#I’m incapable of being that open these days

[knivestothroats]

In The Woods Somewhere + Professional//Victim Crossover AU

@victimeyez and I like to play with our OCs together like dolls. We came up with a number of ways Tommy ends up with Fletcher but this is a "my mom sold me to one direction" type AU where Fletcher buys Tommy to basically replace Buck.

CW: long term captivity/human trafficking, withholding food (in past), physical violence, burning, dubious consent sort of, guns in places they shouldn't be

read In The Woods Somewhere here || read Professional//Victim here

Scene 1

Tommy hadn’t experienced a thunderstorm in years.

It rained sometimes when he was on his way to a client, but having lived in a basement for the last five years, he had forgotten their intensity. How loud the incessant, arrhythmic rainfall echoed down from the roof. How lightning could suddenly illuminate the whole room in a flash. How he could feel the house shake with the roar of thunder. Or maybe it was just him shaking. He felt like a dog on the fourth of July. 

It was stupid, after everything he’d been through, to be afraid of the weather.

A bright flash through the window again, followed shortly by a crack of thunder that he could feel in his chest. They were getting closer together. 

There’s no way Tommy could sleep. He was sitting up in his bed in his new home, knees to his chest with his arms wrapped around. 

As much as he loathed Caius, he did provide comfort at times. It was twisted, but it was something. Fletcher… he wasn’t sure about. They had been more reserved so far, treating him with a sort of casual amiability. But Tommy was well aware how Fletcher reveled in inflicting pain. He just hadn’t figured out yet when and why they shed the wool to become the wolf.

Another flash. Tommy tried to brace himself, but he still jumped at the thunder.

Tommy swung his legs off the bed. He stared at the door for a second before going through into the hallway. It was still strange to not be locked in.

He walked gently down the dark hallway. He knew where Fletcher’s room was - they had pointed it out on his first day with a strict do not enter.

Tommy stood outside Fletcher’s bedroom door. He rubbed his hands over his arms. 

This was ridiculous. Going to Fletcher for comfort? Like a child waking up their parents after having a bad dream? During a thunderstorm of all things. He should just go back to - 

Flash. Crack.

Tommy knocked on Fletcher’s door. He tried to listen for movement over the sound of the rain. They probably hadn’t even heard him over the din. Maybe he should knock again, or maybe he should go back - 

Fletcher opened the door, wearing just a t-shirt, gym shorts, and bed head. They squinted at him in the dark.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth. “I, um. I can’t sleep and, um…”

Fletcher was silhouetted as their room lit up. The thunder followed so quickly behind, rumbling through the house, that Tommy didn’t have time to count. 

Fletcher saw Tommy flinch hard, drawing his shoulders up by his ears.

“You’re scared of thunder?”

Tommy felt his face redden, in spite of himself. He should be incapable of embarrassment at this point, after all the humiliation he was put through, but he just felt childish.

“Alright, come in,” Fletcher said with a yawn, moving aside to make way. “Don’t try to kill me in my sleep.”

“Really?” Tommy asked, perking up. He took a hesitant step into the room. “Can I, um, do you mind if I share the bed?”

“Yeah I assumed that was what you were asking,” Fletcher grumbled, shutting the door behind him.

Fletcher took their side first, and Tommy took the other. He laid stiff in the bed, making sure they had a gap between them. Tommy had wondered if sharing the bed would come with a cost, putting himself in a vulnerable position within Fletcher’s grasp. But Fletcher had turned their back to him, sleeping on their side.

He was still on edge. Was sleeping beside Fletcher really better than being alone?

There was a flicker of lightning, followed by a grumble of thunder. Not as loud this time, but enough to make Tommy nervous. 

Tommy turned on his side as well and carefully scooted over until his back was brushing against Fletcher’s. He held his breath, but they didn’t react. 

Tommy could feel their warmth seep into him. He let out a slow breath. It was definitely better than being alone.

~

Fletcher had managed to tune out the storm into white noise, but they were a light sleeper, forever on edge. They opened their eyes in the darkness, listening to Tommy murmur and shift in his sleep.

Fletcher rolled over and draped their arm over Tommy’s middle.

“Shhh,” they hushed gently.

Tommy’s shirt had ridden up, and he whimpered when Fletcher made contact with his skin.

Fletcher tensed up at the noise. Tommy was definitely asleep, but that whimper was perfect. They wondered if he practiced it for his clients. It was difficult to resist the urge to wrap their arm tight around him and squeeze, trying to elicit the sound again. 

Fletcher moved their hand over Tommy’s bare torso. They could feel his ribs too distinctly beneath his skin. Caius and the others probably had him skipping meals. Whether to keep up his waifish victim aesthetic, to keep him weak, to punish him, or just from neglect.  Fletcher figured he would put on weight quickly here. He was going to need to, if he was going to keep up with the work Fletcher had for him to do around the lodge. 

~

“Get up.”

Tommy gasped awake as a hand jostled him from his sleep. He looked around quickly, getting his bearings, and saw Fletcher leaning over him.

“I’m getting up, you can’t stay in my room alone,” Fletcher said.

“Oh,” Tommy rubbed his eyes. “Right. Okay. Thank you… for letting me sleep here.”

“Uh huh,” Fletcher said. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“Mm, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay… do you want me to make your bed?” Tommy offered, trying to show his gratitude.

“No,” Fletcher said flatly. They gestured to the door. 

“Right, sorry.” Tommy hurried out of the room. “Um, would it be alright if I took a shower? Or do you want me to wait?”

“All yours, bud,” Fletcher said, closing the door shut behind them. “Just don’t take too long. You want to get the breakfast while it’s hot.”

~

Tommy turned the water up as hot as he could stand. It staved off the chill that seemed to linger in the lodge. He allowed himself a few moments to just stand under the stream after he had washed, but Fletcher had told him not to take long, and he didn’t want to push it.

Tommy dried and dressed quickly, scrunching his hair with the shirt he had slept in and finger-combing it out of his face. He made his way to the kitchen, which was already calling his name with rich, savory smells.

Fletcher was standing at the stove, stirring one pan with a spatula while another sizzled away next to them. 

“What smells so good?” Tommy asked, trying to peer into the pans.

“Onions and bacon, mostly,” Fletcher said.

“Do you need any help?” Tommy offered.

There was a pop, pop as a pair of bagels sprung up from a two-sided toaster.

“Yeah, grab those bagels for me and add butter and cream cheese. There’s plates in that cabinet, silverware in that drawer.”

Tommy moved swiftly to do as he was told. 

When he had plated them, Fletcher carried over the first pan.

“Okay, get out of my way.” 

It was said lightheartedly, but Tommy still leapt back.

“Just take a seat,” Fletcher nodded to the kitchen table. “It’s ready.”

Tommy sat down and watched as Fletcher assembled the plates, but their body was blocking his view. It wasn’t until they set his breakfast down in front of him that he was able to take it in. 

Scrambled eggs with multicolor peppers, strips of bacon, a sausage, and the bagel he had prepared.

He couldn’t believe how much his mouth was watering.

“It’s veggie sausage,” Fletcher said. “I only had a couple left. Oh - you want coffee?”

Tommy looked up at them wide eyed. Fletcher had told him on the first day that he could help himself to food in the kitchen, but he had been too afraid to touch their coffee maker. Even when there was a pot already made, he had been too anxious that he wasn’t supposed to take any.

“Yes, please.”

“How do you take it?” Fletcher asked, getting a mug from the shelf. It was designed to look like a can of Campbell’s tomato soup. 

“A lot of sugar and cream,” Tommy said. “Please. If you don’t mind.”

Fletcher heaped two spoonfuls of sugar into the mug and then looked in the fridge. 

“Mm, I just have oat milk right now.”

“Okay, that’s fine, thank you,” Tommy said, even though he had never tried it before.

Fletcher splashed some into the mug before pouring the steaming coffee on top. They gave it a stir and set it down in front of Tommy.

Tommy hadn’t touched his food. He stared at the spread before him, not quite believing it was really for him.

Fletcher settled down across the table with their matching meal and began to eat.

“I don’t know where to start,” Tommy said in a small voice.

“Eggs,” Fletcher provided.

Tommy scooped up a forkful of the scrambled eggs and took his first bite. 

It wasn’t just peppers, there were onions and cheese mixed in as well. The texture was perfect - they weren't dry or runny. 

“Wow,” Tommy said. He followed it with a long sip of coffee. It wasn’t as sweetened as he would have made it for himself once upon a time, but it was hot and rich and maybe the best cup he’d ever had.

He might actually start crying. 

“The secret is cream cheese,” Fletcher said, gesturing to his eggs with their fork. “And to scramble it in the pan. How’s the coffee?”

“So good,” Tommy said. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” Fletcher started to pile their eggs and bacon onto the bagel. “How often were you being fed before?”

“Um, twice a day, usually,” Tommy said. “Sometimes… less.”

Fletcher nodded. “Figured. You need to start increasing your caloric intake. I need you to do work around here and I don’t want you passing out after an hour in the garden.”

Tommy took a bite of the bagel. The layer of butter under the cream cheese felt so indulgent. 

“If it means I get to eat like this every day, I am more than happy to oblige,” Tommy said.

“Well, I’m not cooking every meal for you,” Fletcher said. “But I want you to eat.”

I want you to eat.

Even if it was to work him like a dog, it was so much better than being worked like a dog on an empty stomach. Despite Fletcher’s generally cold aloofness and passing threats, despite having been the victim of their bloodlust in the past, Tommy felt oddly cared for.

He took another bite of the eggs and hoped he could get Fletcher to teach him how to cook like this.

Scene 2

Fletcher had their sleeves rolled tightly up above their elbows. On their hands they wore black disposable gloves. Tommy watched as those hands deftly sectioned the chickens into pieces, their well-sharpened knife effortlessly cutting through the flesh. 

Tommy had to let his eyes drift away. He watched Fletcher’s arms instead. They tended to hide their form under layers, but every time they rolled up their sleeves, it revealed their muscle tone. Tommy wondered why they didn’t show it off - most people would. He noticed as well, as he watched, that Fletcher had some lighter lines on their skin - old scars haphazardly slashed into their arms. He imagined them getting into knife fights. He imagined them holding someone down by the throat with both hands, arms tensed, as their victim clawed at their skin to no avail.

Fletcher moved the chicken pieces into a bowl of marinade. Spice bottles were cluttering the counter around it. 

Fletcher covered the bowl and set it aside. They cleaned up, discarding their gloves and disinfecting their work space. 

Tommy had been tasked with washing the potatoes he and Fletcher had harvested from the garden. Fletcher had asked him to take his time, making sure each one was free of dirt in the divots, as they wouldn’t be peeling them. He was worried, when Fletcher turned to him, that they would be angry he hadn’t gotten through the whole crop, but they merely began to take from the clean pile and start cutting them into chunks. 

“When you’re done with that can you go through the green beans and just make sure to snap all the stems off?” Fletcher asked.

Tommy nodded. “Sure.”

They had picked the beans together as well. It felt nice to be doing something actually productive for a change. 

When they were done, Fletcher dumped the potatoes into a big pot of water but didn’t light the stove. They sighed, looking at the clock and chewed their lip a moment.

“I should’ve started this earlier. I’m already starting to get hungry,” Fletcher said. “I just want everything to be done at the same time.”

Fletcher shook their head like they were hoping the thoughts would fall into place. They took a baking sheet and returned to the chicken, laying the pieces out.

“I’m done,” Tommy said from his spot at the table with his bowl of beans. He swept the stem pieces into his hand and got up to dump them in the trash.

“Ah-ah!” Fletcher waved their hand at him, causing Tommy to stop abruptly. “Compost.”

“Right, sorry.” Tommy ducked his head.

“Just give the beans a rinse and then you’re done for now,” Fletcher said. “I’ll call you back when it’s ready.”

It was a while later when Fletcher called Tommy back into the kitchen. He was sitting out on the back deck, just feeling the sun on his skin and listening to the birds, when Fletcher opened the door and leaned out.

“I need your help,” they said.

Tommy jumped up and followed them in.

“I forgot to make fucking gravy,” Fletcher growled. “I just need you to mash the potatoes for me while I whip this up. And just shake the pan with the green beans occasionally to move them around.”

The kitchen was hot now, and Tommy quickly shrugged off his sweatshirt before taking over the potatoes. Fletcher was mixing ingredients when there was a thud above them, followed by an indiscernible shout, followed by, “Fletcherrrrr!”

“Jesus Christ,” Fletcher rolled their eyes. “Okay in like two minutes you need to take the chicken out of the oven and check it. 165. Don’t forget to shake the pan.” They rattled off instructions as they marched out of the kitchen. 

Tommy kept an eye on the clock, rolling the beans in their saute oil. They looked kind of brown? He looked closer, not wanting Fletcher to come back and find them burned. Hm, no, he was pretty sure it was whatever they were being cooked in. Balsamic maybe? There were chopped onions in with it as well, and those similarly looked a little brown but not burnt. 

He checked the clock again. Okay, two minutes. Tommy looked around the counter, seeing the thermometer but no oven mitts. There was one pot holder laying out, and he folded the towel hanging off the oven door to go with it.

The tray was heavily laden with the chicken, heavier than Tommy expected it to be. He tried to adjust his grip so it didn’t tip backwards, but his adjustments shifted his fingertips off the towel. 

Tommy quickly pulled his hand away from the heat. Now holding the tray with one hand, it began to go sideways. Instinctively he tried to catch it, only serving to touch the hot metal again. This time, his brain - desperate to keep him from making the same mistake a third time - drew back his hands completely and the tray clattered to the floor, scattering the chicken. 

Tommy’s heart leapt to his throat. He dropped to his hands and knees and picked up a piece of chicken, dropping it immediately.

It’s hot, it’s all fucking hot, he berated himself. He started using the towel to scoop up the chicken. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he piled it back onto the tray. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears he didn’t hear Fletcher’s footsteps. It wasn’t until he saw their boots that he looked up.

As if they had materialized before him, summoned by his fuck up, Fletcher stood glowering down at him. They held a bloody rag in their hand from whatever they had been dealing with upstairs.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ll… I’ll…” Fix it? How was he going to fix it?

Fletcher closed their eyes and dug the heel of their palm into their temple. 

“Do you have any idea the amount of effort that went into this dinner?”

“I know, I’m sorry-” Tommy started again.

Fletcher cut him off. “You don’t know. I had to drive an hour and a half just to get these chickens. Every time I have to leave the lodge it’s a fucking ordeal. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but there’s not much around here. I can’t run to the grocery store without making a day of it. I can’t order fucking take out to fix this. You do know how long this took me today to put together.”

