#I've decided I'm moving before/when I turn twenty

[veunho]

Looking for someone to help my bilingual but uncertified ass practice my speaking skills is HARD man ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

[vi-tamine]

Heyyyyy!!!

If you are up for it, I'd love to see you write a Silco x Reader Story🙏🏻

Reader was like an older Sibling to Powder, Vi, Mylo and Clagger, making sure the kids were always okay. So that day, when almost everyone died and Silco took in Powder/Jinx, Reader went with them to keep an eye on Jinx. They turn more into a Parental Figure over time for her. Reader and Silco hated each other at first but tried to remain civil for Jinx. Over time feelings developed and both are in denial. So basically Enemies to Lovers.

Also Reader takes care of like the Bar, since they have already worked there when Vander was still alive. [Either behind the counter as a Bartender or as like Security]

Idc if its Fluffy or Angsty or smutty or smth!

I just need more Silco x Reader🙏🏻😭

at home (silco x reader)

words: 1517

genre(s): fluff, angst (i think..)

warnings: none

n/a: im sooo happy!!! thank u so much for requesting me!! this is my first request and i'm kinda nervous about it! i hope you like it and enjoy it a little!! i did my best!! want to remember that english isn't my first language, so im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes, but this also helps me to improve :]

You were twenty years old when it all happened. When Mylo and Claggor died and Vi ran away after all the tragedy trying to rescue Vander from Silco's hands. You were the oldest of the three sisters, always under your care, even though you allowed them some freedom for their “missions” you always kept an eye on your sisters, in case it was necessary to get them out of some trouble. 

That day, you went to help your brothers get Vander back, making Powder promise not to move from the basement. When the whole mess happened, you were barely aware of whatever was going on. One of your arms had been trapped under the rubble and you heard Powder's distant cries for Vi to come back for her. As best you could, you pulled yourself together, pushed away the debris over your arm and made your way to find the youngest of your sisters, the one that sounded closest. The crying seemed to be weaker, and when you looked up Silco had his arms around her as she hugged him, right next to Vander's lifeless body. You approached cautiously, brow furrowed at the whole unfamiliar situation. 

“Stay away from her” you addressed Silco with a firm voice and furrowed brows. He did so without complaint, looking at you, keeping his composure and probably waiting for a move on your part that never came.  Powder turned to look at you, her blue eyes brimming with tears. She hugged your legs, and before you knew it, you were both leaving with Silco and his people. 

Seven years later you decided to take Vander's place in “The Last Drop”. Silco “signed it over” to you while he took one of the rooms to be his office. You were a little grateful that he would let you carry on the legacy of the one he once considered his brother. 

You poured one last drink before Jinx sat down on one of the stools and rolled your eyes as you watched her turn in on herself. “Get your feet off the stool if you're going to be sitting here” you scolded her as you cleaned one of the glasses and poured her the juice she always asked for. “Thank you~” she thanked taking a sip from the straw. “I've been working on one of those grenades I showed you, and even though it explodes poorly, it's getting more and more powerful!” she explained somewhat excitedly as she looked at you with a slight smile. During all these years your sister had grown more than you would have liked. Sometimes nostalgia hit you, and all you could think about was how much older she had gotten and how rebellious and uncontrollable she had become.

 Mylo and Claggor's death and Vi's abandonment left some aftereffects on your sister. Jinx was the name she had decided to adopt after Vi called her that name before abandoning her to her fate without even knowing if you were alive. Together with Silco you had raised her, and although you always tried to take her on a healthy and untroubled path, she ended up paying more attention to Silco than to you. 

During all these years your vision of Silco was changing, and all the resentment and anger you had towards him, had been loosening when you saw the love and effort he put in wanting to take care of your sister. Your attitude towards him became more passive, and his attitude towards you became sweeter and more protective. You both had your sister, Jinx, as your priority. 

“Be careful with those gadgets or someday your finger will explode.” you joked with your sister as you leaned your elbows on the bar to look at her. “I do know how to build inventions, sis, not like you” she joked with you before getting a tap on her shoulder from you. You rolled your eyes letting out a light chuckle. “By the way, Silco wants to see you” he spoke as he rubbed his shoulder with a pout. You frowned and sighed. “You take care of the drinks for a while then” you stepped out from behind the bar, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Jinx hopped over the bar to tend to the customers and scolded her for it before walking up to Silco's office.

You felt your heart beating stronger and stronger as you got closer to Silco's office. Since a few days ago your vision of the man who had given (somehow) shelter to you and your sister, apart from starting to respect him, perhaps your feelings towards him had taken a different direction, a more romantic one. Every night you told yourself that it was wrong, if you thought about it, it was against your morals and principles to like Silco, so you tried to hold back that feeling as much as you could. 

You knocked on the door, and after hearing a low “Come in”, you entered the room, allowing you to see Silco in his chair as usual and Sevika next to him. They both looked at you, and with a slight gesture, Silco had Sevika leave the room, closing the door behind her. You sat down in the chair in front of the table, sighing and making yourself comfortable as you noticed how her gaze was fixed on you. 

“What is it this time, what has Jinx done to what-” you couldn't finish formulating the sentence Silco cut you off. “Your sister is out of jail” your back and your whole body started to bristle. “With the help of a Piltover enforcer.” You discovered that Vi had been arrested and sent to Stillwater. Seven years later she seemed to have gotten out. A confused feeling invaded your body. You were happy, your sister had been released. And at the same time you were filled with rage, she had abandoned you and your sister. Then came the feeling of guilt, you were the oldest, much older than them, and you had let your sister be arrested, you had not fought for her. You swallowed and immediately got up from the couch. “Don't let Jinx know. Not yet, at least.” you left the room without even looking or listening to what Silco would have to tell you.

. . . . . . 

Later that night, having just closed the bar and with only the music to keep you company, you finished putting the last chairs back on the tables and mopping the floor. Before you even went to sleep you decided to pour yourself a shot of whiskey. You sat on the freshly cleaned bar and, with your mother's favorite song playing in the background, you thought about everything. Your parents, your sisters, brothers, Vander, Silco, everything. The alcohol scratched your throat as you thought about how you were going to confront Vi at some point, what you would say to her, how she would be, how she would react to seeing who you were with. Maybe she would understand you if she realized you were doing it all for Jinx. Maybe she would martyr you if she knew about your feelings for Silco. 

“May I have some?” a voice from behind you shuddered. Turning slightly to grab a glass, you saw Silco planted behind you. You nodded wordlessly, pouring for him as well and watching as he took a long sip. He looked back at you. “Why the long face?” he asked. You laughed wryly. “As if you didn't know” you replied clicking your tongue. You didn't want to talk down to him, but your feelings at that moment were what they were. He seemed to understand, he didn't add a word.

 He set the glass down on the bar and one of your hands rested on your shoulder, lightly trailing down your arm. “She's going to understand.” he simply said. You shook your head, also dropping the glass and looking sideways at him. “She's not going to understand. She can't. I don't blame her. I'm a horrible sister.” you sighed. You felt like your eyes were going to release tears at any moment. You noticed Silco's rough hand touch yours, embrace yours with his fingers and with his thumb caress the back of your hand. You let yourself be touched. “We should have left, Silco. We don't belong here. It's not our place. I should have taken Pow-” you couldn't finish your sentence Silco had crashed his lips to yours. You couldn't even react when he broke away. You looked at him still dumbfounded. 

“If she doesn't understand, we're going to make her understand. But don't you ever, ever, ever say again that you don't belong here. You do. You belong by my side,” and when he finished speaking you couldn't help but kiss his lips back. Your heart had just exploded like a bomb, and Silco had detonated it. There were probably going to be repercussions, surely none of this was going to go well, but for the first time, when you were dancing in his arms, you felt at home again.

[woncon]

➳ sick duty.

➶ poly!ateez x gn!reader (yungisang focus) ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ Yunho is sick, and you and Yeosang are on sick duty. When the others still haven't arrived with jelly, you decide to go to the nearest shop in the raging storm and buy some, because Yunho really wants them.

➴ genre: slice of life, sickfic, estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au

: ̗̀➛ warnings: yungisang focus, but everyone gets screen time, poor yunho has a fever, one sexually suggestive offer, petnames, nudity

⌨ :: 3.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ This idea came to me when I saw a double rainbow in early June while listening to Golden Hour Pt1. It was supposed to play in the summer, but I never got to the end. Now autumn came and I decided to write it. But in this rainy, gloomy weather it seemed better to set it in a more autumnal setting. That changed my basic idea a lot, but I'm happy with it as it is.

⁀➷ My lovely @wonsheep, I'm still sorry the rain poured on you so heavily on Wednesday. :( But it was very motivating, as you can see. Many thanks for reading through the story and founding my silly mistakes!

➳ mlist

I'm hot.

I want tea.

I'm cold.

The sickly season of the autumn-winter months spares no one. Yunho, who is hard to dislodge from whatever well-endowed giraffe's legs he has, is now curled up in the middle of the bed, disconsolate because he didn't pull on a thick enough scarf, or was carelessly underdressed in the living room, or simply spent too much time around a co-worker who has been lurking with some virus. Whichever the case, the poor guy is in a terrible mood.

"I want medicine," he whispers his next wish.

You look at your watch.

“One more hour before you can take the next one,” you say, brushing his hair away to touch his sweat beaded forehead. It's still as warm as underfloor heating.

Frustrated, he rolls to the side and buries his head fully into the pillow. You drop your hands back into your lap, helpless. It's simply exasperating to watch him suffer, to listen to his snotty, ragged breathing mix with the rain beating against the window.

“Do you want something to help?” you ask, when he turns to you again and raises his feverish eyes to you. The skin around his nose is flushed from all the blowing.

“Jelly.”

