwards, you can’t help but anxiously pace, peeking towards the harsh light of the kitchen where Joel works. He had splayed out more tools found in your apartment—a litany of batteries, thread and needle, a screwdriver, the fished out battery pack from deep inside the plushy’s wound.

True to his word, Joel keeps a surprisingly gentle touch. He carefully removes and replaces the batteries with a different—more sinister pair, places the cotton filling back in, glasses perched on his big nose as he holds the fabric close, sewing little strokes with the thin thread like an expert ancient seamstress, quiet and concentrated in his habitat.

And despite all his intimidating physique and attitude, the thing that you loved about him so much was that he was just as delicate. He fucks you like rag doll one minute then is tending to you with the softest, sweetest touches and kisses. The man is practically a walking paradox.

It makes you wet all over again.

So when he tells you to get naked on the bed and straddle the now recovered from surgery Mr. Oinker’s, you don’t even question it. You so badly want to please him again and again.

Joel settles right behind you. Your bare crotch hovers just over Mr Oinker’s poor squishy face—but what’s one more sacrifice to the Pussy King’s use? 

You feel hot open mouth kisses along the length of your spine, his fingers curling around your sides, gliding up your breasts with smooth, ticklish haste. 

“Go on, give ‘im a big hug,” he whispers to the shell of your ear. “Between your legs,” he adds with a chuckle.

You sink down your knees a little further, feeling your dripping entrance make contact with the soft, stuffed plush. The pig jolts to life with a violent seizure—far more aggressive than it ever did before.

“Oh!—OH god!” You moan, instantly wanting to pull away, but the firm press of Joel to your back prevents you from going anywhere. The plush vibrates extra violently between your legs, nudging your little clit repeatedly. 

“Feel good, baby? Gave him a stronger dosage.” You feel the hard press of his bare cock humping along the crack of your ass, his arms draped over you with palms flat into the mattress—caging you between himself and Mr. Oinkers. 

“I—you—“

“Lay forward. Let me and the Pig do all the work.”

He presses his forehead on your upper back, forcing you down until your face is relaxed into the pillow. You barely hum a “Mr. Oinkers” to correct him. Joel shakes his head, unresponsive.

The new position pushes your clit even more snugly into the lively Pig’s jittery tummy. You moan out loudly, your clit sucking up the pleasant sensation.

You hear him laugh a little at the state of you: ass up, face down with a fun little vibration toy wedged in your slit. He pumps his hard cock in his hand a few times before sighing. 

“Put it in f’me,” he says.

You don’t hesitate—reaching your trembling hand, so shaken with pleasure, behind you to grasp his throbbing length, pulling the bulbous tip closer so that it parts your petaled folds. Joel grunts at the feeling of the plushie vibrating along the underside of his balls. He thrusts in slowly, stretching you wide to accomodate his thick girth.

“Fuck me with a hoe, baby girl, you’re so perfect f’me,” he moans. 

Joel pauses, savoring the mix of vibration and tight squeeze of your cunt sucking him in. 

“Joooooeeeeeellllllll,” You whine desperately. You try to wiggle your hips to incite movement but he holds you still.

“Sorry baby, man’s gotta enjoy what’s his.” 

Your heart swells, resigning to his desire. Hishishishis, rolls over in your mind like a placate spell. I’m his.

You feel the warm weight of his belly conforming to the arch in your spine, his hot breath tickling your ear once more with a sweet kiss. “Piggy treatin’ you real good down there?”

“Ah—mhmm—it’s s’good. So good, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Smother him with your cute little nub. He’s so excited to get a taste of ya pussy. Just like me.”

You bury your face into the pillow—Joel’s deisgnated pillow. His scent fills your nostrils, the hot stretch of his cock fills your cunt. All while you can’t help but start grinding your sopping pussy against the plush, effectively touching your clit with mad vibration while also fucking yourself on to Joel. 

“So hungry, babygirl,” he grunts. “Told ya, let Daddy and his new friend help ya. Just stay still like the good girl I know.” Hot paws wrap around your hips as he begins to work a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you while also pressing your ass down into the piggy’s face. He watches his cock disappear into you before emerging with glistening slick of your sweet juices, so wet pent up and needy for him all night. 

And the damn PIG between your legs just happily jittering with violent spasms nonstop makes it impossible to ignore the knot growing in your lower belly.