“I do, I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Fletcher reached down and slammed Tommy’s head against the cabinets. 

“Stop fucking saying you’re sorry! I know you’re fucking sorry! What happened?”

Tommy held his head, trying to blink his vision back after it whited out.

Fletcher crouched down on their haunches and grabbed Tommy by the front of his shirt, giving him a quick shake. 

“Hey! What the fuck happened?”

“I, uh, I burned my hand…” Tommy said, keeping his eyes low. He held back another “sorry.”

“You burned your hand?” Fletcher repeated unsympathetically. “Where?”

Tommy glanced up at them and hesitantly opened up his hand to them. Fletcher grabbed his wrist with more force than necessary.

“You think this is a burn?” They snarled. “I’ll show you a fucking burn.”

Fletcher took Tommy’s hand and pressed it down against the still hot metal pan.

Tommy screamed and Fletcher allowed him to jerk his arm away. He cradled his hand to his chest, tears escaping from his eyes.

Fletcher stood again, looking down on him.

“Don’t bother getting up. You’re going to be scrubbing the floor.”

Fletcher turned around to storm off, only to see the three trainees leaning around the doorway to observe.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Fletcher snapped.

One held up their hands and made themself scarce.

“Does this mean there’s no dinner?” Another asked.

“There’s potatoes,” Fletcher grumbled. Then they suddenly turned back and dashed to the pan of green beans, taking it off the heat. They inspected the vegetables, ignoring Tommy sniffling on the ground, trying to scoop up the chicken with one hand. “Yeah, these are fine. There’s also green beans.”

Scene 3

Tommy had experienced more types of pain than he could count, but burning was usually off the table to clients. Too much deep tissue damage. It was scary to think that his hand may never be the same. And if it was to recover, it was going to do so at the slow, agonizing crawl of natural healing. 

Tommy did his best not to flinch as Fletcher applied the cream to his burns. He just had to suck air between his teeth and not complain. 

“How’s it feel?” Fletcher asked once they had finished wrapping the gauze. 

“It stings,” Tommy said pitifully. “It feels like I’m still being burned. Do you think… do you think it’s going to be okay? Eventually?”

“Well, if you want to give me the information of that doctor you used to see, I’m sure he can give you a magic healing potion or whatever the fuck. Once I decide you’ve suffered enough.”

Tommy’s stomach flopped. He would take a burn any day of the week if it meant he never had to see Sam again.

“Please don’t take me back to him,” Tommy begged softly. 

Fletcher raised an eyebrow, but said no more on the subject. They peeled off their gloves.

“Then here’s how it will go. It’ll hurt, and then it will blister, and then the blisters will pop. You have to keep it clean so it doesn’t get infected. If you find yourself unable to do simple tasks because you can’t use one of your hands, you can come find me…” Fletcher took his chin in their hand. “And beg for my help.”

~

Tommy slept with his hand cradled against his chest. There was a brief moment of peace when he awoke before he began to feel the throb of the burns. 

He kept his arm close to his torso as he walked to the kitchen, trying to think of what he could make for himself. Surely he could manage a bowl of cereal with one hand.

The box was easy enough. Tommy got the milk from the fridge. Oh yeah - oat milk. He held the container between his arm and his side, twisting the cap off with his good hand. Looked like milk.

He thought about pouring some into a glass to try, when Fletcher walked in, carrying dirty dishes to the sink.

They glanced in Tommy’s direction, then away, saying nothing. 

“I can-” it came out quiet and hoarse. Tommy cleared his throat and tried again. “I can wash those.”

“Can you?” Fletcher asked without looking back at him. 

“Um, I can, well, I can try…” Tommy offered. 

Fletcher turned to face him now, leaning back on the counter. “If you drop something, and it breaks,” they said, “I am not going to be happy.”

Tommy paled. “Is there - is there something else you would like me to do?”

“Not really,” Fletcher said. They walked out of the room. 

Tommy wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. They hadn’t told him not to do the dishes, just not to break them. And if he misinterpreted their response as a no, and they came back to find that he hadn’t washed them, they might be angry.

His strategy for washing dishes with one hand was to lay them in the sink, scrub them there with one hand as best he could, and then move them into the stream of water.

It took longer, and was more awkward - they kept sliding around - but he was able to do it.

When Tommy found Fletcher next, they were out behind the lodge chopping wood. He watched them raise the axe over their shoulder and swing down on the log, cleaving it easily in two. 

“Do you want any help?” Tommy called out, keeping his distance.

“No,” Fletcher called back, setting up the log again.

Tommy hesitated. “Is there anything you would like me to-“

“What the fuck did I just say?”

Chop.

Tommy left them alone the rest of the day. He kept to his room, trying to give Fletcher space now that they had made it clear they didn’t want him around. For a while he tried to read, but he struggled to find a comfortable way to both hold the book and flip the pages. He ended up pacing the floor, filled with anxious nerves that urged him to do something.

He had been having such a… if not good, unquestionably better time here than he’d had with Caius and the rest. This was a bad turn. It didn’t have to be like this. He just had to make it up to Fletcher somehow; get back in their good graces

He had tried to make himself useful around the house without much success. It was true that what he could do would be limited while his hand was injured. Which meant he had to rely on other skills to make himself useful.

~

Everyone else had gone to bed. It was just Fletcher sitting on the couch, illuminated only by the fluctuating light of the TV screen. They had a beer in one hand, resting on the arm of the couch.

Tommy approached slowly, tugging on the hem of his shirt with anxiousness. Fletcher didn’t acknowledge him, even when he was standing in front of the couch. He kept to the side enough not to block their view.

It was only when Tommy lowered himself to his knees that Fletcher said, “What?” without taking their eyes off the screen.

“I’m really sorry about the dinner,” Tommy said. His stomach rippled with anxiety.

“I know,” Fletcher said flatly. “You’ve said.”

Tommy swallowed. He hesitantly leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against Fletcher’s leg.

Fletcher finally looked down at him.

“I would like to make it up to you.”

“How’s that?”

Fletcher said it flatly. Disinterested, still annoyed. There was no flirtation nor cruel amusement in their voice. 

Tommy swallowed. Was this a bad idea? Or was he not making it obvious enough? Most people would jump on him at the mere suggestion. 

Tommy put a hand on Fletcher’s knee and ran in gently up their thigh. Not far, not overstepping. Just trying to give them the right idea. He looked up at them with his best wet dog expression.

“Okay,” Fletcher said. 

They set their beer down on the end table and shifted their pose, spreading their legs a little more. Tommy dutifully shuffled in between.

Nothing you haven’t done before, he told himself. It’ll be better afterwards. 

“Close your eyes.” Fletcher said. And once he had, “Open your mouth.”

Tommy opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out a little. He waited, listening to Fletcher shift on the couch. Probably opening their pants. A click, that must’ve been their belt buckle. 

What entered his mouth was too big, too hard, too metallic. 

Tommy’s eyes flew open as the barrel of the gun forced his jaw wider. He tried to pull back, but Fletcher snatched a fistful of his hair and held him in place. 

Tommy whimpered that beautiful whimper, but it was more rounded, more frantic.

“Breathe through your nose,” Fletcher said.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and followed the order. He tried to breathe deep and slow through his nose. He tried to keep his tongue down as far as he could, to not gag and to not taste the oiled metal.

“I want you to look at me now.”

Tommy slowly opened his eyes. Fletcher was staring down at him impassively.

“Don’t try this shit with me again.”

Tommy couldn’t nod, so he did his best to make an “Uh huh” noise. 

Fletcher withdrew the gun. Tommy doubled forward and hacked. His mouth was left with an awful taste.

“Don’t spit on the floor,” Fletcher said. They picked up a magazine from the cushion beside them and slid it back into the gun. “Go.”

Tommy clamored to his feet and ran off. He managed to get to his room and close the door before fully breaking down into sobs, sliding down to the floor.

He had just been trying to make things better.

~

Tommy cried himself to sleep. Nothing new. He had just hoped to break the habit. 

He shuffled into the kitchen in the morning, and froze when he saw Fletcher sitting at the table, nursing a mug of coffee.

Tommy dropped his gaze quickly. He tried to decide quickly whether he should leave now, or grab some food and then leave. 

“Hey,” Fletcher said. It was softer than Tommy expected. “Sit.”

No running now. Tommy drew out the chair across from them and sat down, still avoiding their gaze.

“I recognize… that I have been harsh,” Fletcher said.

Tommy slowly lifted his eyes towards them, trying to read their expression. Was this a trick? Was he supposed to tell them he deserved it all? Was he supposed to believe them, and be lulled into a false sense of security?

“I didn’t give you a concussion, but, you know, the head can be tricky. And your hand…” They looked for the words. “I try to - I want to keep you in working condition. Nothing that’s going to really put you out of commission for a while. So that probably won’t happen again. Not to your hands. And the gun…” Fletcher ran a hand over their face. “The gun was a lot. That was uncool of me because, you know, gun safety rules.”

Tommy’s mouth was hanging slightly ajar. Was this an apology? At least, as close as Fletcher could get to one? He had expected something closer to, I recognize I’ve been harsh, but if you behaved I wouldn’t have to do these things.

“I know how it feels to have a gun on you,” Fletcher continued. They were the one to look away now. “And I… forget, I guess. That most people aren’t used to it. Can’t shake it off.

“Look, I’m not… not gonna say it will never happen again, but it probably won’t be this bad most of the time. Plenty of days will go by without incident, I’m sure. But I am… a violent person. I have violent tendencies, and I get angry. And I’m not trying to curb these tendencies because I enjoy indulging in them. So…” They tapped their knuckles on the table and shrugged. “That’s the situation. We’re square, for now. So you don’t need to be skulking around anymore. And… nevermind, I was going to say something mean.”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “About last night?”

“Yeah.”

“What, I’m not your type?”

Fletcher chuckled. “I was going to say when I want to take sexual advantage of you, I’ll let you know; you don’t have to initiate.”

“Right,” Tommy muttered, looking down again.

“I’m joking,” Fletcher said. “You can tell from my lighthearted expression.” They pointed at their face, purposely putting on a grumpy look. “Anyway, I’m planning my lesson for today. Might have to throw you around a bit for the demo. Nothing personal.”

“Oh,” Tommy said. “Okay, um…”