Yunho is convinced that jelly sweets can help him. Or at least when he's sick, he likes to eat sweets. Other times, not so much. Unfortunately, you guys weren't prepared for Yunho being sick in the near future. Plus, there's a storm brewing, the kind you haven't seen in a long time. It's been raining steadily for a week now, sometimes more, sometimes less. The others went to do the shopping with the car, leaving Yunho behind with the promise to bring him some jelly. He responded with a small, grateful smile.

Now, looking at his tortured expression, you would give a lot to see that smile again, the hope in his eyes. You reach out and take his hand. You sigh. Gently, slowly, you caress the back of his hand, knowing how sensitive he is to touch when he has a fever. You don't want to overdo it and hurt him, but at the same time you want to let him know physically that you're there for him.

"It's on the way." You really hope it is. The last time Jongho called, they were already at the checkout. Your youngest friend boasted that they were bringing five full bags of jelly beans. That was about twenty minutes ago. No news since then. It bothers you that you can't offer an immediate solution to Yunho's every wish.

Before Yunho can ask any more questions, the door opens. Yeosang arrives with a tray holding a steaming mug and something wrapped in napkins that you can't identify yet. With cautious steps, he moves to the other side of the bed among some discarded clothes - because Yunho didn't want to shower this morning, just threw everything off the bed he'd chosen as his regular place - and then takes a seat, placing the tray safely on the bedside table, gently moving Seonghwa's half-finished book.

“I've brought the tea," he says to Yunho. "And I found some biscuits to go with it."

Interested, the patient moves up on the pillow, but still looks vulnerable. Yeosang holds the cup in his hand and gives the man small sips. Meanwhile, you get up and gather up the laundry strewn around the bed and take it to the bathroom. On the way, you hear a conversation emanating from the kitchen, from which you hear the word 'jelly bean' clearly spoken at one point. So after throwing the laundry in the hamper, you go to the kitchen instead of the bedroom. The room is filled with the smell of hot water and tea leaves. Mingi is putting away the tea ingredients. The call is already finished, his phone is on the counter.

Originally, Mingi wouldn’t be on sick duty today. Today's subordinates are you and Yeosang, Mingi just didn't want to leave the apartment in this crazy weather and he’s helping you instead. It's not like this sick duty thing is strict in your relationship, and it's set in stone that Mingi can only nurse Yunho on Mondays and Fridays and holidays or anything. That said, there are rules. For example, Mingi usually only needs one nurse when he gets a cold or something more serious, but at such times it is Yunho for most of the time. Then there's Jongho, who, if he falls ill, no matter what the schedule, has all eight of you at his disposal twenty-four hours a day. Or, again, there's Seonghwa, who hides the fact that he's sick until it's too obvious, and you're all freaking out as to why he won't let you take care of him.

Yunho usually hardly gets sick. When he does, even a mild cold will get him down. And when he is ill, he's even fussier than the sick Wooyoung, and only one lover has a hard time coping with his demands. Usually two people are enough to care for him if there are jelly beans nearby. Which, for now, there aren’t.

“Are they on their way home?” you ask Mingi, who's packing honey. 

"It's worse downtown than here," he says. "The traffic's bad. They're just moving towards home inch by inch."

You both look out of the window, and the tapping of the rain remains as unrelenting as the fever that plagues Yunho.

“Is the tea to his liking?”

“I'm sure of it,” you smile at him. Mingi is usually insecure when it comes to Yunho's well-being. You suspect that the boy's illness was a more significant reason for Mingi to stay home than his desire not to get wet. “But you can ask him.”

You return to the bedroom with Mingi at your side. You remind yourself that this room now functions as a ward. The patient is huddled near the edge of the bed, munching on biscuits soaked in tea, so that they don't scratch his throat.

“It's not jelly,” he mutters, then pulls away from Yeosang and lies back on the upholstered cushions.

You look at Yeosang. Your theory is that you're thinking the exact same thing. If jelly beans are the only thing that helps your boyfriend, you'll do anything to get them. You're even willing to go to the convenience store in the pouring rain, because when you are on sick duty, Yunho mustn't lack anything.

"We'll go and get jelly beans," you say. Yeosang nods his head in commitment.

“We'll go?” Mingi looks terrified. “All of us?”

You can't leave Yunho alone in this state. It's a good thing that Mingi is here, in addition to Yeosang and you, ready for action, and not stuck in traffic with the others downtown. 

“No. You stay here with Yunho and look after him.”

Mingi continues to blink. 

“We'll be quick, don't worry, you don't have to multitask. Yuyu will probably fall asleep soon.”

"It's not me I'm worried about," he protests, "You'll get wet and cold."

"The store is not far away. We won't have enough time in the rain to freeze to death."

Yeosang wraps Yunho in a blanket and kisses him on the head.

"Mingi?" The man folded in a burrito addresses the worried individual.

“Yes?”

“Gimme a hug.”

Mingi doesn't resist, but climbs onto the bed, swapping places with Yeosang, who pats his shoulder as he passes. Before you even leave the room, you hear Mingi apologize and ask for Yunho's forgiveness.

Yeosang sticks the umbrella out the door. Just a little to test how much it rains. There's really barely any surface out, but the wind immediately grabs it and tugs it further. He pulls it back in time before the umbrella swings out or the wind wins, and you close the door with a great struggle, which also wants to jump off its hinges from the violent gusts of wind.

“I think this will stay here,” Yeosang says, and then drops the solid black umbrella behind you.

You zip up your raincoat. It occurs to you that maybe Mingi is right, and you'll be so wet you'll get stuck in a puddle of icy water. Yet the idea doesn't discourage you, doesn't make you stay, because Yunho needs the jellies.

Yeosang adjusts his hood, then holds out his hand. You embrace him tightly. You check your wallet stashed in the waterproof pocket one last time and place your hand on the doorknob. Then you push it down. The door swings open, and you let it drag you along with it. The back of your coat gets soaked immediately. The rain doesn't fall, it instead pours down from behind in a wave with the wind. Clinging on to Yeosang in vain, it's hard to keep up your own pace and not lurch forward like a rag doll. It's a wonder your boyfriend can close the door.

Although the shop is indeed a block away, at this time it feels like you're wandering for eternity. For one thing, the scenery is completely different in the rain, it's harder to navigate, especially in the raging, commanding wind. Around one corner, Yeosang has to pull you in, because out of nowhere a car appears, its wheels gallantly splashing a full puddle onto the pavement.

Somehow, you do reach the store. As soon as the automatic door closes behind you, the storm is out of the way. Inside, the weather is pleasant. Only the clothes clinging to your skin and the small puddles and mud stains on the floor left by other shoppers are reminders of what a doomsday is happening outside.

“Huh,” you sigh in relief. The first game of the war against weather is over. You only have one more to go to succeed in the jelly bean mission.

“We're crazy," Yeosang shakes his head in disbelief. Then he smiles up at you, sweetly and lovingly, because he's proud you're crazy. You return it.

Insanity is part of sick duty to some extent. Last time San must have used up thirty tissues a day, and ran out in the middle of the week. Hongjoong ran so fast to replace the used-up packets that he was almost hit by a truck. And when you were sick and craving nothing but a mug of hot tomato soup when all the shops were closed and there were no tomatoes at home, only ketchup... Well, Jongho tried.

You purposefully seek out sweets. Luckily, you don't have to wander around and scout the place, you'll often find yourself here. You take off two bags of Yunho's favourite flavour, sour apple. You remember again how pitiful your otherwise healthy and cheerful boyfriend looks.

“This will help him,” Yeosang says encouragingly, as if he's reading your mind.

You nod, then head for the cashier. You get in line. From here, you can see the window and the rain pouring down.

For the first time since the jelly bean plan was born, you have time to think about Mingi's excuse when he cuddled up to Yunho. It's my fault. I'm sorry. But how could it be his fault that Yunho caught a cold?

You're rewinding the previous two weeks. Yunho was in home office the whole time. He really enjoyed it, and when he wasn't working, he was playing video games. He didn't put his foot out until one time when he had to pop down to the shop for something. It didn't rain so heavily that day, just a gentle drizzle. Maybe Mingi had taken off Yunho's blanket one night? It couldn't be, either, because they'd been sleeping far apart lately.

It's your turn, so you suspend your musings. When you get back, you'll ask Mingi and hope it's not too embarrassing for him not to tell you. If he feels guilty, you could help him and reassure him that it's not his fault.

You and Yeosang pay. You put the bags in your coat pockets. You pull the hood up, not that it matters. You cling together again, then step out onto the soggy pavement. 

The way back is harder. This time the wind brings the rain from the front. Each blast smacks you in the face. Neither of your hoods can stay up. Your hair gets wet, the rain drips under your coat. You successfully step into a puddle, literally splashing in the muddy water, and the inside of your boots get soaked. You're wet everywhere, from your elbows to your toes. It's really annoying, but you don't falter, clutching Yeosang's arm until you reach the sheltering door of your home to drop in like two wet rags on the threshold and with a combined effort you shut out the cold, ominous wind. Yeosang slides along the door, his hair leaving a wet streak on the wooden panel.

“We did it,” he sighs, and proudly rattles one of the jelly beans he pulls out of his pocket. The bag is intact, of course.

“We did,” you agree, and pull him up off the ground.

Suddenly you're faced with the problem of not knowing what to take off first because everything is equally soaked. It's almost as if your clothes are the cool part of your skin, plus outer layers. Finally, following your boyfriend's example, you throw your coat on the floor first, then your shoes on the doormat, and socks after.

Before you reach for the next layer of clothing, there is the sound of footsteps. You think Mingi is coming, but when he sighs, you realize it's not your tall lover.

“You guys are adorable and dedicated, but silly at the same time," says Hongjoong with crossed arms.

“But at least Yunho’s jellies will hold out until he heals,” answers Yeosang, taking off his shirt.

“When did you arrive?” you ask.