Joel can feel it too—the way your walls are closing in on him. 

“What does my babygirl say?”

“T-thank you—Daddy!”

“Wrong.” He starts a quicker pace, making you cry into the pillow with each unforgiving rut. “Give ya a hint—the cow goes moo, dog goes bark—what does the piggy say…?”

“I—I don’t—”Oh god, he can’t seriously be asking…

“Oink for me.”

“Ugh—Joel—no, fuck—I’m close. Right there please!”

But right as you’re on the cusp of your orgasm, he pulls back, lifting your hips with him so the Pig just barely graces your folds as he shallowly grinding his hips against your ass.

“Cmon, make the little guy between your legs proud. And the big one inside you too. Do it for me,” he repeats, a hint of sadistic satire dripping in his voice. “Oink like a pig.”

But you groan in frustration again. His hands keep you pinned high, locking you uncomfortably, unable to leverage your knees to fuck yourself back onto him and finish the job. You so badly need to cum, the persistent hum on your inner thighs making your legs quiver, practically begging to have the wet animal feasting on you again. 

The consideration of embarrassment over your release only washes over you briefly before your opening your lips and bubbling his wish from deep within your throat:

Snort—“O-oink,” you cry meekly. “Oi-nk”.- Snort— “oink!”

He stops moving entirely. You almost want to cry, because what the fuck—he said he’d let you cum! The room is silent minus the persistent buzzing muffled just out of reach under you.

Then you feel little shakes behind you, like something caught in Joel’s chest. The shakes grow, rippling through his body— until you can hear him— laughing out uncontrollably with tears in his eyes while he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

"That's... That's not funny Joel!"

"I'm sorry I just didn't think you'd actually do it!" He slips out of you and sits back on his haunches, arching backwards as he clutches his chest from wheezing so hard.

And he’s still cackling, hardly noticing he’s the only one laughing, nor the lack of mirth in your body language, the shift in your positions as you roll him on his back and straddling the big hunk of giggles. And it’s only when you’re lining his dick along your wet pussy that his amusement goes stale.

“—Hah!—oh—oh shit." 

His hands instantly seek purchase on your waist, mouth parted ever so slightly with eyes glued to the space between you where his tip just barely begins to poke your folds.

You hover over him for an agonizing amount of time, refusing grant him entry.

"You... told me to,” you say, face red and hiding from him. 

While he was so hyped up on the adrenaline that you were finally going to take charge in this rare moment, he now sees it in you. Yes—you were embarrassed. But yes—you wanted to please him so badly that it was worth the shot. He can feel himself swell in your hand, precum and your juices coating his dick proudly because this is his girl.

Joel grips your hips and starts rolling your pelvis into his, sinking himself into you and taking charge again. You gasp out, hands on his chest to steady yourself as you both rock into each other. 

His eyes are darkened again, movement purposeful. “I know. I know, babygirl. That's what I fuckin’ love about ya. You'd do anything I ask you, huh baby? Humping your squishy piggy just cuz I told ya. My Little cum hungry, greedy girl.”

You lean back, bouncing on his cock with little slaps of your ass clashing down. That delirious feeling of Joel—his voice, his touch, his cock—JoelJoelJoel—filling your every senses once again, mugging your brain as you ride him to your hearts content. “I’m Daddy’s c-cum hungry greedy—girl,” you moan, brain so turned to mush so quickly that he can’t help but smile.

 “‘At’s right. There’s my girl. Didn’t even have to ask ya.” He plants a wet kiss on your knuckles, and you can feel yourself shudder at his lustful gaze. “Keep goin’. Just like that. Ride me. Fuck me.” 

He slaps your ass with encouraging stings, begging you to bounce along his shaft harder, faster. 

And in true Joel fashion, he fists the nearly forgotten vibrating plushie and shoves it at the crevice right between your pelvises.

You cry out pathetically, riding Joel faster. The pig’s full belly wedges between the two of you, jittering against your abused clit and a bit of Joel’s unsheathed cock with violent rhythm. He groans out, fucking up into your tight heat harder.

 “Say ‘Thank you Mr Piggy’,” he commands, his voice straining with the impending proximity of his own orgasm.”

"H-hjs name is —mmmmm—Mr. Oinkers.”

"Well I'm the one fuckin’ you right now and I'm telling ya it's Mr. Piggy.”