Fletcher was already up, carrying their coffee out of the room. “Get some breakfast,” they reminded him. “Three meals a day.”

~~~

hm i kind of thought our taglists would overlap more. good luck everyone.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker

[smoreal]

I have so many drabbles that are slowly starting to eat up my singular word document ;^; I’m trying to decide whether to post them here or on ao3…

[strawbebyjam]

if discord sends notifs when you leave groups or close dms. well i dont need or want to know that. thank u

[fluvoxamina]

i believed it would get better at 12, 13, 14, 15, 19, 20, 21, 22 and 24. so many years wasted hoping for something that never came. it’s been over a decade. how am i supposed to stay hopeful?

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which a impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[augustinewrites]

the dull throb resonating over your entire body is what eventually rouses you, slowly bringing you back into consciousness. your head feels like a sword’s been driven through it, leaving your mind muddled.

the first thing you see is satoru hunched over your bedside, his hand carefully clutching yours. you call his name, but your voice is hoarse and scratchy and barely above a whisper.

he hears you regardless, eyes wide and alert as he lifts his head. he looks tired, dark circles stamped under his eyes and an unusual stiffness in his movements.

“you’re…okay,” he says, strained. as if he can’t believe it. you hum in response - because it’s all you can manage at the moment - feeling your eyelids begin to droop your will. “get some more rest. i’ll call shoko.” 

the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead is the last thing you feel before drifting back to sleep.

_____

you’re not sure how much time has passed when you come to. now, the room is illuminated by honeyed lamplight and you see shoko and satoru talking quietly at the foot of your bed. 

“glad to see you’re still with us,” your best friend smiles once she notices you’re awake. she moves to your side, leaning over you to pull back the thin blanket. there’s a swathe of bandages wrapped around your shoulder and a sling immobilizing your arm. 

“how do you feel?” satoru asks, that worried look still set in his expression. 

“i‘m fine,” you manage to answer, trying to blink the room into focus.

“you need to be more careful,” shoko tells you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. the usual air indifference in her voice is gone, replaced with concern. “take satoru with you next time. not because i think you’re incapable of doing your job, but so he can do the corny, heroic thing and take the hit for you. god knows he could stand to be humbled every once in a while…” 

“thanks, shoko,” your boyfriend scoffs, but the way his hand grips yours tightly tells you he’d be more than willing to be your corny hero. 

you hate the way they look down at your prone form as shoko goes over your treatment plan. it makes you feel small and weak, and you are neither of those things. 

“can you help me sit up?”

“you shouldn’t be moving around–” 

your body burns with protest as you awkwardly push yourself up anyway, exhaling a pained hiss as gojo swears, reaching out to help steady your trembling torso as shoko shoves pillows behind your back. 

“i’m fine,” you argue, trying to ignore the throbbing behind your temples. you don’t remember exactly how you’d ended up in the school’s infirmary, just remember the way pain had exploded across your left side when you’d been hit.  

“you almost weren’t,” he says quietly. a deeply haunted look clouds his face as he recalls what must have happened after you’d been brought in, and you feel guilty for not being able to remember it. 

so you let him squeeze into bed next to you, let him carefully pull you into his chest and hold you until you feel the tension in his body dissipate. you know he needs this a little more than you do, know that the knowledge of you being okay isn’t enough. it won’t stop the fear and anxiety of losing you from gnawing on the edge of his sanity.

“i wanna give the flowers–”

“so you can take all the credit? i’m the one who bought them!”

your pained grimace easily turns to a smile when the door opens to reveal megumi and tsumiki, who are both gripping a bouquet of flowers. nanami follows them in, wearing the tired look of a man that’s never spent more than three hours dealing with moody preteens raised by gojo – until today.

_____

your family spoils you over the next few days. the three of them falling asleep on the little couch in your room, tucked under gojo’s arms every night until you’re cleared to go home. even then, they don’t leave your side. tsumiki snuggles next to you to watch movies and bakes you little treats. megumi reads to you from the book you’d been going through together and listens to your favourite records with you after school. 

satoru posts himself by your side. you like having him around. like the gentle way he handles you when working through the stretches shoko prescribes. like watching the way his hands move he diligently slices wedges of fresh fruit. 

you like being the focus of his single-minded attention, but you know how restless he can get when he doesn’t go off to work. rightfully so, because the jujutsu world would probably fall apart without him.

“you can go if you want,” you say one day, when he gets off a phone call with yaga. “i’ll be okay for a few hours.” 

he doesn’t get up, instead beginning to peel a plump orange (you’d never noticed how nice his hands were until now). “no, nanami’s still covering for me.” 

“satoru,” you sigh, taking an orange slice from him. “there’s a lot going on, you have bigger fish to fry.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he tells you firmly, looking like he’d physically fight the idea of leaving your side. “you’re my fish.”

[letorip]

kiss with a fist

“you hit me once, i hit you back, you gave a kick, i gave a slap”

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: tara needs a favour from perhaps the person she hates most on earth, but it just ends up drawing the both of you closer together.

warnings: explicit sexual content, fake dating 🤯, enemies to lovers, contrived plot because ha ha ha

word count: 4.8k

A/N: kinda had a lot of fun with this one. might do a part two, might just leave it as is, but let me know. inspired by kiss with a fist by florence + the machine (duh), lovely night from la la land, and various other inspirations.

===+++===

===+++===

The moment your front door opened on its hinges, Tara Carpenter was pushing past you and barging straight into your apartment, stepping right over the threshold and checking you with her shoulder. You barely had a chance to process it, before she had wandered down the hall and into your kitchen in a blur.

You rolled your eyes, knowing you were in for an annoying ass conversation and slamming the door shut. “What do you want?” You called into your own apartment loud enough for her to hear you in the other room.

“Don’t be a prick about it. This is the last place I wanted to go,” she shot back, and you sighed to yourself in your dark hallway before fixing your hair in the mirror and following her inside. There was only about an hour of her bullshit you could put up with and then you’d be saved by the bell anyhow.

“Whatever happened to ‘hello,’ Tara?” You said, crossing your arms and coming in to against the doorframe. She had jumped up onto your counter, legs swinging and fingers gripping the edge of the blue ice glass tiles. In her left hand she picked up the bottle of wine you had left out next to some glasses and began to read the label.

"Lecture me later,” she said, not looking up at you, You were about to reply, or more aptly, tell her to get the hell out of your apartment, but she put the bottle down and narrowed her eyes at you, clearly struggling to say what she was really there for.

“Look, (Y/n), I need your help.” Ah. There it was.

"Hah," you scoffed without hesitation. "No."

She threw up her hands. "I didn’t even say what I was asking for.”

“Still, no. I’m not helping you.”

“Could you just not be an asshat for five minutes and listen to me? Like, is that too hard for you? Are you medically incapable?" She shot back.

"You're sitting on my counter. I didn't bust into your house and start making demands but here you are in mine,” you said.

"I'm asking for a favour," said Tara, raising her voice. "Asking."

"Wasn't much of a question though, was it," you replied. Maybe being a dick back to her would make her leave. She had always been able to dish it but never able to take it, and you wanted to make her. "You said 'I need a favour.' There's no question in that."

"No, I actually said I need your help, now would you shut up and listen?"

You scowled. "Y'know, I'm not really in a helpful mood tonight."

"Like you have something better to do,” Tara scoffed, raising her eyebrows at you.

"And what if I do?"

"Then I'd say you're lying. What, you don’t want to help me because you’re watching your stupid show, or reading or something?” she challenged back, getting up off your counter and walking towards you. You straightened up, glaring down at her. She only came up to about your chest, but the short girl still did her best to seem intimidating.

With you she always frustratingly failed to even make the smallest dent, though that probably stemmed from the fact you could pick her up and punt her like a football if you wanted to. On the days she managed to really piss you off, the thought grew more enticing.

"For your information, I was supposed to have a date," you said. Tara blinked at this, looking down from your stupid face. You wore a thick black turtleneck and some pleated black pants that hung stylishly from your waist. The wine made sense now, and Tara felt like an idiot.

“What’d you pay them?” she clapped back, covering for the feeling of intense heat rising to her cheeks. This was humiliating. She had come begging for your help of all people- you, and now she had nothing to show for it but the stupid, smug look on your stupid, smug face.

“Ha ha,” you said, dryly. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Yes,” you insisted.

"So you're busy then…” she trailed off.

“Yes.”

“Nooo,” she groaned, throwing up her hands in frustration.

You weren't sure what it was, maybe the pout of her lip or the shining of her eyes, but you shut your own for a second and let out a sigh. "Why? What's the favour?"

Tara shook her head in a generally amusing display of defeat. "It's whatever. Have fun on your date," she said, heading for the door and trying to brush past you, but you reached your arm across the doorway, stopping her from going.

"No, what's-" you stopped, rolling your eyes upon realising you were about to help Tara Carpenter of all people- "What's the favour, Tara?" Her face instantly lit up with a bright, beaming smile, the exact opposite of what it had been before, and it suddenly occurred to you she had been playing you like a fiddle.

"Oh my god, you're actually helping for once! Did you finally wake up on the right side of the bed?”

"Don't push it," you muttered. "I don't even know what I'm agreeing to, yet."

"See, about that..." she trailed off.

"What.”

“We have to make Sam really, really mad.”

"What?”

"Yeah..."

You shook your head at her. "Never mind. I'm not helping you anymore."

"What!?"

"You're trying to get me murdered," you said. "I don't have a death wish."

Tara was fully frustrated now, dark eyes fiery and staring up at you in the candle lighting. “You don’t even know what it is you’re doing to make her mad yet!”

“Doesn’t matter, if it’s Sam I don’t want to do it.”

“It would be a big help!” Tara said, clasping her hands in front of her like a prayer. You narrowed your eyes at her, more upset her expression and clear desperation was actually working on you, and that you felt compelled to help this idiot with an undoubtedly idiotic plan.

“What are you trying to do?”

Tara jumped up and down in excitement, smiling widely in a way you had rarely seen her. “Okay! Okay, so Sam said last month that she didn’t want me going to parties and meeting people because she was worried they were murderers.”

“Uh huh,” you said.

“Buuut, she said I could go if I had someone always with me. Like, someone with me that she approved of. So I didn’t wander off to hook up or drink, which is, y’know, the actual fun ‘college party’ stuff.”

“Uh huh.”

“The thing is though, that if I had a ‘partner,’” she raised her fingers to put quotes around it, “then Sam wouldn’t need to worry about me doing that, because she’d assume I’d be with them, hanging out, or even if we did go to a party, it would be together. Buddy system style.”

You raised your eyebrows, realising where this was probably going. “Uh huh?”

“Which is where you’d come in. Sam wouldn’t trust just anybody, if I told her I was seeing someone. But she would trust someone from our group, who she knows for sure isn’t going to murder me. And you- as fucking annoying as you are- are exactly that.” She had a twinkle in her eyes when she explained it to you, and you realised Tara had probably been plotting this- or at least considering it- for a while now, the little devil.

“You really expect Sam to believe we can tolerate each other?” You asked, squeezing your arms tighter against your chest. “She knows how much I hate you, and only person I hate more is her.”

“Trust me, I’ve complained about you to her too,” she rolled her eyes. “But you were literally my only option. Call it a romance of passion. We only ‘hated’ other to cover up for our real feelings or whatever. Sam doesn’t have to like you but she definitely trusts you.”

“How romantic,” you wrinkled your nose, disgusted by the suggestion. “Wait, why am I your only option? Chad is right there, he’s already in love with you and everything. He’s like the built-in boyfriend.”

She winced. “See, I thought about that. But I just know it would probably hurt him, with the hooking up and it not being real. He probably wouldn’t feel too great about me ‘cheating’ on him.” Tara did the finger quotes around it again and you let out a whistle.

“Wow, so you do have a heart.”

She scoffed. “More than you do. Besides, we only need to pretend to be together until I find someone actually tolerable. After that, you’re free again.”

“I had a date tonight,” you narrowed your eyes at her.

“But you’re still here talking to me for some reason?” She raised her eyebrows at you. “And the way you said ‘had’ I’m thinking you don’t anymore.” Tara could be annoyingly perceptive sometimes. She always seemed to zero in on the way you spoke or what you said.

“I wasn’t too excited for it anyways,” you grumbled, and Tara laughed, realising she had been correct and being all too pleased with herself. She clasped her hands together.

“Well then. Are you going to help me, or are you going to glare at me some more?”

“The second one sounds really appealing right now,” you shot back.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be too proud of an asshole to admit this is a great plan.”

“It’s a terrible plan, and it’s absolutely going to fail when Sam tries to murder me.”

“But you didn’t say no.”

You looked at her for a long minute, contemplating if this was really the path you were going to go down. You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “I’ll do it. But you’ll sure as hell owe me.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tara waved you off, beaming from ear to ear. “Great! We’re going on a double date with her and Danny this Friday.”

“What?!” Your mouth dropped open.

“Yep,” she said, annoyingly skipping down your hallway. “I’ll text you the address and time!” she said.

“Now wait a minute-” you called after her, but she had already latched open your door and left, leaving you to watch her go. Fuck, this would end terribly. You sighed again, taking out your phone to cancel your date.

===+++===

This was so unbelievably stupid. The longer you stood outside the Italian restaurant, the more you regretted agreeing to help her.

The restaurant was nice at least, with giant marble stones and dark red accents, and you could see through the massive float glass windows that the lighting mostly featured romantic candles and potted floribunda roses against dark wood. It would ironically be the most expensive date you ever had, and you realised that with bitter sentimentality.

Tara was late, like always, and you had begun to pace along the sidewalk, tracing the cracks with the centre of your shoe while you waited for her. It was boring, out on the street, and the more couples that passed you and walked right inside, the more nauseous you felt. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, thumbing over the cracked display.

She was ten minutes late. You swiped open your text messages, still seeing nothing from her.

are you here yet???

You sent the message hastily, waiting for the typing icon to pop up or even show that she read it, but nothing. Suddenly the screen lit up and your phone started vibrating it, and you almost dropped it in surprise. “Fuck,” you cussed quietly, seeing the call incoming screen and Little Shit (do not pick up) appear at the top. You frowned, hitting the green button and accepting the call.

“Where the hell are you??? I don’t know if you noticed but we’re late,” you immediately said into the phone, aware of just how annoyed you sounded.

“Relax,” replied Tara on the other end of the line, and you could hear her eye roll from here. “Danny is a late guy too, Sam gets on him all the time for it.”

“Yeah well, I’m standing outside waiting for your late ass.” You felt someone awkwardly push past you and you winced, spinning around to usher them an apology.

“I’ll be there in a minute, I had to pick something up,” she dismissed you. “Just don’t let Sam and Danny see you. I told them we were showing up together.”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to do that?” You frowned, looking around. There was a row of bushes off to the side but you were too tall and not at all willing to crouch behind them like an idiot.

“I don’t know. Figure. It. Out.” Tara spoke slowly like you were a child and you narrowed your eyes.

“Y’know, I’m doing you a favour?”

“Ha!” Tara exclaimed, and you hissed, pulling your ear away from the phone’s speaker at the loud noise. “So you admit, it was a favour!”

“Shut up and get your ass over here," you grumbled before hanging up shortly, looking around and wandering down a side alley. It smelled disgusting back there, in the ironic, almost-dark of sunset, and it would've been a lovely night to take a walk on, had it not been for wasting it on Tara of all people.

You pulled out a box of cigarettes from your pocket, fumbling one out and sticking it between your lips. You stuck the box back in your pocket and pulled out your fancy lighter that had your name engraved on the side, thumbing over the lettering for a moment before lighting the cigarette and sticking it between your two fingers.