“About a minute ago. But we'll talk later. Now go take a shower before you too end up feverishly next to Yunho,” Hongjoong advises, then retreats and San steps forward. He unconcealedly runs his eyes over Yeosang's naked torso, and yours, which still has your shirt stuck to it, rather tightly, so it might even be useless.

“If you get sick, I'll be on sick duty every day. The thing is, the adorable, dedicated, silly people are just my type” he winks.

“Move over, Sanie," Wooyoung appears and nudges the other one in the side, "You promised to help hyung pack up.”

San hums and walks away, but still smiles in your direction. You all love to oblige Hongjoong and Seonghwa, and that goes for when there's an opportunity to flirt as well.

“You two are sexy, all wet,” Wooyoung admits. “If you need help with the shower, let me know. I'll be within earshot.”

“We'll consider it,” you promise. Wooyoung nods with a grin, and he also retreats to the kitchen.

You pass through the hallway, but before you can go to the bathroom, Jongho stands in front of you with a plate of jelly beans. “Here. I thought you should be the ones to give it to him. You made a greater sacrifice, and most of us stayed dry. Except for Hwa hyung, who opened the door and held the umbrella.”

“Thank you,” you say at the same time. While Yeosang takes the bowl, you press a kiss on Jongho's cheek.

When you retire to the bedroom, the scene is quite cozy. Yunho is in bed, hugging Mingi, craving jelly beans, and you offer him what he craves most, and what you fought Mother Nature for.

“We got it,” you report.

Yunho snaps his head up. The mere hope brings life to his sick features. You stand by the bed, careful not to get rainwater on it.

“Here, hyung," Yeosang hands the bowl to him in a soft whisper.

“I hope you weren’t too desperate, baby. We hurried as much as we could.”

“You're the best," says Yunho, touched, between bites. “I love you.”

“We love you too, giant baby. Very much,” you assure him.

And he smiles up at you. The mission is a complete success. Whether all that time and getting soaked was enough to put you to bed remains to be seen. In the meantime, you bask in success.

Mingi sneezes. Then he reaches under the pillow and takes out a handkerchief. “My throat may be a tiny bit scratchy.”

“Should we set up someone on sick duty for you too?” Yeosang offers readily.

“Our poor boyfriends,” you sigh, watching them. Yunho in the midst of illness, Mingi as he probably slips into a state of flux.

“I deserve it,” murmurs Mingi, looking ruefully at Yunho.

“Why do you think so?” you ask the question that has been nagging at you for a good twenty minutes.

“When we ran out of milk last week, Yunho and I went to the grocery store... I offered to make out with him in the rain. It didn't rain much, and there was no wind. Still, that's how Yunho got cold.”

"Come on," the other protests hoarsely. He sucks on a jelly bean with great enthusiasm. You wouldn't believe he can taste it. “You offered, I agreed, I could have said no, but I didn't. All in all, it was worth it.”

“Worth it?” Yeosang raises his eyebrows. “You were dying before the jelly arrived.”

"If you haven't kissed Mingi in the rain, you won't understand," he declares, then turns to Mingi. “Want a jelly, princess?

Yeosang and you leave them alone, let them romance each other in the infirmary. Barefoot, you stomp off to the bathroom. You open the door, and a thick, fragrant steam rises from the room. A pleasant warm breeze reminds you how cold you are. You hurry inside. Yeosang closes the door to keep the comforting steam from escaping.

Seonghwa is already drying his hair and got dressed. You look at him expectantly, ready to be reprimanded. But he has no such plans. He takes your face with one hand and Yeosang's with the other. “I am proud of you. Take a bath, then we can watch a movie. We made a whole list while we were stuck in traffic.”

Yeosang hums, you nod in response. Good idea. At this time of year, there's no point in doing anything other than curling up on the sofa together.

You bask in Seonghwa's soft touch until the last moment, and the knowledge that he's proud of you. It's really enjoyable to play good cop, bad cop with Hongjoong, and they don’t scold you twice. Regardless, you need to figure out a way to cheer up that boyfriend of yours who called you adorable, dedicated, and silly all at the same time. 

“So he probably caught it while kissing,” you acknowledge what you've heard by tugging your trousers down after Seonghwa has left you alone.

“Interesting.”

“And understandable. Sounds romantic.”

“Do you want to go back?” Yeosang glances up at you as he pulls towels out of the closet. The look in his eyes is willing. It embarrasses you to know that he would take a single word from you and go back with you into the pouring rain to fulfill that desire.

“I wouldn’t do it in this weather. But, for example, standing in a cool summer drizzle, refreshing after the heat. When me and my partner won’t be so likely to have a fever for a week.”

“Last summer Woo did it with someone. I think it was with Sanie, but I'm not sure. Maybe he caught Hongjoong hyung in a moment of weakness.”

“Really? Is it fashionable to kiss in the rain in our relationship?”

“A bit.” Yeosang undresses completely. 

Your hand is over the laundry basket, you've dropped the last of your clothes in it, yet you don't move. You’re looking at Yeosang. At his naked back, how rainwater is dripping from his hair, onto his delicate muscles. The line of his shoulder blades as his back narrows, ending in the lovely hips you'd hold in your hands for days. And of course you can't neglect his ass or his thighs or his whole being, because once you start looking at him, one part of him is not enough, and the whole of him is overwhelmingly wonderful.

He turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

“Sure.” You follow him into the bath. You take his face in the palm of your hand and kiss him on the lips. “Wooyoung was right.” 

“About what?”

"You're sexy when you're wet," you explain, and at the same time you probably reveal that you were just staring at him.

"He didn't just say that to me, love," he replies, pulling you close. Then he opens the water. The warm, soothing drops fall on your head and drip down your chilled skin. Like rain.

“I have an idea. Let's kiss here like it's raining.”

“Oh,” Yeosang smiles sweetly. His thumb caresses your cheek. “Okay.”

And you shower until the hot water runs out.

[heardsomedickwasbeinmeantoyou]

also on ao3 HERE

.

“So, I overheard this guy in the line at the coffee shop this morning talking about name meanings—”

“Of course you did,” Eddie interjects, not unkindly.

Buck turned up with beers about a half hour ago, and has had his head in his phone for the last, what, twenty minutes? Something like that.

This is the first thing he's said since Eddie let him in and he sat his ass down on the couch in silence, looking like he needed Eddie to just allow him to.

Eddie did.

“—and I thought I'd look up ours.”

He's chewing on his bottom lip like it tastes good.

Eddie surprises himself by wondering if it does.

“I'm guessing you already know what Christopher means.”

Thinking back to when Shannon asked if he liked the name, Eddie smiles.

“Means 'Bearer of Christ', or something, right? We chose it because was Shannon's grandfather's name, though. He was Greek, and she adored him.”

Searching fingers instinctively find his pendant. It's positioned to the left, sitting right over his heart.

He misses his son like he'd miss a lung.

Buck looks up at him and smiles back, and Eddie feels glad the release he'd found dancing 'round his living room earlier isn't going to suddenly disappear down the bathroom sinkhole, along with his moustache.

“So, tell me, what does Edmundo mean, oh scholarly one?”

Buck's eyebrows try to meet his hairline.

“You don't know?”

Eddie tips his head back against the couch and scrunches his mouth up into nose.

“I have sisters, man, of course I know what it means. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to tell me.”

Buck seems somewhat happy with that.

“Well, it's a derivative of the Old English name Edmund, which is a combination of the words ēad and mund. The first part means prosperity, or riches, which is a bit of a bust, sorry man,” and he tries for a grin. It almost hits.

“But the the mund part means protector—which is pretty spot on, I reckon.”

Buck's eyelashes are kind of blonde, and kind of pretty. Eddie's thought it before, but there's just something about them in this light, in Eddie's house, on Eddie's couch.

“It's actually a real pretty name, Edmundo. Don't know if I've ever told you I think that.”

“Don't think I've ever told you your eyelashes are kind of pretty, so that makes us even, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at Buck, big and genuine, and somehow it's so easy.

Buck smiles back. Looks a little confused, or pleased, or both. Eddie's not sure, but either is okay with him.

“Um, thanks?”

Eddie bites his tongue between his teeth in a poor effort to stop his grin turning positively goofy.

Buck takes it for what it is, and bats his eyelashes at Eddie, silly, and laughs.

His whole demeanor then changes as he finally settles properly into the couch and gifts his lungs with what might be the first proper breath he's taken since he arrived.

“Anyway, Evan is the worst of the three. It means yew, like the tree? Which is—it symbolises, like, spirituality, and rebirth and shit like that. 'S not really, uh, me, you know?”

“You mean like Evan isn't really you?”

Buck bites at his red, red lip again.

Eddie decides it'd taste like cherry Chupa Chups.

“Yeah. But it's—my name.”

“Except it isn't though, it's it?” Eddie reminds him. “You're name is Buck, Buck. You decided that.”

“I don't know why he always insisted on calling me Evan. Or why I just—let him. It was kind of weird.”

Tommy.

"Called? Past tense?” Eddie flips his tongue in his mouth. Breathes a little more deliberately.

Buck looks at his phone again before he's slowly placing it down on the couch between them.

His fingers are touching the outside of Eddie's thigh, and Eddie's suddenly acutely aware that he still isn't wearing any pants.

Buck leaves his hand where it is.

“He, uh, he dumped me. Because I—”

Buck sucks in oxygen, a lot of it, and holds it in his lungs before puffing out his cheeks as he makes a show of blowing it back out again.

“I asked him to move in with me.”

Eddie was not expecting either of those statements.

"Ouch.”

Buck's fingers twitch against Eddie's skin, and Eddie feels it travel right down his leg and into his toes, which curl involuntarily into the carpet.

“You wanna talk about it?” he offers, kind of knowing Buck doesn't. He will when he's ready.

“Not really.”

Eddie licks at his lips. They taste like beer, and a little like confidence.

“How about Buck?”