While Joel’s lips curl into a snark, so desperate to have you cum, your mouth parts so heavenly, eyes heavy with lust as you chant. “T-Thank—you MR! Mr PPIGGY! Ahh—ah huh—for—fucking me—my-mm-my clit—hungry pussy—fuck Joel!—needed Daddy’s filling—wanted to fuck you—Piggy kisses my cum hungry—pussy—so good—oh fu-FuuCCCkkKK I’m cumming—I’m cumming on my Piggy! Thank you, Daddy!” You cry with a pained smile, letting go as pleasure washes over your entire body, shaking with the same lack of control as Mr Oinkers has been showing you all night—and Joel doesn’t let up. Fucking you through your orgasm with one death grip on your hip and the other ramming the plush between your sweaty bodies, biting your swollen sensitive nub as he canters up into your womb.

“Yeah fuck—fuuck that’s it-there’s my girl—gonna let Daddy make you his cum dump? Huh? You want that? You do—you fuckin’ do—dirty girly—shit—Daddy’s gonna give it to ya.” 

You fall forward, your breasts smushed against his chest as he continues to rut into you. You let him use you. Let him dominate your body and own you because it feels best when he does. 

He’s gritting his teeth, the plush absolutely pancaked between you and sputtering along his pelvis, sending shockwaves down from his base to his balls. “Oh fuck—Mr Piggy—givin’ it to me too shit—shit baby! here it comes!”

 He growls when he cums, pouring buckets of cum from his tight balls and releasing inside you with each spurt. And the soft cushion of the pig between you rumbling only prolongs his orgasm, ropes after ropes filling your gut like a four course meal until he’s over sensitive and yanking the soaked cotton mess out and tossing it to vibrate helplessly in the corner of the room.

He cradles your neck close, breathing in the sweet smell of shampoo from your partially damp hair. Soft strokes along your spine comfort you as you both relax in each other’s embrace.

As you rest on top of him, you pull your head out of the nook of his shoulder, his eyes falling to yours as you two lie staring at each other.

“Why’d you get so mad at that guy at the Pot?”

Joel scowls at the memory: “He asked if you were single—said I looked too old n’ that ya needed a real man to satisfy your appetite.”

You hold your breath with him. Then you snort—like a real, genuine and uncontrollable snort. “And you didn’t laugh your ass off at him?? Oh my God, Joel! That’s fucking hilarious!”

His fingers curl around your soft hair, a half hearted smile on his adoring face.

Your eyes become serious again. “You didn’t actually believe him, did you?”

“I did. For a minute. Till we got home, and you showed me how hungry you were for me. Needed to take ya right then.”

“Proved him wrong.”

“No,” he shakes his head, sucking in a big breath. “No, just did it because I wanted ya so badly for so long. Who else is gonna do this crazy shit, fuckin’ stuffed animals like the weird little freak you are?”

Your jaw drops in astonishment, sitting up on your elbow. “The plushie fucking is YOUR idea! I have never humped any of these bitches in my life until you!”

You can feel his chest rumbling, eyes crinkled with subdued laughter. 

“You fucker,” you croak, voice cracking with a giggle. 

You both hear Joel’s tummy growl. “I’m still hungry, didn’t get to eat our Pot, remember?”

“That’s funny. I’m surprisingly full. Thanks to you,” you hum, kissing his lips. 

He accepts, making out with you unhurriedly until he’s rolling you over to your back and gliding down your body, pressing his chapped lips between the valley of your breasts, down your naval, and over your sensitive clit. Your legs spread on instinct. Joel’s eyes never leave yours as he presses his nose to your slit, inhaling the succulent scent of your mixed cream. “Gonna make my tummy happy too?”

 His tongue laps up at his cum dripping down to your crack back up to the source, making you grip his curls. “I s-still ha-haaaven’t forgiven you for —urgh Daddy—r-ripping Mr. Oinkers apart.”

“So? Made him better, didn’t I?” He continues to suck up his cum clean from your entrance. “I ripped Mrs. Oinkers apart just now too.” He buries his nose into your cunt and snorts: “Oink—oinkoinkoink!” 

You yank his hair harshly off of you and kick him to the couch for the rest of the night.

Until an hour later, you’re waddling wrapped in a big comforter and curling up against him on the thin sofa and spooning him. He wraps his arm around you with a kiss to your neck before falling asleep again.

-----

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