It felt stupid, to standing there next to the dumpster and watching some rats scurry by, but you let out a huff of smoke, remembering how much Tara had seemed excited for the parties and having fun. You didn't like her very much, nor could you really claim to be much of a saint, but you weren't a monster either.

"What are you doing??" called a voice from the end of the alley, and you spun to see Tara near the line of bushes with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She had her eyes narrowed at the cigarette, looking frustrated.

"Having a smoke. Why, want one?"

She let out a sigh of exasperation, marching straight up to you. "You can't go on a double date with my sister smelling like cigarette smoke. You know she hates that kind of stuff."

"I've smoked with her, before. Her and Mindy," you argued, pulling it from your lips to take a breath in. "I've literally given her cigarettes."

Tara glared at you, taking it from your hand and crushing it under her heel. "Yeah, well, she still hates you, and now that we're allegedly 'dating' it's different. We can't give her any reason not to trust us, and you smoking cigarettes is going to make her think I'm going to start smoking cigarettes."

You shrugged. "If she hates me so much, then she's never gonna let us 'hang out' alone or go to parties anyway."

"No, she-" Tara rolled her eyes. "She hates you, but she sure as hell trusts you. Enough to babysit me."

"Fine. What's with the flowers?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"You got them for me," Tara shrugged. "Pinnacle of romance."

You whistled to be funny, but it was a little bit impressive that she had planned that out. The plan wasn't especially well thought out, but she at least had her moments of surprising intelligence, which you couldn't begrudge her.

"Well then," she frowned. "Let's go, lover." She clutched the flowers in one hand and slid her arm to interlock with yours. You narrowed your eyes but started to walk her in.

"Don't call me that. It's weird," you muttered.

"Get used to it. Tonight we're the happiest couple on planet Earth."

The restaurant was somehow even nicer on the inside than it had been on the outside. Tara gripped your hand, tugging you along with her as she headed towards Sam and Danny's table and followed the waiter, but you were looking a little dumbfounded at the marble columns and Italian frescos painted to the walls and roof.

You made your way back, led into a giant room with a lot of people. Danny sent you a welcoming wave when they saw you; Sam looked like she was about ready to blow a gasket. She stared at you, eyeing you up and down and then lasering in on the bouquet in Tara's hands with a frown.

"Did you tell her your secret partner was me???" you whispered to Tara as you approached.

She smirked evilly. "Nope."

Fucking amazing. "Hey guys!" Danny said, friendly and open. He seemed just thrilled to be there, while Sam seethed right next to him. Tara smiled right at her sister, gesturing for you to sit next to her.

"Sorry we were late," Tara says, a little awkward but trying to seem comfortable. "We were, um..." she looked at you for help.

You blanked, throwing out the first thing you could think of. "Kissing!"

Sam nearly spit out her water, eyes widening at staring at you. Tara whipped to you, jaw slack and you sent her a sorry glance. Improv was not your thing by any means.

"Um," Danny blinked at you. "No worries. You're here now," he said with an awkward smile. His hand went to Sam's, trying to give it a comforting squeeze, but she looked like she wanted to jump over the table and then jump you. She was glowering.

"So," she said, eyes narrowed. "How long has 'this,'" she gestured between you and Tara, "been a thing?" She looked at you intensely, and you looked to Tara, trying to shrug it off. You both laughed, playing the part of the happy couple.

"Oh, a month," you said.

"Two months," Tara said, at the exact same time. Fuck.

You tried not to glare at each other. "Well, which is it?" Sam squinted at her sister, and Tara sent a kick at your leg under the table. Your knee hit the bottom of the table with a painful 'thud,' and it took everything in you to not yell out in pain from your knee cap hitting the wood.

You tried to smile it off. "Tara just said two months, because we went on a few study dates, but it wasn't official until a month ago."

"So two months then," Sam said, crossing her arms on the table.

"I get it," Danny said, nodding. "I'm bad at dates and stuff too," he laughed a bit. "I almost forgot how long Sam and I had been together after our four month anniversary." You nodded, sending him your best grin. Sam didn’t look too happy about that either, though.

"Yeah, long day, I guess." Tara said next to you, sending you her best smile, her hand coming up to rub your back. It was weird, having her this close, but you put on your best face, as if she touched you all the time.

"You go to Blackmore too, right?" he asked, and you nodded. "What do you study?"

"I'm in architecture," you replied. Finally, something you could talk about without feeling like you were crossing a minefield. From the corner of your eye, you could still see Sam staring you down with suspicion.

"Oh! That's awesome!" Danny replied, taking a sip of wine from his glass. "I love architecture, it's interesting."

"Mhm," you nodded, looking over at Tara and smirking with just a hint of malicious glee. "I tease her- my degree is actually useful. People don't really like film majors. They usually smell bad."

"Do they?" he asked, genuinely curious, and you turned back, nodding.

"Yeah, it's an unfortunately common stereotype. Film majors are annoying, smelly-," your words were cut off, feeling Tara's nail dig into your back for revenge and trying to stifle a wince. She gave the table a fake giggle.

"Okay, that's enough out of you," she said, and you grinned, cursing her out in your head.

"Why didn't you tell me it was (Y/n), Tara?" Sam asked, leaning forwards and studying you both. She seemed a bit miffed with the whole situation. You sent each other fake smiles, as if you were about to share a secret.

"Well," she said, trying to seem excited. "We just didn't want anyone ruining it, really. It was kind of a secret, and we didn't know what it would turn into. But it's just...it's been so fucking magic."

"Magic. Mhm," you hummed in agreement, looking off into the distance and pulling out the menu. You were just a bit too hungry to keep up with the game for the moment. Seriously? she shot you a glare, and you snapped to attention. "It is genuinely one of the happiest times of my life," you rushed, quickly smiling and then dropping your attention back down to the menu to look at some pasta.

“Does Chad know?” Sam asked, sitting back and staring at you both. Tara shook her head.

“Not yet. I don’t want to hurt him, but really, (Y/n)’s the one for me.” This was also a little bit impressive. Tara seemed to be a far better actor than you were, and Sam just nodded, suspicious but trusting her sister’s words.

===+++===

The moment you walked down the block and out of Sam and Danny's eyesight, your hand dropped from Tara's. The sun was just about setting in the distance, and city traffic was starting to slow down a little.

"Oh. My. God. Her face!" Tara said, laughing. She keeled over, and you smiled a little, remembering Sam's look of disgust, but quiet monitoring of your hand clutching onto Tara's. She looked like a very conservative nun, witnessing a sin being performed in real time. It was a little funny, you had to admit, not that you'd ever be caught laughing along with her.

"Danny seems nice," you said, after you walked a little farther.

Tara nodded. "He's surprisingly not a douchebag. I thought he would be, like you or something, but he's not that bad for Sam."

You scoffed. "I'm not a douchebag."

"You definitely are," Tara said, shaking her head. "One month because it wasn't official? You said we were going on dates before then. That's definitely douchebag behaviour. Sam probably thought that meant you were seeing other people."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Tara said, rolling her eyes. "And 'kissing'??? Literally anything would've been better."

"I'm trying to help you, it's either this or nothing," you huffed in annoyance. "I'm not an on-the-spot person."

"Clearly," Tara said, shaking her head in overdramatic emphasis. She stopped suddenly and you jerked backwards, seeing her mess with her shoes.

"You good?" you asked, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"These damn shoes- making me walk home- god dammit," she grumbled, messing with the straps and the buckle on the side. You waited patiently, leaning against a stone wall as you waited for her to finish.

The sky above you had turned a deep purple, small hues of orange and pink in the form of clouds sitting at the edges. It was really something, and you stopped to watch it, whistling. Tara jerked upwards, planting her foot down to stomp her shoe into place.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The sky," you said, and she craned her neck up to watch it with you. "It's just really beautiful tonight."

She hummed for a moment before looking back to you. "It's a shame I'm spending it with you, of all people," Tara snorted. "I'm sure this would be romantic to any other couple."

"It would probably really be something," you said absentmindedly, looking up in thought. "A real waste on you and me though."

"Glad we agree," she said, leading the way. You and her had taken a separate path from Danny and Sam under the guise of getting some ice cream, but neither of you were willing to pay for it. Instead, you had to figure out what you would do with ten extra minutes.

"Do you want to cross?" you asked, gesturing to the other street, she nodded and you walked up, pressing the button. When you turned back to her, her nose was wrinkled.

"What?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. You just hit the button weird."

"What?" you blinked at her. "How can someone 'hit the button weird'?"

"I don't know, but you, like, pushed it weird. With your fingers."

You rolled your eyes. "Do you have a problem with everything I do?"

“Yep,” she nodded back. “It’s annoying.”

You guys kept walking in silence for the next block or two, making a square so that you could return to Sam and Tara’s apartment together. The sun had disappeared now and faded into night, and when you turned the corner to split off, she tugged on your arm.

“Hey wait, you have to walk me home.”

“What?” you raised your eyebrows at her.

Tara shrugged. “You have to, to make Sam think we’re dating.”

You blinked at her. “But we live on opposite sides of the city.”

“Still.”

“Tara if I walk you home I’ll miss the last train,” you grumbled. “That’s a long ass walk.”

“Cmon, we have to or she won’t believe it.”

You frowned. “You’re paying for my cab then.”

She sighed. “Fine, but come on.”

She tugged you down the long strip by the hand, stopping suddenly, a block from her apartment. “Here wait,” she said, turning to you. “Give me your jacket.”

“What?” you raised your eyebrows at her. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Oh just do it, do you have to argue about everything?”

You took it off with a glare, handing it to Tara. She tried to slide it on but it was massive on her, so she bunched up the sleeves. With the flowers in her hand and your jacket, it definitely looked like you two had gone on a date.

She grabbed your hand again, pulling you forwards along the street and smiling brightly in case anyone looked out the window and saw you both. It felt a bit odd to be playing dress up, but it was helping someone out, so you didn’t begrudge her on getting you to smile either.

“Wait wait wait,” Tara said, stopping abruptly.

You groaned. “Now what.”

She pulled you to the side, near a row of shrubs that sat next to the red brick of her apartment building. “Sam’s watching us through the window.”

You turned your head, trying to see for yourself, and there she was, hanging right out the window and watching you with intense suspicion.

"Don't look at her!" Tara snapped at you, whispering with a glare. You rolled your eyes.

"What do you want me to do then, Tara?"

She frowned, biting her lip while she thought. She gave you a grimace. "We need to do, like, a goodnight kiss or something."

You glared at the suggestion. "I think I'd rather die."

"Trust me, I don't want to either," she said, glowering right back at you. "But if we do this now, we won't have to ever again."

You thought for a moment. She'd probably taste disgusting anyways, and then it would just confirm what you already knew- you hated Tara Carpenter. "Fine. Just convincing enough though."

"Okay," she nodded. When neither of you made a move to close the distance, she frowned. "Do like, a countdown or something?"

"A fucking countdown," you repeated. "We're not five."

"Just do it!" she demanded, glaring again.

"Okay, fine, Jesus Christ. Three...," your face moved a bit closer to hers. "Two," you muttered quietly, still leaning in. "One," you said, and then Tara pushed her face onto yours.

It was a chaste kiss, probably sprouting from the fact that neither of you especially wanted to do it. Her lips were softer than you expected them to be and her breath nowhere as near as it would be in your head. You pulled away quickly, and there she was, smiling up at you in the fake way she had been at the restaurant.

"Party next Friday?" she asked. "Now that Sam thinks we're together she won't care if I go. Just pick me up and we can go 'together.' Plus there's a cute kid from my film class who said she would be there."

You nodded. "Whatever."

"Great," she said with similar shortness, and she brushed right past you, heading into her building. You watched her walk off, making sure she got in the door safe. Sam was still looking at you from overhead, even when Tara had gone, and you could see Quinn standing behind her, looking with morbid curiosity.

It had never even crossed your mind to kiss Tara, just because of how annoying her personality was, and you would have rather died than admit it had been nice- that she had been nice for a night. Instead you turned around, walking off. You were sure Sam was still watching you, as you went.

===+++===

part two??? it shouldn't be too long before the next one, i had to split this up because it was getting insanely long and there's another half to the story. i didn't want this one to be like 8k words long, i'll just probably have another one that's 4-5k soon.

[cutielando]

driving around | l.n.

synopsis: in which you're too stubborn for your own good

a/n: thank you so much @rayaharper for requesting this !!❤️

my masterlist

“You’re not driving”

“Why not??” 

“You’re sick, I’m not risking putting you behind the wheel just because you’re stubborn”

You had been bickering like this for nearly 10 minutes now, neither of you wanting to compromise for the other. 

It’s not like you were that sick, you were coughing a bit, with a runny nose, sore muscles and a little temperature. You were basically fine and good to go.

But Lando didn’t agree on that.

He blamed what he called the “Verstappen stubborn gene.” He always made fun of you and your brother, Max, for sharing that stubborn trait that he hated so much.

It was also because he was a stubborn person as well, which meant that you would oftentimes clash regarding pretty much everything.

Just like you were doing now.

You were insisting to drive you and Lando to the track so he could get some more rest and the boy was having none of it.

“Just because I’m a little sick doesn’t mean I’m incapable of driving, Lando” you complained, rolling your eyes which hurt right in your sinuses.

That should have been the first sign to stop you from being so adamant to drive, but you weren’t about to give up so easily.

“Little sick? You’ve been burning up for 2 days and can barely get any sleep without waking up in cold sweat. You hardly eat anything and your sinuses are clogged” he reasoned, making you look at him.

He was right. Everything he was saying was the truth.

But it still didn’t sway you.

“It’s just a cold, I can manage just fine” you said before opening the door and getting into the driver’s seat.

Lando sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hates how stubborn you were at times, and he knew that his attempts to get you to let him drive would be in vain.

With that being said, he just sighed once again and got into the passenger seat.

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t condone this and I’m really not okay with you driving in this state” he said once he buckled up, tracking your every movement with his eyes.

“Babe, I’ll be fine. It’s just a short ride, it’s not like I’ll be driving for hours” you attempted to soothe him, but it clearly wasn’t working.

He only hummed and looked back at the road, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

As you started the relatively short drive from your hotel and towards the track, you could slowly feel your eyes burning, the soreness in your muscles escalating with each minute and your headache coming in strong.

It was in those moments that you knew he had been right and you shouldn’t have insisted on driving. You could feel nausea coming quickly onto your body, making you swallow harshly in order to tame it for now.

You had barely made it to the track safely, Lando already knowing that you would be way too tired to even watch the race after this.

“I told you so” he said, standing beside you as you weakly managed to get out of the car.

You glared at him, the movement hurting your sinuses even more. 

“I just wanted you to get some more rest before we got here” you said, pouting at him with glossy eyes.

He sighed when he looked at you, bringing you into his arms right away. He kissed your forehead, frowning once he felt how hot you were and saw how sick you actually looked.

“I know you did, but baby, you’re sick. I don’t want to rest when you’re feeling like this, I want to take care of you. And I can’t do that when you argue with me and put me on the spot for wanting to help you” he said, gently trying to make you see that he only wanted what was best for you.

Deep down, you knew you had been wrong, and right now in Lando’s arms, you realized just how much you had needed his warmth and his hug.

“I’m sorry for being stubborn” your voice was small, but he still heard you.

“Come on, let’s get you to hospitality and find some medicine and a quiet place to rest for you” he let go of you and opened the door to take your bags, taking your hand and leading you to the McLaren hospitality.

He manages to avoid the paparazzi on the way to the motorhome, keeping you close to his body.

Once you got to the motorhome, Jon was waiting for Lando there, his eyebrows instantly furrowing once he saw the state you were in.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jon asked Lando once he sat you down at a table and wrapped his jacket around your body.