Buck looks at him, perplexed.

Eddie's leg is starting to cramp a bit.

He doesn't move it.

“A Buck is another name for a stag, right?” he continues. “And the stag symbolises strength and purity—

“Don't forget fertility” Buck is looking at Eddie, and it feels like something.

Eddie snorts. “'Course, don't wanna forget fertility.”

Buck smiles the first proper Buck smile of the evening, and Eddie's feels it in his chest.

“Hey, hang on, how come you know so much about stags, Edmundo?”

“You did that project with Chris about the forest.”

Buck blinks at him.

“Dude that was, like, years ago. And, as you said, I was the one learning all about the woodland creatures and different types berries and toadstools, so how do you—”

“Because you told me,” Eddie shrugs a shoulder.

Buck blinks some more.

“And you—remembered that?” he asks.

In this moment, Eddie couldn't blink, nor look away from Buck, even if somebody were to pay him.

“I remember everything you tell me.”

It's weird but it's like the air itself is crackling as they sit here, just staring at each other.

They look at each other for what feels like a long time. Or maybe it's just a single heartbeat, Eddie can't really be sure.

He watches as Buck swallows, his Adam's apple a calling card.

Eddie isn't entirely sure of why he thinks of that.

Until he is.

When Buck moves his hand, it's to slide it fully onto Eddie's thigh to just sit there, right at home.

Eddie's suddenly blinking so much he's a little worried he might be stroking.

He doesn't mean to say, “Can you smell toast?” but finds himself saying it anyway.

Buck smile is both crooked and adorable.

“You worried you're having a stroke, old man?”

“We'd have been at the same school at the same time, Buck. I'm not that much older than you.”

“You are old and I am young and everyone and the universe knows this,” Buck claims, cocky and sure of himself once more.

Eddie licks at his lips again.

“I, uh, I think I finally believe you.”

Buck now mirrors him, licking his own lips.

Cherry Chupa Chups.

“You mean about the universe?” he's asking, like he doesn't almost always knew what Eddie means.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

Buck waits.

Just as Eddie is thinking he really should go put some on some sweats or something, Buck must get impatient because he replies, “I think it always wanted you to believe.”

Eddie doesn't have a clue what time it is, or whether he had dinner or not, or how he got so damn lucky.

“I'm gonna choose to believe, because you believe—and I believe in you, Buck” he says, somehow both sure and unsure of absolutely everything that is to come.

At long last, he finds he is totally okay with that.

“Anyways, I can hear it now,” he tells Buck, “and I'm listening.”

.

unedited; pls be kind!

.

edited version now found HERE on ao3 if you'd like to pop across and leave me a comment xp

[keraiiszn]

ᴏᴜʀꜱ, ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄!𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

ᴘᴛ. 2

ʙᴀʙʏ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ, ꜱᴏᴄᴋ ᴅʀᴀᴡᴇʀ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ, ʟᴀᴛᴇ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ʀᴜɴꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ — ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜɪᴄᴄᴜᴘ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ ᴡᴇ’ᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ.

If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be watching my deadly, composed fiancé reorganise the baby's sock drawer for the fourth time this week while muttering about "proper size categorisation," I would have laughed until I cried. Now? I'm just trying not to pee myself laughing, which is a legitimate concern at thirty-nine weeks pregnant.

"Elijah" I call from our bed, where I'm propped up like a beached whale surrounded by pregnancy pillows. "The baby is not going to care if the newborn socks are arranged by colour or by cuteness factor."

He pauses, a tiny yellow sock in each hand, and turns to look at me with the most serious expression I've ever seen him wear. "But what if they have a preference? What if they're a colour-coordinated baby?"

I snort, which immediately turns into a hiccup, which somehow triggers the baby to start what feels like a full kickboxing routine against my ribs. "Oh, now you're awake," I mutter, rubbing the spot where a tiny foot is trying to escape through my skin.

Elijah drops the socks immediately and rushes over, his hands hovering uncertainly over my belly. The man who can disarm opponents without breaking a sweat looks panicked when our baby decides to practice their karate moves.

"Are you okay? Is it time? Should I get the hospital bag? I knew I should have packed a backup bag for the backup bag—"

"Breathe, babe," I interrupt, catching his hands and placing them where the baby is currently attempting to break free. "They're just saying hi to daddy. Watch."

As if on cue, the baby settles at Elijah's touch, and he gets that look—the one that still makes my heart do ridiculous, fluttery things despite the fact that I currently resemble a penguin who swallowed a basketball.

"Every time," he murmurs, wonder clear in his voice. "He always calm down for you."

"It's because you have magic hands," I tease, waggling my eyebrows. "Among other talents."

He flushes slightly, which is adorable on a man who radiates danger for a living. "Y/N..."

"What? I'm pregnant, not dead. And these hormones are no joke—I'm basically a walking ball of feelings and inappropriate thoughts."

Before he can respond, my stomach lets out a growl that could probably be heard in the next county. Elijah's eyebrows shoot up.

"Hungry again? You just ate an hour ago."

"Yeah, but that was dinner. This is the second dinner. Different." I pause, considering. "I think I want pickles. And ice cream. But not together—that's gross. Although..." I tilt my head, genuinely contemplating it. "Maybe together. Sweet and salty, right?"

Elijah stares at me for a long moment. "It's eleven-thirty at night."

"Your point?"

"The store is closed."

I give him my best innocent look, the one that usually gets me exactly what I want. "But you love meeeee."

He's already reaching for his keys. "I'll find an all-night place."

"You're the best baby daddy ever," I call after him as he heads for the door. "Get the good pickles! The garlicky ones!"

"I don't even know what the bad pickles are," he mutters, but I catch the smile he's trying to hide.

Twenty minutes later, he returns with not just pickles and ice cream, but also prenatal vitamins (because, of course, he checked if I'd taken today's), those weird crackers I've been craving, and a bag of mini doughnuts.

"You bought out the store," I observe, accepting the jar of pickles like it's a precious gift.

"I wanted to make sure I got the right ones." He settles beside me on the bed, watching with fascination and mild horror as I alternate between pickles and vanilla ice cream. "How is that good?"

"Don't knock it till you try it." I offer him a spoonful, and his face goes through several interesting expressions.

"That's... not terrible?"

"See? Our baby has excellent taste already." I pat my belly proudly. "Speaking of which, we need to finalise names. We can't keep calling them 'the baby' forever."

Elijah groans. "Not the name discussion again."

"Yes, the name discussion again! What if they come early? What if I go into labour tomorrow and we're standing there like, 'Hello, Baby McBaby Face'?"

"I still like the names we talked about," he says carefully, which is code for 'I'm trying not to restart the Great Name War of last Tuesday.'

"Okay, but hear me out—what about something unexpected? Like... Storm?"

"Storm?"

"It's dramatic! Powerful! And it goes with your whole mysterious vibe."

Elijah looks like he's genuinely considering it, which is both sweet and terrifying. "What if it's a girl?"

"Storm works for a girl, too! Very fierce warrior princess."

"You want to name our potential daughter after weather phenomena."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." I take another bite of the pickle-ice cream combo. "Weather is powerful. Unpredictable. Beautiful."

"Like you," he says quietly, and there he goes again, being all romantic when I'm eating the weirdest food combination known to mankind.

"Smooth talker," I mumble around my spoon, but I'm grinning. "Fine, what about something unique? Alheri? Journee? Kairo? Something our kid won't have to spell for people their entire life?"

"I like Alheri," Elijah admits. "Strong queens were named uniquely, you know."

"And for a boy? James is good. Classic. Respectable.”

I wrinkle my nose. "But also kind of... boring?"

The look he gives me is long-suffering. "You're going to suggest something like Phoenix or Raven, right?"

"Phoenix is cool—"

"No."

"What about—"

"No mythical creatures, no weather patterns, no gemstones, and nothing that sounds like a stripper name."

I gasp in mock offence. "I would never suggest a stripper name for our baby!"

"You suggested Candy last week."

"That was a joke!" I pause. "Mostly."

Elijah drops his head into his hands. "We're never going to agree on this."

"Sure, we will. When I'm in labour and screaming at you about how this is all your fault, you'll agree to whatever name I want just to make me stop yelling."

He looks genuinely alarmed. "You're going to yell at me?"

"Oh, honey," I reach over to pat his cheek sympathetically. "I'm going to say things that will make you question every life choice that led to that moment. It's normal. All the pregnancy books say so."

"Maybe I shouldn't be in the delivery room," he mutters.

"Try to leave and I'll hunt you down myself," I say sweetly. "After I push a human being out of my body, because that's apparently what we're doing now."

The reality of it hits us both at the same time—the fact that in just a few days, there will be an actual tiny person who depends on us for everything. The mood shifts slightly, becoming less playful and more... holy crap, we're about to be parents.

"What if we're terrible at this?" I ask quietly, suddenly feeling very young and very unprepared.

Elijah sets aside the pickle jar and pulls me closer, carefully arranging himself around my belly. "Then we'll be terrible at it together. And we'll figure it out as we go."

"What if the baby doesn't like us?"

"Babies don't have a choice. We're stuck with each other." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "Besides, look how much practice we've already had taking care of each other."

I think about all the times he's held my hair back during morning sickness, how he learned to make my favorite tea exactly right, the way he talks to my belly every morning like the baby can already understand him. And how he lets me reorganize his perfectly organized drawers just because the nesting urge is real and I needed to organize something.

"We're going to be okay," I say, more to convince myself than him.

"We're going to be better than okay," he corrects. "We're going to be disgustingly happy and sleep-deprived and covered in baby spit-up, and it's going to be perfect."

"Even when I'm crying over diaper commercials?"

"Especially then."

"And when you're reading parenting books at three in the morning because you're convinced we're doing everything wrong?"

He has the grace to look embarrassed. "You noticed that?"