Lando sighed, looking back at how you were practically sleeping on the chair before he turned around to talk to his trainer.

“She’s been sick for the past few days and today she insisted on driving us to the track even when I told her she’s too sick to drive. We just barely got here okay because she got worse on the road” he explained, his voice hushed as he kept stealing glances at his passed out girlfriend.

“Have you talked to her doctor or something?” Jon asked worriedly, caring for you just as much as Lando ever since the two of you were introduced.

Lando nodded. “I did, she said we should just wait for it to pass, that she should get plenty of rest and shouldn’t do much, but you know how she is” he explained further.

“You have one stubborn girlfriend, mate” Jon joked, bumping his shoulder in order to help the driver relax.

Lando chuckled, nodding knowingly. 

Just as he was about to say something else, you whined as you started to wake up, trying to wrap the jacket even tighter around your body.

“Lan?” your voice was small, your eyes slowly blinking open.

“I’m here, baby. Come on, let’s get you to a room where you can rest up. Jon will look after you” he said while picking you up bridal style.

The three of you made your way upstairs to a free room, Lando immediately bundled you up in your blankets that he brought for you and helped you take your medicine.

Even in your current state, somewhere between reality and sleep, you realized just how much you needed to rest and how truly sick you were.

“Thank you for taking care of me and sorry for insisting on driving today” you said when he finished fussing over you and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

Lando shook his head, brushing a strand of your hair from your eyes.

“Don’t apologize, just get some rest and I’ll see you after practice, okay?” you nodded, settling into the tiny bed and allowing yourself to succumb to your sleep.

Lando left you in the room partly against his will, but with the reassurance that Jon would take care of you while he was in the car.

And, at the end of the day, he was always going to take care of you, no matter what.

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[intromortal]

PERIOD SEX WITH VAMPIRE JAKE !

PAIRING: vamp!bf!jake x reader on her period

WARNINGS: mdni period and blood duh, creampie, non-con (?)biting, breeding kink, mirror sex, cum eating, not really proof read i'm too tipsy for this

a/n: @karinasbaby you know what you did.

“Why is my princess so shy today mhh?” Jake whispered against your ear, his canines teasingly grazing the shell of it. “Are you too shy to watch your little hole be stretched out, pretty?” His breath was warm on your neck, goosebumps littering the expanse of your skin.

You were sat on his cock, his hard length twitching inside you with every little whimper that left your raw lips. He refused to move his hips and fuck into you like you wanted him to, opting instead to ravage your neck and play with your oversensitive bundle of nerves as he forced you to watch the reflection of your cunt make a bloody mess all over him in the mirror positioned in front of the bed. 

Your vampire boyfriend always showed you his nastier side when you got your period, so different from his usual soft and caring demeanour, though with the way he fucked you so dumb you could barely think by the end of the night, you wouldn’t be able to complain even if you wanted to. Jake was normally so scared of hurting you—his strength far greater than any human. But how could he ever control himself when your sweet scent overpowered his senses so sinfully?

“Fuck doll, your little hole is clenching so hard around me,” he spoke in a hushed tone as he licked a stripe from your ear down to your collarbone. “Trying to suck me in further? Want my cock so deep inside you I’ll have no choice but to knock you up?” He kissed the junction of your neck, his lips parted so his tongue could slip out and soak your skin with his spit. “I could stay inside you all day, just fucking more and more of my cum into your abused little hole.”

He snickered on your skin when your walls fluttered against his weeping length, cute little whimpers raining from your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he pushed his cock somehow deeper, so deep it started to hurt, his balls flush against your thighs. Pain so delicious saliva dripped from the corner of your lips, mouth quite literally watering. “You like that yeah? Nasty little slut.”

Jake brought his long bony fingers to your pussy and immediately started to draw circles around your poor sensitive clit that had been ignored up to that point.

“Jake fuck– I’m so close, please,” you cried, your head thrown back against his shoulder as he continued to abuse your bundle of nerves.

He stopped his movements, hand coming up to your face to cup it and force your gaze to stay on the mirror, the sight of your fucked out face and the mix of slick and blood pooling on your and Jake’s thighs making your entire body heat with humiliation. You didn't know if you wanted to cry in embarrassment or pleasure to be completely honest.

“You’ll cum only while watching how much of a dirty and messy whore you are.” His grip tightened around your jaw, his fingers digging harshly in the hollow of your cheeks, leaving you incapable of objecting. “You’ll see how pretty your pussy is, all bloody and fluttering around me as you come,” he seethed and grabbed a handful of your thigh to move it to the side, spreading you completely open on his legs for you both to see. “You’ll be good and do that, won’t you princess?” he asked more softly, the ghost of a kiss tickling your neck, his nose brushing the middle of it. You could do nothing but nod in his grip, ready to comply with any of his commands to finally get your sweet release after being subjected to his whims for far too long, after he toyed with you like you were his plaything all night long. “That’s what I thought, such a good princess for me.”

He kept his hands on your thigh and jaw as he finally moved his hips, cock pulling slightly out of your snug walls, a layer of red coating his length, before sinking all the way into you again. His quiet moans sent shivers down your spine, every sensation you were feeling making your back arch against his firm chest. 

Jake picked his pace up, keeping you still while he pounded into you with all the strength he usually kept under his control. He pushed you close to the edge of your orgasm like this, his gaze fixed on the mirror to see you sucking him in so nicely, his own mouth hanging open in response to the overwhelming pleasure and the scent of your blood clouding his mind.

As he neared his orgasm, he let his mind wander to how fucking delicious you must taste, something he tried to never indulge in too long. And truly, normally he would’ve kept his thoughts at bay, but the way your body was responding to his every thrust—writhing under his grasp like it hurt despite your pleas for more—sent his mind reeling. He truly could not help but sink his sharp canines in the candid skin of your neck. 

You gasped in shock at the stabbing pain,  soothed right away by his saccharine venom flooding your bloodstream. He moaned as he kept feeding off of you, the feeling of his hot cum spilling into you sending you tumbling over the edge right after him. Your vision clouded as searing white pleasure overcame every single other sensation, leaving your mind numb and devoid of anything but adoration and lust for more. 

Your cunt clenched as you made a bloody mess all over Jake’s cock, inciting him to go right back to fucking into you, your hips chasing after him spontaneously.

“More Jake, fuck— need more,” you gasped, using all the sanity you had left in you to utter that single broken sentence.

Jake’s red glowing eyes rolled all the way back into his head at your desperate state, at just how pathetic he had turned you. He’d fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you, let you milk him until he physically had no more left in him to bury inside you if your body could take it. But even high off your taste, he knew he had to settle with less.

So he drew back from your neck before you could pass out in his hold, white canines and lips drowned in your red blood. He pressed soothing kisses all over your sweaty skin, two of his fingers reaching down your body to gently pinch your clit, the sudden jolt of pain sending you straight into another release with a loud scream.

You babbled incoherently while you did your best to keep your gaze locked in the mirror, his slow thrusts helping you ride out your high.

“You did so well for me doll,” he mumbled in your ear and silenced the complaint ready on your lips when he slowly pulled out of you, his cum and your blood slowly starting to pour out of your abused hole.

Jake’s arms circled your waist and pulled your body to lay down on the bed, manhandling you to rest underneath him. He pulled you in a slow kiss, his tongue licking into your mouth to feed you the lingering aftertaste of your own blood in his spit. He pulled back and made his way down your body with open-mouthed kisses, his bright red gaze never once leaving the sight of your sweaty hair and the two ruby holes adorning the side of your neck.

“So, so good for me up until now,” he whispered against your cunt when he finally reached it, even the air blowing from his words making you squirm. He licked a long stripe from your stretched hole to your nub, the taste of his cum flooding into his mouth, and held your thighs open with his cold hands when they tried to cage his head inside them. He closed his eyes and hummed in delight, his lashes fluttering shut. “Think you can give me one more princess?” 

[arieslost]

waking up from a nightmare, literally gasping for air and in seconds charles is by your side and holding you close. he’s whispering in your ear, trying to soothe you and is wiping your tears with his thumb bye i love my little precious leclerc

“my little precious leclerc” actually made me tear up i hope u know. i adore him

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wake me up | cl16

you wouldn’t call it a recurring nightmare. more like a nightmare that started one night, years ago, and kept getting worse and worse as time went on, layers of hurt and fear and heartbreak settling on top of each other every time your subconscious displayed it in all its horrid glory. you can’t even pinpoint what the worst part about it is anymore.

it used to be waking up alone. by yourself, in your pitch black room, was almost as bad as being asleep and experiencing the nightmare. there was never anything to distract you from the feeling of tears sliding down your cheeks, your heart still racing from fear, your eyes conjuring up flashes of the nightmare even though you were awake.

now it’s waking up next to charles, wanting to wake him up, desperately craving the comfort that only he can give you, but refusing to do so because of how hard he works. you won’t deprive him of his sleep, certainly not for something as trivial as a stupid nightmare. especially because he has trouble falling asleep most nights; always thinking about things he might have forgotten to do, his schedule for the next day, the next race weekend, when he can get you your all access pass.

you always tell him not to worry about you, that he has enough on his plate and you knew that when you said yes to being his girlfriend. this, your nightmare, is certainly much more trivial than making sure you have a paddock pass for a race weekend. this isn’t even real. it doesn’t matter.

so when you sleep horribly because of it, and charles notices (because of course he does), you just brush it off, saying you couldn’t get comfortable, you were too hot, too cold, whatever excuse you can think up on a whim.

“you should’ve woken me up, amore.” it’s what he says every. single. time.

and you know he means it. that he truly wants you to wake him up so he can care for you in whatever capacity he possibly can. you just can’t bring yourself to do it because of this.

this time, though, you don’t have a choice.

there’s another terrifying layer to your nightmare tonight. you’re lucid to some degree, enough to know that you should have the ability to wake yourself up from this subconscious plane, but you’re incapable of doing so. you tell your eyes to open, but they’re glued shut like they have to see this through to the end, even though you know how this ends.

you fight, and fight, and fight, until finally, your eyes fly open, tears flooding your vision and a ragged gasp tearing its way out of your throat as you scramble into an upright position. the commotion wakes charles immediately, and he doesn’t even ask what’s going on before he springs into action.

“breathe, baby,” he murmurs softly, gathering you into his arms. “listen to my heartbeat.”

you’re trembling, trying your hardest to calm down as you instantly melt into his embrace, his warmth spreading into your limbs and working to ease the tension you didn’t know they were holding.

“i-i—” you try to say, your mouth struggling to form the words.

“shh, it’s okay. i’ve got you, i’m right here.” he whispers, kissing your forehead and running his hands along the backs of your own.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, nuzzling your face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent.

“don’t apologize,” he replies firmly. “is this why you’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

you nod slowly, already knowing what he’s going to say next.

“why didn’t you ever wake me up?”

“i just...” you sigh, shifting closer to him and tilting your face towards him as he reaches to wipe your tears. “it’s stupid. i’ve been having this nightmare for years now, and it just keeps getting worse. this time, i couldn’t wake up. usually i just wake up and deal with it. you work so hard every day, and this really isn’t important—”

“i’m going to stop you right there, amore,” charles interrupts, cupping your face with both hands. “i don’t ever want you to say that anything you’re going through isn’t important.”

“but—”

“yes, i do work hard. i have a lot going on more often than not. but out of everything, i work hardest for this. us. do you know what the most important thing in my life is?”

“ferrari?” you answer immediately, only half joking.

“no, ma drôle de fille,” he laughs, “it’s you. i’m going to retire from racing one day, but i’m going to be with you until the day i die. and even after that.”

you feel yourself tearing up for a whole new reason.

“so don’t tell me that it’s not important,” he continues, leaning back into the pillows and bringing you with him. “if it’s bothering you, it bothers me too. you hear me?”

you nod.

“and you’ll wake me up next time?”

you nod again.

“good. now close your eyes. keep listening to my heartbeat. i’ll fight off the nightmares for you, okay amore?”

“you are so cheesy, cha,” you grumble, snuggling into his chest.

“shh, go to sleep,” he coos quietly, stifling a laugh as he pets your hair.

you shut your eyes dutifully, focusing in on the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

you dream of him.

word count: 907

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note: every charles leclerc request i get makes my heart soar because not only do i get to write about my favorite driver but i also get to improve on said writing THANK U ANON

ma drôle de fille = “my funny girl” (i hope)

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Missing Piece

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer is always leaving little gifts for you, mostly flowers that you use to brighten your apartment. There is always one flower missing, and you finally find out the reason why.

Square Filled: gift for @goodthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

This is one of those rare days when you wake up before your alarm. You had gone to bed early last night since Spencer went to bed early. He had a tough day at work, and since you don’t like to be up by yourself when someone is sleeping, you went to bed with him. Spencer is such a light sleeper that you’re afraid of making noise that will wake him. He barely gets enough sleep as it is.

You roll over in bed and bury your face in Spencer’s pillow. His side of the bed is cold since he left it to go to work a few hours ago. The blackout curtains do a really good job of keeping the light out so you don’t know if it’s barely sunrise or if the sun has been up for hours.

You get out of bed and peel the curtains back slowly to let in enough light for your eyes to adjust. You continue until the curtains are all the way open and the entire room is bright. Something Spencer loves doing is leaving little gifts for you like flowers or candy or your favorite coffee. This time, it’s a beautiful bouquet of flowers that’s sitting on the bedside table next to your phone. The bouquet consists of roses, sunflowers, and lilies that he most likely put together from the local flower shop down the street.

I hope these brighten your day. I love you so much - Spencer

You clutch the note in your hand with a smile and walk over to the closet. There is a box of every single letter Spencer has written you. You don’t throw anything out because you love keeping these little tokens of your relationship. The only thing you throw out that he has given you are the flowers.

You take the bouquet and walk to the kitchen to separate them into smaller bouquets that you can put all over the house. There are six spots where you put flowers to give the rooms a bit of color, so you remove the old ones and put the new ones in. However, there is always just one left over because Spencer never gives you a full bouquet. He always gives you eleven flowers instead of twelve.

You’re not sure why but you never ask him. You’re just grateful to get flowers.

You and Spencer always schedule lunch together unless he’s on an active case, and the B Team is in the field for this week. To pass the time, you get started on your morning chores. You want Spencer to come home to a clean house. He works hard so that you don’t have to. It’s not that you’re incapable of getting a job or unable to hold one down, you just love being a stay-at-home wife.

It gives you the opportunity to work on your art. You love sewing, embroidering, and knitting anything you can get your hands on. You have your own Etsy shop that you make things for, and a lot of people on Facebook Marketplace want to buy your items. By not having a normal nine-to-five job, it gives you plenty of time to work on your craft. You have a bunch of commissions to work on so after your morning chores, you get to work on one of them. Once you get in the zone, it’s easy to make two hours feel like ten minutes.

Around lunchtime, you set your work aside and get ready in something light and flowing. It’s a nice day outside and you don’t want to be stuck wearing jeans and a T-shirt. You take public transportation to work since Spencer took the car this morning, and you reach the BAU in thirty minutes. The receptionist knows you by heart so she checks you in with a visitor badge before you go to the elevator.

JJ and Derek pass by with files in their hands when you enter the bullpen, and they both smile at you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I’m taking Spencer to lunch. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s in Hotch’s office. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

They walk off and you approach his desk. Everything is neat and in order, not to your surprise. You sit down and twirl around before spotting a single rose on his desk. It’s the same color rose as the one that was in the bouquet he gave you this morning.

“Hey, I’m ready to go.”

“Is that the missing flower from my bouquet this morning? Which, I loved by the way. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I keep one on my desk so I know when it’s time to get you a new bouquet.” The feeling of love floods your body at the simple gesture. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m always ready,” you grin.

He kisses the top of your head and leads you out of the BAU. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for this man and clearly, he feels the same.

x

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[mamayan]

Hi! Can you do a yandere hawks please?

My first request for Hawks~ Of course Nonnie~♡

Yandere Keigo Takami x GN! Darling

For Your Safety

cw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Abuse of power • Gaslighting • Stalking/Breaking & Entering • Noncon/Forced relationship • Pet names • Delusional Themes • Sub! Reader

You shouldn’t have answered the door.

You opened it without even checking through the peephole, to find no one else but the infamous pro-hero Hawks standing on your door step.

“Hello~ Ya know, sorry to bother you so late but…,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes closed in a harmless sign as he raises his free hand up sheepishly, “I got a call for a health and wellness check for you.”

Those sharp yellow orbs were like a predators as he opened his eyes.

“You wouldn’t be in any danger…would you?” His voice drops an octave, and you immediately feel the danger you’re in the second pieces of a puzzle begin falling together.

The feathers you’d find in your home. The feeling of being watched constantly. The strange and delusional love letters.

You weren’t anything special. So why was this happening to you?

“N-no… I’m okay, th-thank you though—,” you can’t close the door, his foot wedged between the little opening.

“You sure? You seem a little nervous~ you wouldn’t mind if I came in and just checked around right?” That smile is anything but harmless, lips angled up in a grin that doesn’t reach his hard and calculating eyes.

Boxes of unfinished packing rests in your nearly empty living room. The last moving truck gone for the day, back tomorrow morning for the last few loads to your new apartment in a different city.

“I’m fine, really, I don’t think—,” then you’re on your ass and the door is opening. He’s not a big man, in fact, his stature is average at best, but the complete lack of strength used by Hawks proves he’s more than meets the eye.

“I really wasn’t asking chickadee~” then your door is closing and the deadbolt locking in place.

He appreciates the view you’re offering him, sat on your butt on the floor and looking up at him with tears brimming in your depths.

“Aww~ don’t worry baby, I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” He coos at your fear, even placing his hands on his knees and bending down like one might to a toddler. “See, I just got worried when I saw you were making such a big move, all by yourself, you know?” He’s following you as you shuffle back on your hands, hands in his pockets casually and he looks at all the quick work you’d put in to getting out of town as quickly as possible.

“Really hurts my feelings, ya know? Man, it’s a pain too, calling up the moving company and having them change addresses. They overcharge these days.” Not that money was even a problem for him, he just enjoyed the terrified realization dawning on you. He loves the attention, the focus you give him now, as if a bomb could go off but you wouldn’t notice with how centered you were on him.

“It’s okay baby, I know change can make us do stupid things, it seems scary now, huh?” He’s got you backed against a wall, crouching down to your level on his haunches as he gives you what seems like a reassuring smile. “I’m a forgiving guy, so I won’t hold this time against you.”

“Why…?” His head tilts in amusement as you ask the one question driving you crazy.

“Why what, chickadee? You’ll need to be more specific for me.”

“Why this… why me…?” He’s smiling genuinely this time, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. Then he’s closing in on you, cool thin lips pressed against your warm tear soaked cheeks as he speaks lowly.

“You’re just so pathetic, how can I leave you alone? Always so clumsy, never paying attention to your surroundings, so weak. You’d be dead without my supervision. I like you though, even if you’re incapable of existing without me, so sweet and cute.” It doesn’t matter that you’re sobbing, he’s merely hushing you and dragging you to your bedroom, mattress on the floor without your bed frame.

“It’s okay, chickadee~ you’re good for something at least!” He chirps happily, tossing you on the bed with a smile as he goes for his pants. “I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful mate, staying home and safely inside is the best for you anyway.” He’s crazy, truly delusional as he strips shamelessly before you, stroking his hard cock with a wild gleam in his eyes.

Red feathers dust the ground as he grabs you before you can escape, easily tearing off your clothing as you beg and sob for this to stop.

“Shh, it’s okay now, I’ve got you, you don’t need to scared anymore~♡” Not even for a second considering what you fear is him.

Even as he tears multiple orgasms from you, fingering your hole and licking you wet and sloppy, you still cry.

“Look at this chickadee, look how full you are!” He’s elated when he stuffs his thick cock inside you, stretching your poor hole out around his girth while he moans above you. All you can do is muffle your own pleasured moans into the sheet, shame washing you as your body so easily gives in to his touch despite your begging for him to stop.

“Please, Hawks, no more—!” Your pleas only spur him on, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you clamp down tight on his cock. “Just like that baby, gonna fill you up, make you mine.” He’s fucking you hard and fast, going as deeply as possible each thrust like he’s trying to imprint the shape of it inside you.

He laughs at your tears, huffing against your pudgy swollen cheeks and licking a strip up your face to taste the salty bitter liquid. “You need to cum again baby? That what you need?” He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when you shake your head, shifting to sandwich his hand between you and working you over into another harsh orgasm that makes you see white.

“Fuck—that’s it chickadee, milk my cock, so fucking tight—,” his balls slap against your ass as he feels his orgasm approach, sticky with your cum and fluids as he finally settles deep and releases thick spurts of cum inside you.

“No!” You whine, trying to pull away.

“Yes!” He hisses, panting and sweating as his wings spread wide and cover your form like a protective blanket as he collapses on you, pinning you down.

He’s happy to kiss and fuck any lingering tears away until you’re pliant and doughy. Easily movable as he works to get you dressed again for the trip to your new home. He sleeps good that night knowing you’re tucked safe in his nest.

Dividers by the lovely @benkeibear

[judespoets]

a gift to remember | jobe bellingham

summary: you have a special gift for your boyfriend

pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: none

sitting on the edge of your bed with a shaking leg and tears in your eyes was now about a week ago and today was the day. today was the day you would tell him.

you felt happy, excited but also terrified, you knew he wanted this i mean you planned this, but what if he changed his mind?

your head was full of thoughts which you got snapped out if as the front door opened and closed again.

you stood up from your sitting position, taking one last breath and getting the little box with the ribbon from your bedside table.

“babe, i’m home!” was all you heard from downstairs as you made your way towards the familiar voice.

hiding the box behind your back, you greeted jobe, who just came back from training.

“hey, love. how was training?” you asked, that was routine.

“mh, nothing special, just like always. what did you do today?” he asked, genuinely curious about your day.

although that was the last question you wanted to hear today, you forced out an answer. “oh, you know. nothing much just did some laundry and stuff.”

you made your way to the kitchen after you told jobe to sit down and you would make him a snack.

you obviously didn’t make a snack, you took the time to prop up your phone somewhere it wasn’t too obvious that you were filming. taking the box again you called out for your boyfriend to come over. you were shaking at this point.

“what’s up?” a voice snapped you out of your thoughts again. “you alright, baby?”

“yeah, yeah i’m good, really good. come here for a moment i need to talk to you.” you stuttered out, obviously nervous.

“what’s wrong? gosh you’re shaking, baby.” jobe noticed as the took your hand. “what’s this?” he asked, referring to the little box you had in your other hand.

“it’s for you, open it.” you answered, you didn’t know what else to say yet.

and jobe did as he was told. slowly uniting the ribbon which was placed neatly over the box which he opened right after, revealing something red and white.

he slowly took the mini sunderland shirt out of the box, looking at it, confused. “baby, what is this? i’m confused, you’re confusing me.”

“turn it around.” you told him, obvious to his own nervousness.

and he did as you told him, immediately realizing what this was. his hand flew over his mouth in an instant, his eyes growing wide and teary.

“are you for real? you’re not joking?” he asked, almost incapable of getting words together.

“yeah baby, it’s real, I’m pregnant. found out last week.” you answered him honestly, still not quite sure of his reaction.

but as you felt two strong arms wrapped around around your waist and hundreds of kisses being placed everywhere on your face, you knew it, you knew he was happy.

“you’re happy?” you asked, almost sounding unsure.

“baby, of course i’m happy, i’m the happiest man alive, i’m gonna be a dad. are you not happy?” he asked, realizing your tear stained eyes.

“no no, i was just scared you changed your mind, i’m so happy, jobe.” you told him, wrapping your own arms around him again, needing to be close to him during such an intimate moment.

“gosh, i could never change my mind about a future with you, my love. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” he said, his voice cracking slightly due to his emotions.

the two of you just stood there for some time, enjoying each other’s embrace, it was such a beautiful moment just between the two of you.

after some time, you watched the video again, deciding you will share this beautiful moment someday, maybe with your child, maybe with the whole world, for now it would only be a little bit the world was gonna know from you.

yourusername

liked by jobebellingham and 783.567 others

tagged: jobebellingham

yourusername adding one more…🤍

(video of jobe’s reaction coming soon;) )

comments..

jobebellingham i love you🤍

like by yourusername

judebellingham congrats🥹🤍

liked by yourusername

user33 WHAT

user67 how does jobe become a dad and jude doesn’t even have a girl😭

[wildrangers]

Hii, i have a matt smith fic idea, wherein it's matt's birthday and the reader have the most precious gift to him like she gifted him a box with a positive pregnancy test in there and matt's reaction is priceless and their dogs are also happy wiggling their tails and kissing them, just them having a precious moments

Hello anon, thanks so much for the request! 

Tropes & Topics: pregnancy, fluff

Word Count: 1K

Your heart’s in your throat as you gently place the bow on top of the final gift you’d prepared for Matt’s birthday. Gift giving is one of your love languages, so you’d been planning what to get him for months. What ended up being the biggest gift, however, was an unexpected surprise for both of you.

You and Matt had gotten engaged at the end of August, so the discussion of family planning had obviously come up. Both of you were open to kids but were also comfortable not having them; you used protection but, clearly, that wasn’t foolproof. You hoped this would be a happy  surprise for him as it had been for you once the shock wore off. 

You hear the door open, Matt’s gentle voice and the clack of Billy’s nails on the flooring drifting towards you in the kitchen. You take a deep, steadying breath as you stand up, ready to greet them since you’d been out all day at work. 

“Love?” he calls.

“Kitchen, darling” you respond, rearranging the stack of gifts next to his chocolate cake. Billy charges in and you kneel to greet him, scooping him up in your arms. 

“I should have known better” Matt grins at you, taking in the scene before him. “You’re incapable of not going all out for a birthday, even when you say you won’t.” 

“But it’s what you love about me, right?” you reply smiling, heart steadying as he wraps you in his arms, head resting atop your own.

“Of course, darling. Now, which one is the finale?” he questions before giving you a brief, sweet kiss. Since you love gift-giving, your tradition for every holiday or celebration is to allow Matt to pick any order for opening his gifts except the one you were most eager for him to have–that’s saved for last. 

Billy squirms so you place him on the ground before pointing out the oblong, newest addition to the stack, “Purple bow is last.” 

He nods, tearing into each gift and showering you with thanks and affection for each new item revealed to him. “Okay, last one” he looks at you, brows raised, as he gently shakes it, pretending to try and guess what’s inside, “Maybe a watch based on the shape?”

“It’ll certainly last you a lifetime” you reply and his head quirks in curiosity as he removes the wrapping paper. Any semblance of calm you’d managed to gain leaves as you tuck your hands into your sweatshirt pocket to hide their shaking.

He shoots you a playful look as he jokingly, painfully slowly raises the lid of the box, completely unaware that his dramatics, normally endearing, are skyrocketing your pulse even further. You force a smile but he must read something in the expression as he reaches for your hands that are safely tucked away from him. He looks at you uncertainly and you just nod towards the box. It’s always amazed you how much you two could communicate through looks alone. 

His eyes widen as he removes the pregnancy test from the tissue paper and you note the slight quiver of his hands. “Love?” he questions softly, eyes not leaving the item in his hands. 

“Hopefully a happy birthday surprise?” you say quietly, your voice breaking slightly on the final word. 

His eyes shoot to yours and he quickly pulls you back into his arms. “Of course, my love, the happiest surprise” he promises and you feel your shoulders loosen, tears gathering as you burrow into his chest. “I’m sorry I worried you, I’m just shocked.”

“Well, that makes two of us” you joke, pulling away slightly to look up at him, his arms still firmly around your shoulders. You two stare wordlessly into each other’s eyes for a moment before a huge grin splits his face. “What?” 

“You’re going to be the mother of my child” he whispers, almost in awe, and his hands move from your back to cup your face gently as he kisses your brow. “You’re going to be an incredible, incredible mother.”

You’d successfully fought back your tears but his statement pulls a quiet whimper from your throat as tears cascade down your cheeks. “You’ll be an even better father,” you reply, equally quiet. 

The grin never leaves his face as he gently kisses away each of your tears. “When are you due?”

“Late May” you smile, watching as he calculates the possible conception date based on that. 

“You’re joking” he laughs, pulling you into his chest again. 

“I’m not” you giggle, hugging him tighter around his middle.

“Our engagement celebration was a wild evening” he acknowledges and you nod, laughter erupting from your throat at the memory. He pulls away and drops to his knees before you. He carefully lifts the hem of your sweatshirt and you take it off completely, leaving yourself in just a crop top.

You watch as his hands reverently rise to your stomach, gently caressing just below your belly button before he closes his eyes and presses a series of soft kisses to the area. More tears rise to your eyes but you blink them back, wanting to imprint this memory into your very being so you never forget it. He lays his cheek on your stomach and you stay that way for a few breaths, soaking in this joyous, intimate moment. As you run your hands through his hair, you feel wet spots developing on your skin. “Matt?”

He looks up at you, eyes glossy, his smile somehow even wider. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby” you confirm and he leaps up, lifting you off your feet to spin you around. You clutch his shoulders giggling as Billy yips around your ankles, swept up in the excitement. “We know, Billy, sorry, first human baby.”

“Oh shit, I shouldn’t be swinging you about!” he realizes, placing you back onto the floor, steadying you as you laugh more. 

“I’m fine, Matt, just don’t throw me and I’ll be fine…we’ll be fine.” 

“We have to tell everyone” he says eagerly, reaching for his phone.

“Babe, can we please eat cake first? I’ve been craving it all day.”

“Of course, my love, anything you and little one desire is yours.”

[house-of-lovin]

protect her

Tara Carpenter x Detective!Reader

masterlist

Preview: "Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle."

Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of violence and mature language. slight scream vi spoilers. read at your own risk.

Note: Reader is around Sam's age, so like 25 or 26. Tara being a words of affirmation girlie. Thought this dynamic would be fun to write about. I'm incapable of writing shorter oneshots ig, so enjoy 6k+ words of whatever this is lol.

Word Count: 6.1k+

The honking of horns blowing through the cool night air was muffled when you pushed the glass door of the diner open. The chimes of the overhead bell rang alerting the room of your presence but barely anyone turned their heads – save for Sam Carpenter who smiled at you.