"Babe, you colour-coded a feeding schedule. For a baby who isn't even born yet."

"Organisation is important—"

I silence him with a kiss, tasting vanilla ice cream and the promise of chaos and joy and sleepless nights ahead. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his.

"I love you," I whisper. "Even if you do think our baby needs a sock filing system."

"I love you, too," he replies. "Even if you want to name our child after natural disasters."

"Storm is growing on you, admit it."

"Not."

But he's smiling when he says it, and as I settle back against his chest with my ridiculous snack and his hand protective over our baby, I think maybe we've got this whole parenting thing figured out after all. We'll make it up as we go along, argue about everything from feeding schedules to bedtime stories, and love this little person so fiercely it'll probably terrify us both.

And if our biggest problem is what to name them, well, we've got at least eighteen years to come up with nicknames anyway.

"Fine," I concede, closing my eyes as exhaustion finally starts to win. "Alheri or Kairo?"

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Alheri or Kairo”

The groan he lets out vibrates through his chest, and I fall asleep smiling, dreaming of tiny socks and big adventures and the beautiful, chaotic life we're about to begin.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ

@queenofklonnie22,@plan3tch1ld

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Twenty-Two}

{<- kinktober masterlist}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Plussized!Reader} Request {Anon}: I have a request for kinktober and elijah, (you think you can make it a lare reader x elijah? There is not nearly enough of those floating around) with kinks 18, 21, and 22 (I hope that's not to many!)

♡♡♡ Because I am dumb it took me so long to figure out your typo 'lare'... I even googled 'lare kink'.... only to realize you meant large... sighhhhh I'm growing less and less sharp in my old age... Anywhooo me & my fellow plus!sized girles deserve a man like him ~xoxo ♡♡♡

1.5k words - Kinks: dom!Elijah, sex toys, standing sex, insecure!reader, plus!reader, Elijah having none of your self-loathing & being a bit angry about it, mildest of mild dubcon...

Elijah watched you from the doorway of your bedroom.

You were staring into your full-length mirror, dressed in your underwear. The look of sadness on your face pulled at his heartstrings.

He was about to make his presence known when your hands moved to grab the plump flesh of your stomach and sides. You turned from side to side, and Elijah could see that you were frowning, and looking critically at your figure.

Elijah felt anger at your behavior, the way you looked down on the body he so enjoyed. You were soft, and curvy, with breasts and ass and hips he adored, and you could not appreciate it.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen you doing this, but it was the first time he decided to act. No longer would he let you fester in your own self-deprecation.

You didn't hear him, too engrossed in the thoughts running through your head, so you jumped when you saw his reflection standing behind you in the mirror.

"Eli-" You began to speak, but the words died in your throat as Elijah wrapped an arm around your waist.

"Why do you look at yourself with such disdain?" He asked, his voice quiet in your ear.

You squirmed under his intense gaze, and you tried to remove his hands from your hips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said, avoiding eye contact.

He tutted, and you pulled away, only to have him drag you back towards him. His lips found the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and you sighed as he sucked and kissed at the skin.

"You are perfect," Elijah growled, his hands roaming up and down your sides.

You scoffed, struggling in his grip. You didn't want him touching you right now, you didn't feel desirable, and you didn't want his pity. All you wanted to do was hide, but his hold was unbreakable.

He let out a frustrated sigh, before grabbing you and tossing you on the bed. You landed with a surprised gasp, and before you could sit up, Elijah was over you, pinning you to the mattress.

You pushed on his chest, trying to get him off, but he didn't budge. His eyes were dark, his hair falling messily around his face.

"Do you think I'm a liar?" He asked, and the question threw you off. You shook your head, avoiding his gaze.

"Look at me."

You forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"What do you see?"

"An asshole?" You replied sarcastically, and his face tightened, displeased with your attitude.

"I see a strong, stubborn woman, who is the most gorgeous thing I've ever laid my eyes on."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you pushed them away.

"You have to say that," You mumbled, looking away. "You're my boyfriend."

He leaned down and kissed you, his hands caressing the soft skin of your stomach. You kissed him back, but there was still tension in your shoulders, and he pulled away, sitting back.

"You still don't believe me."

You didn't respond, and he shook his head. He got off the bed, and you sat up, expecting him to leave. Instead, he grabbed your legs, pulling you so your ass was just at the edge of the bed.

He knelt on the floor, spreading your legs and pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hand caressed your legs, moving higher and higher, until he reached the hem of your underwear.

"May I?" He asked, his fingers brushing the elastic. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, and he pulled them off.

Elijah kissed your mound, then used his hands to spread your lower lips. You squirmed as his tongue ran up your slit, and when he focused on your clit, you couldn't help but moan.

His tongue moved expertly, and your mind blanked as the pleasure built. His hands were firm on your thighs, keeping you open and preventing you from clamping them shut.

"Eli!" You gasped, and you could feel the smirk against your sensitive flesh. Your orgasm hit hard, and you were a gasping, quivering mess when Elijah sat up, his face glistening with your arousal.

He licked his lips, then stood, shrugging off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. You stared at him, eyes hazy with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Elijah opened the drawer of your nightstand, rummaging around before pulling out a small vibrator. Your eyes widened, and you closed your legs, your self doubt creeping back.

He noticed your reaction, and sighed. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing your thighs and pulling them apart, before leaning over you and kissing you deeply.

"Let me show you how beautiful you are."

He pressed the toy to your clit, and turned it on, the sudden stimulation making you jump. He rubbed it slowly, and the vibrations had you moaning.

"Elijah," You whined, and he smirked.

"Do you like that, darling?" He asked, and you nodded. "Tell me."

"I love it," You breathed, and he hummed, kissing you again.

"Good girl," He said, and you felt your walls clench around nothing. You heard the sound of his zipper, and you looked down to see him pulling his cock free.

Your legs trembled at the sight, and he chuckled, pressing the tip to your dripping pussy.

"So eager," He murmured, and you whimpered as he rubbed his length up and down your slit. He pushed in suddenly, bottoming out.

"Repeat after me," Elijah commanded. "My body is beautiful."

"M-my body is beautiful," You echoed, and he thrust into you, a choked gasp escaping your lips.

"My curves are irresistible," He said, and you swallowed the lump in your throat, repeating his words.

"My ass is delectable."

"My ass is de-ah!" You broke off as he increased the intensity of the vibrations, and his hips snapped into yours.

He chuckled darkly, taking your hand and making you hold the toy. "Keep it pressed against yourself, and don't come."

You obeyed, the constant stimulation making you desperate. His hands were now free to grab your hips, holding you tightly as he pounded into you.

The headboard banged against the wall, and his grip was sure to leave bruises, but all you could focus on was the delicious drag of his cock, the way his body covered yours, his hot breath on your ear as he panted.

"My breasts are magnificent."

"M-My breasts are magnificent," You gasped, and the hand on your hip moved up, his fingers pinching your nipple.

You yelped as his thrusts became impossibly fast, tapping into his supernatural speed. He fucked into you, and the sound of his thighs slapping against yours was obscene.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "You're so fucking perfect, and I can't believe you can't see it."

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you moaned as the coil in your belly wound tighter.

"Are you going to come for me, angel?"

You nodded, and he took the toy from your hand, switching it up to an even higher setting. "Not yet."

You were a babbling mess, your pussy dripping wet as Elijah's cock slammed into you. His warm hands held your ass, lifting your hips up and moving you to meet his thrusts.

"Please, Elijah," You begged, and his hips stuttered. "Please, I need to come."

"Not until I tell you to," He growled, and you whined. He smirked, and pressed the vibrator to your clit.

"Oh god, oh my god- Elijah- please, please, please-" You chanted, and he slowed his movements.

Your legs were shaking, and the feeling was becoming overwhelming, his lips on your skin and his body covering yours.

"There we go," He coaxed, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. “You can let go now, my perfect angel."

His command was enough, and the coil inside you snapped. He kept the vibrator on, prolonging your orgasm, and it was almost painful as the aftershocks wracked through you.

Elijah groaned at the sight of you coming, and he cast the vibrator aside, grabbing your hips and picking you up. He stood, lifting you up and down on his cock, grunting at the feeling of your pulsating pussy.

You could barely think, holding onto his shoulders tightly, you were only aware enough to kiss him, the sensation of being held up and fucked almost too much.

"Where should I come, my sweet?" He asked, his breathing labored.

"In me," You replied, and his eyes darkened.

"What was that, baby? Say it again."

"Come inside me," You repeated, and he smiled, his hips thrusting one last time as he emptied himself inside you.

"God, your pussy is perfect," He groaned, his grip tight. "You feel so good, baby."

You moaned, your overstimulated clit rubbing against his pelvis, and you clenched around his cock, the feeling of him spilling inside you sending a rush through you.

You collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around you, his cock still inside you as he laid on the bed. He pulled the comforter over the two of you, and kissed your forehead, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

"Now do you believe me?"

You smiled. "No, but I'd love another demonstration."

Elijah growled, his arms tightening around you.

"Oh, don't worry. I plan on showing you exactly how beautiful I find you for a long, long time."

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn. NON-CON/DUB-CON, pussy spanking, PIV, creampie.

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

You haven’t spoke for twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately twenty minutes so far.

You avoid looking in his direction or saying anything to him. Anything, really, even when he forces himself in your way – a dick move, he knows, and he’s probably using up all the quota of being a dick and then some when he was around you – bumps into you deliberately, and not a word, not a noise would come from you. You just … carry on with your life.

You have decided to treat him like someone invisible. Or air. Air is probably more similar to the reactions (more like no actions) he’s getting out of you.

“Have ye tried apologizing? Actual apologizin’?” Soap slaps his large palm over Simon’s shoulder when they are having a drink together, all of them in 141, slurring in alcohol as Simon rolls his eyes because of the pain that booms over his bones, “Coz yer being a massive dick. Dickest-dick, I’ll give yer ‘at.”

“I’ve tried.” Simon groans in half misery and half reluctance.

John Price, otherwise known as “Captain”, clears his throat in amusement, “Riley, chasing after her back and shouting out your apology doesn’t count. Apology, as in, say it in her face and she’d accept it. With flowers. It’s probably for the best.”

Simon Riley has known his team, his brother-like porn-producing family for a little over five years now. And every now and then something they say still gets under his skin because they are right. They are often right and never wrong in life and war.

Still, Simon kept that bit where his newfound love interest is his patron from the rest of his founded family. Something is best hidden, he supposes, not quite sure why he did so.

“Wha’ ‘bout your porn career, eh? Did lil’ missy find out?” Soap laughs loudly. It is clear that now seventy-five percent of his body runs on rum and tequila shots – whatever the brand they were just drinking – instead of water.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny boy.” Simon punches Soap on the shoulder, “Jus’ shut up ‘bout it.”

“Nooope. Not a chance.” Soap grins from ear to ear, “Yer in love, matey. Yer in luuuuv-”

“Yeah, and yer out of love, you doofus.” Simon growls like a bear woken up during hibernation, all pissed and agitated, “Your ex dumped your sorry arse -”

Price stops their childish mocking and punching with a glance before this could very well turn into a bar fight. He is well aware of what would happen when he puts two grown men with a pile of drinks together; he knows them like the back of his hand.

Price decides to change the topic for now: “On a happier note, our team’s Pornhub account has reached ten thousand subscribers, and our website patron number is heading steadily towards five thousand. I think the stats look promising.”

He might be wrong, but Simon seems gloomier on the changed topic. More sullen. And Simon’s mood doesn’t get better even when Price announces the next round is on him.

Twenty-three days, sixteen hours, and approximately fifty-five minutes.

That’s how long before the bloody silence between you finally crumbles into dust.

Thirty minutes after the get-together with his pals, Simon makes up his mind to take up the suggestions his friends kindly offered - an actual apology.

But his stupid brain hesitates. It’s almost the middle of the night. He is drunk. Hazy. They don’t have some flower shops around here because many people tend to grow the flowers in their front yards. And what would he even say to you? That he’s sorry? That sounds pathetic and weak.

“Sorry I think you were a stalker. Just my friend Johnny had this experience and I have to be cautious.”

“Sorry I’m mean towards you. I didn’t mean it. I want us to fuck … to be friends.”

“Sorry I kissed you. But then you slapped me so I’d call it even.”

No. No. And no.

How on earth are the apologies he comes up with filled with layers of phony and pretentiousness?

He walks up to your door, while knowing perfectly that his house is a few feet away.

Right. Apology.

“Sorry, I think you look like someone. My future girlfriend, I mean.”

The hand he lifts to knock freezes in mid-air.

Certainly not this bloody apology.

Maybe another day then? Another day when he’s more sober.

Simon pulls a few steps back from your porch. On another thought, he advances, and lifts his hand again to pound – he means, knock on your door.

He knocks, twice.

The streets shiver under the crispy autumn wind. It’s approaching midnight, driving Simon’s thought back to the comfort of his residence, with some warm tea and nice buttery biscuits.

Faint rustling of leaves rings everywhere. The cackling of someone’s fence someplace alerts him for a brief second, but that is what it is, iron bars clatter. There is not a living soul on the street in this godforsaken hour.

Right. Another day.

He makes up his mind to leave when the door opens. Your door opens. You drape a thick bathrobe over your shoulders, frowning, “Simon? What are you … What is it?”

The part of his mind that has slightly less alcohol invasion takes you in carefully. Your watery eyes, the lower lip you unconsciously chew on, and the leg bouncing border lining on impatient.

Simon sighs heavily, "Hey, listen … I'm sorry, okay? I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said ’ose things about you being a stalk’r. I’m a dick – That’s … not an excuse, but I didn't think … I'm very sorry …"

You let out an exhausted exhale. Honestly? It’s almost relieving to hear the apology coming out of his lips. But he couldn’t have found a worse time to deliver this speech. You thought his house was on fire or something.

A strange, but not unpleasant smell hits the tip of his nose. He sniffs. Then sniffs again. Simon narrows his eyes. He hasn’t deciphered what the smell is, to be exact, but it is certainly unusual, and his mouth waters simply on cue.

“Look, I appreciate we can work this misunderstanding out. But can we discuss this another time, please?” You rub your temple to ease the tension thumping in your brain. Your mind is just as tired as the rest of your body. Even though your body, your traitorous body gets turned on the minute you see this big hunk of a man at your door; frankly, the last thing you want to do right now is to deal with him.

Somehow, Simon’s eyes travel down. Below your thick white bathrobe, a small trail of creamy substance slowly makes its way down your left calf. Despite the dwindling of the clogs of his mind falling in place, he is able to put two and two together: your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

You can’t help but hug your bathrobe tighter under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well? If there’s nothing else, I’d -”

He interrupts you mid-sentence by swiping his fingers between your thighs, gathering some of the creamy arousal at the tip of his fingers.

“Christ.” He murmurs. “Leaking.”

You let out a shriek. Your instinct is to jump back into your house and slam the door right in his face, but the truth is, you raise your hand to smack him, and he captures your wrist in the air before it swoops down on his cheekbone, and brings it to his nose.

Sniff. Sniff.

Fucking bloodhound.

“You dirty little thing.” He muses, takes his massive body as an advantage, forces himself into your house, and pins you onto the wall, invading your personal space like he owns this place, “Playing with yourself for one second and coming to answer the door at the next? Tell me, do you use toys? Or your fingers alone could do the trick?”

You can smell alcohol in his breath, which makes you glare at him: “You’re drunk. Get out of my place before I scream for help.”

Simon nudges the door open with a kick of his boot. His eyes dart to the opened door before focusing on you, “By all means, scream.”

Your scream thrives for only two seconds, barely making its way out of your throat before his other hand circles your throat. A shallow hold. A forceless grip. Your mind somehow drifts to the toy upstairs. Stained with your juices. Lying cold on your towel.

These fingers are much bigger than your toy. Your mind helpfully supplies.

“I’m gonna take that up as an offer, sweet’art.” Simon runs the tip of his nose over your jawline, murmuring as if you were lovers instead of enemies over the past month, “Either you tell me to back off, or-” darkened desires swirl beneath his chocolate-brown eyes, “or you are goin’ to let me do every-fuckin’-thing I want to do to you. You’re not leaving your bed until I’m done with you and I’m gonn’ stuff you so good that ’ose pathetic audios will never be enough. All you gotta do is to say ‘Thank you, Simon’. ’at sound like a deal to you?”

Your brain has already gone mush at this point, the voice coming out of his hoarse throat seems to have pulled the bones out of your knees and below, rendering them weak, soft, unable to support your body.

“Say ‘Yes, Simon’.” His lips hover above yours, whispering like a man in love.

“Yes, Simon.”

Honestly, you have no idea what you have signed up for, but the fire itching in your core would do whatever he wanted to relieve you of this misery.

He sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, hoisting your thigh up to circle his waist on hearing the confirmation, lips crashing into yours, while carrying you like a bag of feathers to your bedroom.

Your toy swept to the floor with a throaty snigger. Your phone falls out of your pocket when you are put – more like pressed into your own bed.

Must have touched your skin or his, because the next thing you know, the goddamn Bluetooth speaker by the bed starts playing one of his audios.

He spares a glance, disabling the poor thing in seconds. And by disabling it, you actually mean slamming his fist on it.

“Jus’ a pathetic cock slut f’r me, hmm?” He smirks.

That cools your skin, dissolves the thirst you had.

You knit your brows into a tight knot, “Why’d you always do that?”

“Wot?” Stripping, he is soon down to his boxers.

“Be mean.”

He snorts. “Bollocks.”

“There’s a big difference between sounding mean and being mean.” You shove his shoulders out of your way, attempting to sit up, “I like you better when you are behind that screen.”

Simon does not waiver.

Warm skin blooms under your palm, soft muscles and hard plain. Some hard as rocks, some incredibly soft.

“Let me go, Simon.” You push his shoulder, but he doesn’t speak, nor does he react. Dark brown eyes bore into yours, like you spoke Klingon instead of English.

He flips the Bluetooth on again.

“Wha – Si -”

Ghost’s voice booms by your ear almost painfully and heart-strikingly.

Careful, sweetheart, sharp knife.

His hand brushes at the side of your breasts, down your abdomen, circling near your navel.

It is different from your own hands, your own arms, your own fingers.

Foreign. Alien. Wet.

Sweat from the heel of his hand.

Shivers buzzing your exposed skin.

You know everything, every word, every second by heart. The content of the audio. The dozens if not hundreds of times you’ve listened to it.

What scares you and excites you at the same time, is that he’s following every word of it.

The Mr. and Mrs. Ghost script. Two spies making hate more than love when they confront each other after trying to wring the life out of each other.

Trouble thinking? Answer me, sweetheart. Ghost laughs almost coldly.

“What are you doing, Simon – Simon!” Your nails bite into the back of his neck as he descends and licks a stripe between the valley of your breasts.

He gives you a wordless look. But you think you read his silent reply.

They just look so … perfect.

Simon pinches your nipple mercilessly, slapping on it simultaneously as the voice of a crisp slapping echoes in the speaker.

So perfect that I want to make it. Ghost whispers. Hurt.

You scream. Or you think you did. Your pussy clenches on its own.

Traitor.

A gleam flickers behind his eyes.

But that’s not a problem, though, is it? Ghost chuckles. Pain slut. Dripping. Leaking. Already.

Two fingers plunge inside your folds. Filthy squelch rings in your ears and your body. One more authentic than the other.

Oh no, oh fuck –

You widen your eyes, not out of horror, but out of your knowledge of what comes next.