You shuddered away remnants of the chill air off your shoulders, stepping closer to the bartop; claiming your seat in the far corner pressed up against the wall. A mug is placed on the counter before you even finish hanging your jacket on the back of the chair.

You slide into the high-top seat as the brunette pours coffee into the mug with a carafe. “Still hot, wow, I must be special.” 

“Yeah okay, hotshot. You just happened to make it in time for a new pot.” She rolls her eyes, and you hide your smirk behind the mug; taking a sip – ignoring the fact that you usually come in at this time.

“You on the clock?” She asks, leaning on her elbows atop the counter. She glances back briefly, making sure her snitch of a coworker wasn’t around to scold her for not doing her job.

It was still too early for the influx of drunk regulars and one-timers to come by, so really the only kinds of people in here were the ones who were getting off work too late to make dinner at home.

“Just got off, 16 hours. But got a new lead on a case that went cold a couple of months ago so I guess I’m doing a double. Just reviewing some notes now.” You sigh heavily, gesturing to the files and folders sprawled out on the table. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You work too much. You need to take a break and focus on something else outside of work. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

You roll your eyes at her mocking tone, shooting back, “Oh yeah? You learn that from therapy?”

It was her turn to glower when you remind her of the doctor visits. 

“Yeah, that’s usually the advice therapists love to give me before I actually open up – you know like they tell me to and suddenly they’re running for the hills, one by one.” 

You snort, all too familiar with the tales of her doctor visits. It took a while for Sam to open up to you; trust came sparsely these days for the Carpenter. It wasn’t until one of your frequent visits turned into you having to step in and kick a rowdy group of drunkards who were harassing Sam of something along the lines of ‘Woodsboro’ and ‘Ghostface’. It was only when you threatened the group with jail time did they relent.

Sam knew she could trust you after you sent her an acknowledging nod when the group left and went back to minding your own business. The next time you visited, she opened up; about her past, her father, her hallucinations, the attacks and the trauma that came afterward. And, how she managed to land herself in the big city, which sprouted an overzealous rant about her strained relationship with her sister.

You knew how to read people well, it was a significant part of your job to be able to. So, you knew from the moment you laid eyes on her that there was a fire behind those dark eyes that she desperately tried to douse – you had interrogated and dealt with enough people to know what the glint meant.

You were honest to Sam that you had an inkling of suspicion about the darkness in her mind – you still accepted her despite knowing her dirty secret; that a part of her doesn’t feel bad for killing Richie and Amber, if anything it felt kinda good. Sam was confused as to why you, a cop, weren't locking her behind bars at the confession. 

But, having dealt with the scum of the Earth, you can tell she was nothing like them.

It isn’t always easy to differentiate people between just good and bad, you told her when she asked.

A friendship blossomed between you two after that, bonding over similar traumas. Sam invited you to her apartment to meet her friends and sister – who all interrogated you, Mindy, most especially to make sure you weren’t secretly Ghostface. The girl had some skills in that department, you'll admit.

Coming to learn of your career and how surprisingly well Sam trusted you, the group lowered their walls bit by bit. They would never say it out loud but they felt way safer having you around.

“That’s why I don’t go to therapy.” You shrug, taking a sip of the steaming coffee; letting the heat warm your bones.

She snorts, pretending to be wiping the countertop when her coworker peeks her head out to look at you two. “You probably need it more than anyone else in this place.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” You mumble, as you flip through the evidence photos of a homicide you investigated five months ago. The pictures were gruesome, but it was just another day on the job for you. Maybe that’s why you and Sam got along more than expected.

Sam’s phone vibrates from her back pocket and she fishes it out, reading the text.

‘We got into some trouble, some help?’ it was Anika, no doubt being appointed to text Sam because the others didn't want to do it themselves.

“Dammit.” Sam sighs, already taking off her apron to leave.

“What’s up?” You raise a brow at her panicked expression.

“My sister and her friends got into some trouble. I need to get them. Crap! They’re all the way in the East Village.” She says reading the other incoming texts on her phone. “This is what I get for letting her go out.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” You say, already standing when Sam mentioned Tara. The thought of the brunette in trouble makes your heart stop for a moment.

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re working.” She shakes her head in protest.

“Carpenter, it’s a 30-minute drive just to get to the East Village, get your ass permission to leave then meet me at my car. Acting like Danny wouldn’t have my ass if I just left you like this.” You mutter, acting indifferent – but it was true, her boyfriend would have your head on a stick if you ever left Sam high and dry, not that you would ever.

She nods, knowing she won’t win this one with you. You throw a $20 tip, slip on your jacket, and make your way back out into the cool fall air.

You lit a cigarette to pass time as you wait for Sam – leaning against your car, trying to ease the nervousness raging in you as you think of what kind of trouble Tara found herself in.

You and Tara are... complicated. You two haven't exactly slapped a label on it, all you know is you care about her more than you probably should.

Because of your close connection with Sam, and how much everyone secretly trusted you. You and Tara found yourselves growing closer to each other with each visit to their apartment.

Tara was weary about you at first introduction, ignoring that you were ridiculously attractive. She can still remember Mindy asking you to your face 'Where did Sam find you?' in a flirtatious tone. You just chuckled and explained how you met her sister, and Tara knew it was kind of wrong, but she couldn't help but be intrigued…

Then Sam started leaving you two alone in the apartment to run some errands. With not much to do, Tara decided to pop a horror movie in to watch with you – finding out you’ve never seen ‘Se7en’ after inquiring if your job was just like the movies.

A connection between you and Tara blossomed from those moments in that tiny NYC living room.

Suddenly she wasn't just your friend's little sister and man, is she magnetic.

She educates you on the joys of horror movies and you watch every single one, listening to her analysis of each scene; simply enjoying the serenity she brings out in you.

Tara is secretly glad you are older than her because sometimes it meant you’re so different, but that just means she can expose you to her interests, and vice versa. You never turned her down – no matter what it was.

On the slim chance you got off work early enough, you visited the diner to keep Sam company and do some work.

Sometimes though, when Sam would end mid-morning, you two would continue your talks at her apartment – sometimes with Danny, over whatever leftover diner food she would steal from her work for you three to munch on over beers and conversation. 

Those would be the nights where you would pass out on their couch from drinking and Tara would finally come out of her room when Sam and Danny leave. She would tuck a blanket over your sleeping figure, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, taking the time to scan your features for any injuries. And in the mornings, when you were gathering your bearings from a night of drinks and bad choices, Tara would force you to sit down at their dining table and have breakfast with her. Scolding you for your irresponsible choices, but being grateful you were in front of her, nonetheless.

She worries for you with your job and all.

And as you find yourself giving into her request for morning coffee, stolen kisses, and conversation – you push away thoughts of being late to work as you find yourself grateful for similar musings the longer you stare at the pretty girl across from you.

“Wow, if people couldn’t tell you're a narc. They sure could now.” Sam takes the time to poke fun at you – pulling you out of your daydream. You look down at your figure; sporting a button-down shirt, trousers with your leather jacket on top and trusty leather boots on your feet.

You roll your eyes in realization and flick away the cigarette bud, yanking the car door open.

“It’s the work dress cod– just get in the damn car, Carpenter.”

– – 

The usual thirty-minute drive instead took fifteen minutes as you pounded on the accelerator, flipped the sirens on, and dashed past other cars on the road as they cleared the way for you.

You arrive at the corner of a lower Manhattan intersection, the East Village was known for its bustling nightlife; you can see a mix of all ages of people wandering the street as they continue their bar crawl.

It was further down the road, where you can see six sullen-looking figures sitting on the curb of the sidewalk – a police officer standing above them. 

Sam dashes out of the car before you can even finish parking. You see her run down the street and talk to the officer, getting in his face and the six others look at her panicked. You sigh, and make your way out of the car, strapping your badge to your belt – you’d need to use it soon, you’re sure.

Tara’s eyes immediately connect to you as soon as you climb out of the car. Before she can think about it, she’s standing up to meet you. “Ah ah, I said sit down! You better listen or I’ll throw you all in jail for the night.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shouts, stepping closer to the police officer. You decided enough was enough when you saw the police officer resting his hand on his holster.

“All right, that’s enough.” You grasp Sam’s elbow, yanking her away from the police officer. The older Carpenter is slightly startled by the rough tug, but you push her behind you getting in between her and the policeman.

“I think we’re all good here officer, thank you.” You say with finality. You weren’t asking, you were telling and Tara’s inebriated mind is all hot and bothered. 

“Like hell we are, these six were caught sneaking into a club underage, and this one.” He points to Sam, “is getting on my nerves. Now, it seems like I can add you to the list, ‘cause who the hell you think you are, buddy?”

You briefly glance a stern side-eye to Tara at ‘club and underage’, she immediately looks away.

“Detective Y/L/N from the 99th precinct.” You slide your jacket aside to flash him the badge on your waist.

”And, you must be… Officer Leroy. From 6th, huh.” Reading his name tag and badge.

“Think that’s supposed to mean something?” You see his eyes on your badge before glowering to meet your eyes. “I’ll arrest you too.”

The group breaks out into loud protests.

You chuckle knowingly, “How long you been in the force buddy?” You ask, not unaware of all of the eyes on you as you and the officer have a stare-off.

“Four months.” He answers confidently, pushing his shoulders up and back to appear taller.

“Hmm… see I had a feeling. ‘Cause, my buddy Rivers just got promoted to Captain six months ago over on the 6th precinct, which means he’s most likely your superior. I wonder what you’ll tell him as to what charge you picked us up for. ‘Cause well, he will see me.” You shrug, offering up that thought for him to think about. 

“Oh better yet, I’d just love to see what you write down on that case report, Officer. Leroy.” Your tone was harsh now as you stepped in his face, intimidating him.

He was forced to take a step back as you got in his space, his features paling, it took a few seconds before he conceded. “Fine! Just get the hell out of here, and don’t let me see you again!”

Everyone let out a relieved sigh as you smirked at his submission; everyone immediately takes the chance to leave and Sam tries to tug on your arm but you were still staring the cop down. He put this hand on his fucking gun when Sam got in his face and anger was quickly rising in your veins – you were unmovable, even by rough force.

“Y/N it’s over, let’s go.” Sam tries again but she can feel your arm harden as your knuckles tighten into a fist. “Y/N, seriously.”

Tara sobered up by the time police charges was being thrown around and her worry about your protectiveness was increasing. Sam couldn’t even pull you away. Chad steps in when Sam asks for help to convince you to move. He puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering calming words, no doubt. 

But nothing was working as you stood there, still unmovable. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chad threw you over his shoulder and dragged you away, even though you weren’t that much smaller than him. In your boots, you were nearly at his height and Tara had to strain her neck to try and meet your eyes. 

It was only when Tara pulled away from Quinn and Mindy’s hold and stepped in front of you, putting a hand just above your chest that you blinked, glancing down at her. “Y/N, let’s go… please.”

When you tried to glance back up at the other officer, whose partner had seen the commotion and tried his own efforts in calming him; his patience thinning by the second – was when Tara’s grasp on your shirt firmed, making you look back at her own stern eyes.

"Let's. Go." Her tone left no room for argument. Warning you from doing something stupid and you clench your jaw, looking away from the uniformed officers.

“Fine…"

Everyone slowly releases a breath when your rigid posture relaxes. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.” You exclaim to the rest but look directly at Tara, “Especially you, Carpenter.”

You place a hand on the sliver of her back and Tara shivers not used to being this close to you in a while. Your hand keeps its place even as you both turn and Sam is immediately on her ass about sneaking into a club. You guide the bickering sisters to walk to the car, zoning out the familiar sounds of their argument.

“–ou’re lucky Y/N was at the diner, who knows what that creep would’ve done if we didn’t drive out here in time.” Your hand tightens, subtly bringing her closer to your side at Sam’s words, Tara glances over when you do.

“It was fine until you got there and started overreacting, Sam.” Tara rolls her eyes, way past just ‘over’ Sam’s overprotectiveness. The younger girl loved her sister, she did, but she didn’t want to live her life constantly looking over her shoulder.

Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle.

Sam scoffed offended, “Are you kidding me right now?” And you sigh because you can feel a bigger fight brewing and you can hear the slurring in Tara’s words, not a good mix. 

“Let’s get you all home first before we do this, okay?” You cut in when you see the car come closer into view. Fishing for your keys, you throw them at Sam making her catch them. 

“Walk ahead and start the car for me, please?” You ask with a raised brow; tilting your head to gesture to Tara saying a wordless ‘i got her’. Sam relents, tightly gripping the keys and walked ahead.

Tara leans her head against your shoulder, grateful for the brief moment of seclusion as everyone else walks up ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” You glance down at her frown, before looking away. 

“No. I’m not.”

“That wasn’t very convincing. If you’re mad you can tell me… cause then I can fix it.” You feel her run her hand up and down your back, under your jacket. It made a shiver run up your spine as she continued rubbing lines on the fabric of your shirt.

“I swear, I’m not mad. A little disappointed but no, not mad.”

Tara huffs, sliding her arm off your back when you reach the car; the talk cut short. You open the car door sitting Tara inside, it was a tight squeeze but she was small. You’d sit her on your lap if her sister wasn't here. Anika did sit on Mindy’s lap though with poor Chad in the middle seat and then Tara. 

She squeezes your hand just before you shut the door.

Apparently, Ethan and Quinn elected not to go home and continue on with their night.

Sam is already sitting in the passenger seat by the time you closed Tara’s door. With a sigh, you pull your door open, sit behind the wheel and drive off to the Carpenter’s apartment.

– –

Sam hurriedly rushes everyone into the living room as soon she opens the door; making sure to quadruple lock it, twist the handle to make sure it's locked and look out the peephole. It was Sam’s routine whenever she got into their place.

“Come on, let’s go, sit down.” Sam waves at you all, walking to the kitchen to grab water for everyone.

You help Tara onto the far edge of the couch, sitting her beside Mindy, who sat beside Anika. Chad decided to choose a record to listen to get rid of the tense air.

You felt Tara pulling you down with her, “Let me sit on your lap.” She mutters only to you.

“We can’t,” You whisper in her ear, slightly shaking your head. You hear her huff when you refuse her and see the pout on her lips when you pulled back, slightly smiling at her adorableness.

You force yourself to walk away from the younger Carpenter; heart tugging firmly, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in your arms, especially after not knowing what kind of trouble she was in.

Instead, you make your way into the kitchen to help Sam with the water bottles and bread.

“Is this necessary, Sam?” You ask the brunette, who was frantically searching through the fridge on her knees.

“You kidding? Chad is literally just staring holes at the record player.” She rebuttals and you glance back at the younger boy in amusement.

With a chuckle, you say, “He’s just high as shit. He’ll come down soon, plus he’s here now, they all are. Just relax and take a deep breath, man.” You remind her in a serious tone, holding out a hand to hold all the water bottles she was passing off to you.

“I know, I know. I was just worried.” She follows your advice taking calming, deep breaths as you follow along with her. 

“Your therapist would be so proud, Samantha.” You tease smugly as she scoffs, hitting your leg from her position on the floor – you kick her back.

“Can you make sure Tara drinks and eats something, and that she’s okay before going to bed?” Sam asks you in a hushed tone, although she didn’t need to. The other four were all too engrossed either in the music or the TV in the back. 

“Why me?”

“She’s not ready to talk to me and I’m not either... and I just wanna sleep right now.” She admits with a plead behind her eyes and you nod with no hesitation. 