A gentle rub on your long-ignored clit.

The fuck? Did you just slap me?

“Simon!” You cry out, “Simon don’t you dare-”

Two more crisp, swift slaps from the speaker.

Ghost curses.

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve landed. Ghost chuckles darkly after being slapped, three times. It’s only fair if I return the flavor.

A slap.

White hot pain and pleasure shoot through your core. Sprawling over your stomach. Paralyzing your spine. His palm comes in contact with your clit. Hard. Fast. Takes all the breath out of your lungs.

Your slick runs down your thighs, running over the dried-up trails, running into his palm.

A slap for a slap. Fair, no? No? You fuckin’ don’t think so?

“Simon!” You scream, “Fuck you, Si-”

He smears your cream around your poor abused clit, before striking down again.

Your hips buck up violently.

Come on, sweetheart. Just one more. Won’t hurt. Ghost announces, which sounds like your death sentence.

Much.

You think you just died. Squirt on your thigh. His thigh. Tears down the corner of your eyes. Your cheek. You have never cummed so hard so fast.

Sorry? Ghost pauses. Sensitive?

You whimper.

Huh? Didn’t quite hear you, sweetheart. Ghost mocks condescendingly.

“It’s sensitive.” You sob as Simon traces his fingers on your pussy lips.

Ghost huffs out a laugh.

Afraid you have to be louder, sweetheart. My ears are still half deaf from that bullet you shot at me half an hour ago. But I can see this pretty pussy begging me to fill ‘er up. That what you want, sweetheart? To be my personal little whore?

“Fuck me”? That’s part of the ‘slut’ job description, if you insist.

Simon’s lips curl into an amused smile.

You feel his smile on your lips as he kisses you deeply. Licks over the roof of your mouth. Nips your lower lip. Unlike Ghost. Unlike what’s in the audio. Unlike his sharp teeth and tongue.

The sound of the zipper being pulled down.

Uh-huh. This is me fucking you like I mean it.

One deep plunge.

Not so snarky now, are you?

Reaches your cervix.

He moans unabashedly. Grunts. Breathes.

You owe me so much than you can count, sweetheart. I’m tryna’ make up for our lost time.

Slapping. Skin on skin. Panting. Kissing.

Bottoms to the end. Draws out.

That. Ghost grunts. Was for the time you tried to poison my drink in Moscow.

Simon follows every instruction. Every pause. Every comma. Every time the breath becomes heavy in the speaker, he bullies your pussy just as hard.

That. For the time - when you bought out the corrupt police – Christ, stop squirming, sweetheart - and locked me up in a Guatemalan jail.

How. Pants.

Could. Breathes.

I. Fuckin’. Forget. A low groan.

That. Time. You. Nearly. Put. A. Bloody. Bullet. Through. My. Skull. Loud and rushed and wet slapping noise.

Reaches the depth you didn’t know of. Rearrange your organs that felt out of place more than anything. Hitting all the spots you weren’t aware of until now.

I’m being petty? Ghost retorts. Guess I am, then. Huffs. Oh, you want to cum? You can cum as many times, as you bloody please, sweet’art. His Manchester accent slips out in all the anger. Go on, make a mess on my cock. Ah fuckin’ ‘ell, missed this tight lil’ pussy.

Pause. A scream from your lips fills the void.

Stop? You can’t cum anymore? He bullies his cock into your clenching hole again. And again. And again.

Let me make one thing clear- Ghost purrs by your ear. I’ll stop when I cum, sweet’art. ‘Til then, not gonn’ stop shaggin’ you. Coz ‘at wot slut is for, bein’ my personal fuck doll an’ all …

Thick, long fingers find your clit again.

C’mon, sweet’art. Know you’ve got one more in you.

Your nails dig into his wrist. Having just cummed twice, the pressure he puts on your clit felt like scorching flames. Stung and overstimulated.

Jus’ one more. Ghost coos. One more. Jus’ one more.

He rubs with precision. Slow yet undeniable. Even though your legs kicking. Your nails leaving bruises on his skin. Your breath ragged, shallow, broken.

“Can’t … I can’t, Simon … ”

Gonn’ be a good girl f’r me and cum, won’t you?

“Si-”

Right ‘ere, sweet’art. Good fuckin’ girl. Empty yer pretty lil’ head for me.

‘s bett’r when all you could think ‘bout is my name.

His voice becomes strained, tensed. Almost rambling.

Fuckin’ hell, I’mma fill you with my seed. Gonna put a plug in you so it’ll take root. My personal cumdump. Take it, baby, take it. Fuck, fuck –

Stripes of cum coat your insides. Making your whimper and your eyes water in sensitivity.

He collapses on top of your trembling body, covering you up like a thick warm blanket. Soft, delicate kisses bloom over your forehead. Rough pads of his fingers run up and down the side of your arm. It is a harsh fall, after your pleasure skyrocketed, but you find yourself caught by the web he weaved. A dark web with a white skull mask knitted in the middle.

You lift your arms to hug his broad shoulders so that his heart might beat right next to you above the thin layer of skin and flesh. He has yet to pull out, and somehow … you are not in a hurry to remind him of it.

“Hope this is as good as an apology.” He – Simon – says.

A small fit of laughter bursts out of you, some giggles, then he joins as well, rumbling chuckles that vibrate on your chest. It is silly and comes out of nowhere, but this laugh turns out to be just the trick in resolving the tension you have had for days.

“I’ll give it an eight out of ten.” You bite your lower lip from smiling too hard.

“Eight?!” He pushes himself up, staring at you in disbelief, as if deeply offended, “That was at least nine for effort.”

“If you say so…”

Noticing your twitching cheek and the corner of your lips, he exhales out of relief, burying his head in the crook of your neck, grumbling, “You cheeky little … eight?!”

You giggle, “The sound effects of Ghost are a little over the top, don’t you think?”

He muffles your words with a deep, searing kiss, when you feel his cock throb in the confines of your walls. The sight of his sweating forehead and thin lips pushes your heart beat faster.

“Brought this on yourself, swee’art.” A lop-sided grin makes its way over his face, as he surges forward all of a sudden and adds pressure to your already-sensitive clit, forcing a moan out of your throat and his cum gushing out of your abused hole. “Let’s see if we can have a nine, should we try hard … enough.”

Taglist (also tagging the ones who may be interested): @vnknowcrow @splaterparty0-0 @prettygirleli @ksa01 @laciaheavenm

@mrs-marc-spector @msilwrites @kawaiisugarinjectionattack @eccentricallygothic @mothex

@aishidunno @gluttonybiscuits @bittyslxt @cersei-phoenix-thorn @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@reader-1290 @ohdrey89 @brittney-121

Part 1 Part 2

[defututus]

Even When I'm Not With You

Through Snow & Sleet

masterlist

modern!Eddie Munson x AFAB!reader, college AU, strangers to friends to lovers

Summary: You meet someone in one of your college classes and it's love at first sight.

content warnings: swearing, it's a very modern AU

word count: 5.6k

author's note: this is technically my first fanfic. I began writing it in April of 2024 and only got around to posting it now. This is the backbone of the AU I've maintained in my head since I fell in love with Eddie. It takes place at the university I went to, involves all my friends, and some personal experiences. Once again, thank you to my two best friends @corroded-hellfire and @munson-blurbs for encouraging me to write and helping me out when I got stuck. Hopefully you guys like it because I have more to share in the future! ❤️

The cold February air was biting at your face as you hurried across campus, slow enough to avoid the ice that no doubt sat in the dark waiting for one careless student to step on it and fall flat on their ass. The walkways were lit just enough to allow you to see where you were going but not enough to help you spot any icy spots so this was as fast as you were willing to move. What should have been a relatively easy day turned into a nightmare the moment you woke up. It had snowed overnight and the university grounds crew had neglected to salt the sidewalks once again so you nearly fell twice just trying to get from your dorm building to the dining hall next door. Once you had a decent breakfast you made your way to work and learned that there was a bad cold spreading among the employees and had claimed three of your coworkers that you expected to work with today, thus leaving you with only your team lead to help you in your department. A good chunk of your morning was spent unloading consoles set to be released soon and left you exhausted. There were a fair share of unhappy customers that you had to deal with, and it only got worse when you finally got to go on your lunch and realized you left your wallet in your room so you had to eat the day-old bagels left in the break room. Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.

Your university was located in the middle of a metropolitan area so you were fully aware that the rush hour traffic was bad. To avoid the inevitable panic of wondering if you could be held up in traffic and be late to class, you built your class schedule around your shifts to leave an hour and a half for you to get home when the longest it could possibly take is twenty minutes with heavy traffic. Tonight’s class, Physical Anthropology, was on the other side of campus so you also had to factor in the time it would take to walk there. Still, you would be left ample time to get home, change out of your work clothes, and even have dinner without the need to rush. You were thankful that this was the last week before spring break so at least you could relax when you weren’t working.

Your careful planning had worked perfectly up until today because you couldn’t possibly account for the accident on the highway. Everyone was trying to get home before the storm came back to make the streets undriveable, but one driver was in such a rush that they lost control and caused a small pile-up. The drivers were all alright, thankfully, but this left you sitting in traffic for over an hour and your anxiety slowly creeping up. You were close to emailing your professor to tell them you weren’t going to make it even though the university was right in front of you. By 6:15pm, you were finally moving and rushed across campus. You weren’t even going to change out of your uniform and decided to just keep on the sweater you wore under your coat. All you had to do was grab your bag right by your door and make the trek across campus. Unfortunately once you grabbed everything you needed, you were now left with 15 minutes to make the 11-minute uphill trek to your classroom, assuming there were no obstacles in your way. 