“I'll make sure all of them make it to bed, don’t worry.” She nods appreciatively, then stands so you can both get back to the other four in the living room – tossing them some bread.

“Finish that whole bottle before going to sleep, I don’t care if you piss your pants while you do ‘em.” You say in a stern tone while throwing the bottles, then sitting on the armchair to Tara’s left.

Sam shares a look with you as she slips out of the room, wordlessly, leaving you with the other four. They watched TV for the next 20 minutes, glancing around as each of them got progressively tired the more time ticked on. 

“Alright. I think it’s time to call it a night.” You call it.

The twins and Anika slowly got up, muttering goodbyes and promises of texting Tara once they’d made it home. You offered to drive them to their dorm but felt the silent conversation between the friends – as Tara got them to turn you down to get you to stay here with her. 

You lean against the front door, watching as the trio made their way down the stairs until they were out of sight. As soon as you shut the door closed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection – making you turn around.

“I missed you,” Tara mutters against your chest making you chuckle when it slightly tickled. 

You cup her jaw, making her look into your eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

Tara melts at the term of endearment, grabbing your neck to pull you down for a long searing kiss. Lips slotted over one another as they found the familiar grooves of each other’s mouths. Only breaking apart when Tara confessed with a bated breath, “You looked so hot confronting that other cop.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” She mutters connecting her mouth to your neck, peppering wet kisses there. She can hear you sigh in satisfaction and it makes her hold on you tighten even more. But with great reluctance, you pulled away from Tara; who whimpered in protest.

“We can’t, babe.” You remind her, pointing with your head to Sam’s room.

She frowns, “then come to my room.” Problem solved. She smirked devilishly, tugging you toward her room; you refused.

“We still can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not taking advantage.” You whisper, only stepping close to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She groans letting her head drop to your shoulder as your hand played with her hair.

“I hate that you’re a goodie two shoes.” She mutters making you laugh.

You tilt her head up with the hand already in her hair – gaze intense as you whisper, “I can assure you, I am far from a goodie two shoes.”

And Tara thought she melted at the way your voice dropped an octave when you said that but she knew she melted when you leaned down, tugging her by the hair, to connect your lips.

It was barely a peck, all tender and fleeting.

When you pulled away, she smirked knowingly watching as your eyes traced a path from her lips to her eyes – your gaze all dark, lustful. When your eyes connect you dive into her with a hair-raising kiss; all hungry and pining.

The feeling of your tongue clashing against hers and sounds of soft moans sends time stopping like only you and her exist in this apartment together. But Tara knows it doesn’t really stop and she has to eventually pull away before she takes you in the hallway – right then and there.

“God, you drive me crazy,” Tara whispers against your lips.

“So do you… cause sneaking into a club, really?” You ask unimpressed and Tara immediately pulls back, groaning.

Snickering as you follow closely behind when she walks into her room, trying to get away from you.

“You’re a mood-killer.” She mutters sitting on her bed, arms crossed over her chest; sulking.

“And you’re gonna give me and Sam a heart attack soon.” You joke but it was true. Tara loved to prove her sister wrong; not like being told what to do. It grew a defiant attitude in her that loved to stir shit up just for the hell of it, and that landed her in some hot waters with her friends sometimes. She definitely made your blood pressure sky-rocket, sometimes too.

“Why?” Tara probes. You were always so elusive and mysterious – it came with your job and allure. She can barely get you to open up about your feelings most of the time, saying you prefer to show her than tell her. You definitely did, so this admission from you was new. It has Tara yearning to hear more words of affirmation from you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I care about you, dummy. I nearly caused multiple accidents just to get to you. I was going like 80 mph the whole time,” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck a little ashamed.

“You were really that worried?” She asks, looking up at you with a hopeful stare like she was surprised.

“Of course, I was Tara. I even used the siren lights.” You shake your head at the fact that she’s even asking. 

She was smiling goofily as you walked closer to stand between her legs, taking both her hands in yours. “I worry for all of you. But you, well, I always worry for you 'cause I’m thinking about you all the time.” You confessed in a whisper in her dark room. 

Tara bites her lip, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “You’re the worst.” Was the words that left her mouth.

“What, why?” You ask laughing.

She lets go of your hands to fiddle with your shirt buttons, muttering, “‘Cause you’re standing here looking all good and saying all the right things, and you still won’t fuck me.”

“Oookay…” You chuckle, grabbing at her fingers trying to unbutton your shirt, “That’s enough from you tonight. Let’s get you to bed before you say anything else you might regret tomorrow.”

She huffed but allowed you to grab her some new clothes to help her change; still not fucking her, Tara complains. Your eyes never even strayed from hers, not even when she took her bra off to change shirts and batted her eyes seductively. When she was all ready, you helped her to bed; tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asks grabbing onto your shirt, then gripping tighter. “Please.”

“What about Sam?” You ask softly, pushing away some hair from her face.

“She’s probably already sleeping, if not, she’s gonna be in her room all night.” Tara reasons, fully tugging you on top of her. 

You give in like you always do.

Work for you and classes for Tara have been a lot right now, not being able to find time alone. You were practically living at the police station with the crime surge in the city, working late nights and long hours. With Sam’s overprotectiveness, Tara can say goodbye to dates so she only really sees you when you come over with her sister. You take your jacket off, place it on the chair in the corner of her room and tug your boots off. Remembering you had a change of clothes here from when Tara ransacked your closet; you picked out a shirt and shorts before getting into bed beside the younger Carpenter.

She was on you in an instant, swinging a leg over your waist, shoving her face in your neck. You feel her exhale a calming breath, once she’d settled into a comfortable position on you. You reciprocate by wrapping a strong grip around her waist, cherishing the way her skin warmed yours and how the weight of her body felt perfect.

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks you with such a vulnerable gaze that you would never dream of ever telling her no.

You nod, pressing a kiss to her lips, then forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Goodnight.”

She smiles against your lips, whispering her own, “goodnight.”

As you hold Tara Carpenter in your arms, you find yourself fending off sleep, only ever being this relaxed around the girl. You squeeze her slightly, feeling grateful to be with her at this moment with all the craziness in your two’s lives. No worries of outside-world problems could break the cozy bubble you and Tara created. Without ever standing a chance, you lose the fight to sleep and easily fall off the precipice with her in your embrace.

– –

“Tara, do you have my nail polish – Oh this is cute.”

You spring up, the voice startling you from the most relaxed sleep you’ve ever had; the type that makes your entire body heavy and head foggy when you wake up. You were the lightest of sleepers, a pin drop could probably startle you awake, but never when you fell asleep beside Tara.

“What the fuck?” Tara grumbles against your side, peaking her head up to see Quinn watching you two in bed.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and instantly pale when you realize you never left the Carpenter Sister’s apartment, you never even made it out of Tara’s bed. You can feel the stream of sunlight coming in from Tara’s window and just know you had majorly fucked up.

“I just needed my nail polish but this is quite a sight, definitely a pleasant surprise.” She waves a hand toward you two, and you roll your eyes.

“Shit babe, Sam.” Tara places a hand on your arm. You check the watch strapped on your wrist for the time, 10:32 AM – making you leap out of her, oh so warm bed.

“Screw Sam, my Captain is gonna be on my ass until next year if I don’t get to work now. I was late about two hours ago.” Grumbling, you yanked Tara’s closet open and grabbed the spare trousers and button-down, you stowed in there.

"Can't say I blame your Captain." Quinn retorts, heavily eyeing you as you change your shorts into trousers.

Tara groans at the mess this morning has already been, flopping onto her back.

“Screw Sam, huh?” She appears, leaning on the threshold just behind Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your hands stall on the tie you were tying as you hear your friend’s voice, making you turn around.

“I guess that’s a no on the nail polish?” Tara glares at her roommate. 

Quinn shrugs, still ogling as you changed before turning to leave the room. “Not a wasted trip though, nice catch Tara.” She winks at the brunette – holding a thumbs up.

The redhead just laughs, moving out of the way when Tara attempts to throw a pillow at her.

“Sam… I’d love to explain but I am so late for work right now.” You plead at the older sister.

Tara sat on her bed wordlessly, unsure of what Sam’s reaction is going to be – but ready to defend her relationship with you, regardless.

Sam chuckles shrugging lightly, “I already knew. Or well, I had a feeling, but this just confirms it.”

You and Tara look at each other at her confession, unsure if Sam’s words hold positive or negative connotations. Sam sees the eye-contact and laughs.

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was a little hurt that you didn’t tell me…” She pauses, “okay. I was really hurt when you guys didn’t tell me. But I realize I haven’t given Tara reason to trust me with anything about her life lately.”

That makes Tara’s head perk up at her sister’s admission. All she’s ever wanted was for Sam to trust her a little because trust went both ways in every type of relationship.

“And well, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to be with my sister than my cop friend. Especially after you came through for her last night. You were driving so fast, I thought I was gonna die.” Sam laughs a little but you’re still unconvinced.

When Sam realizes no one was still talking she chuckles again. “Guys, I’m serious!”

You cough clearing your throat, “Sorry Sam, it’s just that... I–uh,” 

Tara decided to cut off your stammering, “We’re just surprised, Sam. We thought you'd be more upset. And that we were more subtle.” She admits, shooting you a look.

“You weren't. But, I thought a lot about what to say until I realized it was just you guys and I care about you two so much. You don’t think I noticed Tara being a lot happier than usual and you actually looking somewhat at peace?” She asks rhetorically, reading you and Tara to filth – your cheeks reddening, not being used to being at the other end of the ‘questioning’.

“I see how you look at each other. I know you’ll protect her.” That last sentence she says looking at you and it means the world to get her approval – something that you didn’t even know you wanted, you nod at her appreciatively.

Sam pushes herself off the doorframe, tapping on it. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the kitchen, don't let it get cold. And Y/N, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to work today.” She winks, leaving you and Tara alone in the room.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, unable to find words to describe what just transpired in the span of a few minutes. Then you hear a scoff bring you out of your reverie.

“What the hell was that,” Tara commented, getting up from the bed and closing the door before approaching you. 

“I’m… not really sure. I can’t tell if I’m still asleep.” You mumble, grabbing at her cheeks to make sure you weren't in a dream. Tara whines against the pinching, swatting your hands away.

You laughed at her frown before leaning down to kiss her slightly chapped lips, all soft and slow. Tara pulls you closer by the neck, sighing against pressed mouths. A sweet moan escapes her mouth when you suck down hard on her lip, releasing it with a loud pop. 

“You think I should call in sick today?” You whisper, running a gentle thumb to soothe her swollen lip.

Tara nods, eyes half-open still a little dazed from your kiss. When she gathers her bearings, she runs a hand down your half-done tie, tugging you closer. “Definitely.”

"You can tell me more about how worried you were and how fast you were driving too," She whispers against your mouth, using your tie as a leash.

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Kinda... can I drive with the sirens on?" She slides the question in like it was nothing.

"No."

"Buzzkill." She teases but pulls you on top when her back hits the mattress. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

You definitely forgot to make that phone call.

The rest of that morning was spent in between Tara’s sheets, you two hidden away from the world; ignoring the flurry of texts and calls from your work phone. Only leaving her room to grab some food and water, but getting caught in the crossfire of teasings from Tara's friends when they see the hickeys on your neck.

Tara merely strides past you, dressed in nothing but your button-down, stopping for a peck on the lips and grabbing the water from your hands before hiding back in her room to ignore her friends. You don’t miss the cheeky wink she tosses you and the grimace Sam lets out as she watches. Instead, you keep your head down and follow the smaller girl like a lost puppy, ignoring the other's whistles as you do.

And, when you make your way to your desk the next day, a mountain pile of shitty cases for the next month is stacked high as punishment.

You still find it hard to feel any remorse for the no-show.

It was definitely worth it.

– –

:)

[nicksbestie]

Taste Test - N. Sturniolo (blurb)

Summary : the one where Nick is developing the flavors that will be sold by his brand, and he wants your opinion.

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff <3

Word Count : 700

Pairing : Nick Sturniolo/Male Reader (romantic)

A/N : divider credit to @/animatedglittergraphics-and-more. HAPPY PRIDE MY LOVES! sorry this is so short, hoping to get more nick fics up so soon!

Nick laughed as you made a fake, over exaggerated, gagging noise, handing him the sample back.

The creases around your eyes told him that you were joking, but that you didn’t really like the one he had handed you. He smiled as he passed you another option, the soft pastel color on the tube being incredibly inviting to you. You laughed with him for a few seconds before pulling the lid off of the next one, gently twisting it up a bit. The strong scent of cherry wafted around the room, the soft pink label around the cylinder between your fingers. 

“This one.” 

Nick looked at you, a little surprised. 

“Yeah? You haven’t opened the rest of them.” 

“I don’t need to. This is the one.” 

Nick had already filled two of the three spots for Space Camp’s first flavor launch, and the other two were Frosted Mint, and Juicy Watermelon. However, Nick had been going back and forth for hours about which flavor they had tested would take the third spot, and had been incapable of making the decision on his own. So, he had come home to you, asking you for your opinion.

“This one is perfect. It’s strong, and it’s sweet, it’s perfect for the third spot.” 

“I’m glad you think so. I was honestly hoping for that one, but I just couldn’t make the decision.” 

You easily applied it to your lips, putting the lid back on and slipping it back into his pocket. 

“Well, I’m happy you let me help.”

You held the side of his face in your hand, quickly pulling him into a kiss, not letting go until he did. His eyes held an expression of surprise, a twinge of lust, his mouth slightly open, clearly not expecting that from you. He took in a breath before speaking, a soft laugh leaving his lips.

“Definitely that flavor.” 

You smiled, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and using your leverage to pull him into another deep kiss, firm but short.

“Yeah? You’re confident?” 

It was Nick that initiated the next one, his hand threading into the back of your hair and catching you by surprise, this kiss much softer, breaking away quickly.

“Positive. You made that decision much easier.” 

Just a few weeks later, Nick was at photoshoots for the first variety pack to be launched by Space Camp, and while you hadn’t been able to attend them all, you had made time to be there for the one that was focused on your favorite flavor, the one you had helped him pick out. You were so endlessly proud of him and everything that he had managed to accomplish in such a short time. You stood off-camera, smiling when he grinned, his eyes landing on you. 

He had known that you were planning on coming but he had no idea when you would be there, and that turned out to be one of your favorite photos that came out of the entire day’s shoot. It was a genuine smile, his eyes off camera as he held the Wild Cherry lip balm in his hand, posed perfectly for his next picture. He looked nothing short of adorable, which was exactly what you told him when he took a break, coming over to wrap his arms around you. After your hug, he grabbed a water bottle, taking a drink out of it before walking over to his stuff and pulling out one of the variety packs, handing it to you.

“This one is for you.”

You smiled, hugging him again, opening it and pulling the cherry one out of its packaging, just as Nick was called back over to finish his photoshoot. He smiled, waving at you as he started to walk away, only for you to grab his arm and pull him back to you. 

“Wait!” 

You swiped the lip balm over your lips, kissing him quickly just like you had done the night that you’d decided on the final flavor. 

“Okay. You can go back now.” 

The blush on Nick’s cheeks stayed for the rest of the photoshoot, matching the dark red of the cherry on the pie he was holding.

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