You made it inside the building and into your classroom with two minutes to spare, but in your mind you were basically late to class. You preferred to get there ten minutes early so you could choose a decent seat and get yourself situated, but by the time you were inside all the good spots were taken and the professor was already setting up for her lesson. The only seats left were in the back so you made your way over and put your stuff down at the first open spot you see. As you begin unpacking your things, the professor turns some of the lights off and puts on a video on osteology that you had been focusing on for the last two weeks. 

You were never a very social person in school, always preferring to keep to yourself and only talk when other people initiate a conversation. This class was only on your schedule because it fulfilled a requirement, nothing else. Your only friends here were within your small program and none of them were in this class with you. You didn’t know anyone's names or faces, especially not the person you just sat next to. His only acknowledgement of you was in the form of scooting a little bit so he wasn’t taking up all the space at the table you were now sharing. He was focused on whatever he was frantically writing down in his notebook, a curtain of curly brown hair concealing his face from you. However, you were able to see what he was writing in. It was a beaten up spiral notebook full of carefully organized notes with color coded tabs. There were flowcharts, sketches of what looked like maps, and character information. He also had some pages printed out that were tucked between the pages. None of those things really stuck out to you, instead your eyes were drawn to a hastily drawn creature in the corner of the left page. It was a scaled, humanoid figure with wings and horns. You could almost mistake it for a gargoyle if it weren’t for its stature and flames surrounding it. It’s something you’d recognize almost anywhere.

You whisper to the person next to you, “That pit fiend looks really good.” His pen stops mid-sentence and his head shoots up to look at you. A woodsy smell mixed with a hint of tobacco and mint wafted towards you with his movements. It was almost intoxicating.The first thing you looked at were his eyes. They were wide open with shock and they were the richest, most beautiful shade of brown you had seen in your entire life. His lips were full, a little chapped either from biting and wetting them or the cold weather sucking all the moisture out of everything. He had light freckled across his nose and a small, faded scar on his forehead. The rest of his hair that wasn’t previously obscuring his face was tied back into a bun. You both sat there in silence for a moment as he struggled to put words together. He’s wearing chunky silver rings and a worn Slipknot hoodie. You could even see the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar and another of a goat skull on his left hand. 

“Oh, thanks. Um…” He looked down at the page for a second, ringed hands fidgeting with the pen he was holding before pointing towards the large flow chart, “It’s for this week’s campaign. I didn’t have a lot of time this week to plan so I’m trying to get it all done right before we meet up tonight. My friend, Jeff, his character looted these cultists…” He glances up to check and see if you’re listening and smiles when he realizes you’re actively paying attention, leaning in to get a better look at the pages. He continues with a little more confidence in his voice.

“So his character, this Triton named Kaglas, found a really old book on one of the cultists. Turns out this book was a cursed tome belonging to a demon prince and well, he cut his finger trying to pry the book open because it was being held shut with these really sharp teeth. The blood from his finger dripped onto the book and opened a portal so a prince of hell kidnapped him and now they’ll have to get past this guy to gain access to the prison… I’m just trying to finish up the encounter tables for the rest of the prison because I always leave those until the last minute.” Before he can delve further into the story, the lights come back on and papers are being handed out to each row of tables by the professor. “The goal of this lab is to identify the species of hominid based on everything you’ve learned so far. I’m not going to pull anything funny by giving you two of the same species so don’t worry about that. Each skull is numbered. Work with the other person at your table to identify the species, write the number down, and explain your reasoning. Please be careful with these.”

The papers make their way back to your way and you hand one to your new lab partner. He accepts it, mouthing ‘thank you’  and quickly scrawls Eddie on the top of the page. Good, you tell yourself. You know his name now, progress. There’s some shuffling in the back of the room as the professor goes off on some tangent. Both yours and Eddie’s attention is drawn back to the topic of his campaign. 

You began speaking to him in hushed tones, “Your friend doesn’t seem very bright. Who in their right mind would try opening a book bound shut with fucking teeth? And they got it from cultists? Are they trying to get their characters killed or are they just dumb?” Eddie stifles his laughter and shakes his head. You’re sure the professor is saying something as she moves to the back of the room but your focus is only on the man next to you. His laugh is more beautiful than any song you’ve heard before. He begins to rock his stool back and forth as he continues to speak.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. We’ve been playing together for years and I think they’re getting more and more reckless as time goes on. At this point they can recognize when I’ve set up a trap and they take it every time just for the hell of it…”  so, do you play?” 

There’s some shuffling going on in the cabinets in the back of the room as the professor begins pulling out skulls and placing one on each table. Eddie takes the skull and begins looking it over. You hear a quiet, “These are really cool.” You glance over at it and note the size of the skull overall and the lack of a brow ridge, quickly jotting those down before moving your paper closer to Eddie so he can write them down as well.

“I just started recently, it’s me and a few friends. We just saved this sweet little dwarf bookseller named Barnes when these half-elves stole his book cart with him inside it.” You watch Eddie examine the skull, running his fingers along the area where the sagittal crest should be. His rings catch the warm light of the old overhanging lights of the classroom. There was black ink on his hands, or was that oil? You couldn’t tell. His fingers were calloused and you could only guess he was also a musician. 

“Barnes, the bookseller, huh? What’s his last name, Noble?” The only response he gets is an eye roll before putting the skull down. “By the way, I think it’s a homo erectus. There’s no crest and its teeth are smaller.” You nod and Eddie hands the skull over for you to examine. You open its mouth to get a better look at the teeth and nod to him, writing ‘homo erectus’ on the paper. The skull remained in your hands and you began inspecting it out of curiosity. 

You bring the skull up to eye level and respond to Eddie with a small smirk on your face, “As a matter of fact, it is. Y’know, it’s actually a family business. His father started it and he has a bunch of brothers with the same name. They all have their own book carts in different cities. Honestly, I think they’re gonna be real successful in the future.” The story makes you laugh. The book cart wasn’t meant to be anything more than a place for your crew to gain information on the area but your insistence on “getting to know the locals” to annoy your DM, Emma, led to them creating a character that you felt attached to right away.

He rests his head in his hand and gives you a look that you can’t quite read. He has this smile on his face and this soft look in his eyes that you’ve only ever seen in romance movies when the main characters are starting to fall for each other. It wasn’t something you had the chance to experience yourself, always too nervous to ask people out yourself. Dating apps were totally out of the question because you had only heard horror stories from your friends who had tried it. You open your mouth to continue telling the story and maybe ask Eddie about his own campaigns when your professor pipes up from the front of the classroom.

“Guys, just as a reminder. These skulls are REAL and are ON LOAN TO THE UNIVERSITY and they are VERY EXPENSIVE. Please be careful with them.”

If you were being honest, you should have realized this sooner. It didn’t feel like plastic at all and had small indentations and ridges on it. This was a person. The realization nearly has you dropping the skull that once held someone's brain but thankfully, you were holding it right above the table so there was no chance of it being damaged. A laugh rang out from the seat next to you which took your attention away from what you held in your hands. He’s smiling at you. A big, toothy, beautiful smile and you wish you could look at that smile all day long. He hasn’t been in your life very long, maybe 5 minutes in total, but you were infatuated with him. Once he manages to calm himself down, Eddie slowly reaches out and takes the skull out of your hands.

“Let me take that from you. We can’t have you hurting this guy, can we?” Once the skull was out of your hands, you hang your head low in embarrassment. You feel your face growing warm and pull at the loose strings of your sweater sleeve. You bought it when you first started attending the university and it had been through the wash more times than you could and somehow created a hole in one of the sleeves. The hole was just low enough so you would stick your thumb in it and pick at it, like you were doing right now. Eddie lowers his head a bit to get a better look at you and asks, “So I guess you never realized these were real.”

You reply, face still feeling slightly flushed, “I never really thought about it, but it feels weird… I mean, that was a person,” you reply, pointing to it with your pen as you begin noting the state of its teeth and the sutures on the top of the head, “this guy had hobbies, he had a family, he lived a full life!”

Eddie interjects, turning the skull around to the back to reveal a massive crack in the middle of it. You cringe at the sight of it with Eddie bluntly replying, “I don’t think this guy had a full life. Looks to be cut pretty short to me. This is probably from an axe or some other tool.”

The rest of the class period was spent finishing the lab and learning more about each other. The two of you  talked about majoring in history and your love for classical antiquity while he told you about his band and working as a mechanic with his uncle. You also learned that your music tastes were pretty similar, you had a love for rock and metal and even complimented his hoodie (“I’m gonna be completely honest, you do not look like a Slipknot fan.” “Wow, rude.”). It felt as if you had known Eddie your entire life by the time class was drawing to a close. You two were so immersed in your conversation that you didn’t even realize you were one of the last people in the classroom. Eddie unlocked his phone to check the time,  allowing you a quick glance at his lock screen with a red guitar on it. Your musician hunch was right. He shoots up from his stool, hissing “Shit shit shit” and begins shoving his stuff into his backpack. You look at him bewildered and he says, “I’m sorry, I need to go. Our session is supposed to start in five minutes and I need to be on the other side of campus right now!” Once his bag was hastily packed and he was pulling his jacket on, Eddie looks at you one last time and gives you a sheepish smile. “I’ll see you next week, right? No, two weeks. I’ll see you in two weeks. It was great to meet you!” You don’t even get the chance to properly say goodbye before he leaves the classroom in a blur of black leather and denim. All you hear is the sounds of heavy boots running through the hallway and out the nearest side door.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The walk from Eddie’s class to the student center Tuesday night was usually a leisurely one. He always made sure he got out the moment class ended so he would be able to fetch the keys for the multi-purpose room down in the basement and unlock it before everyone else arrived. Eddie always preferred to have everything set up so it was less likely someone could sneak a peek at his notes. He learned his lesson after he arrived a few minutes late and Grant got a peek at his screen and saw their Arakocra guide that was helping them navigate enemy territory was actually a spy for the local warlord. Eddie was a stickler for punctuality (ironic considering how he was always absent in high school) and would rag on anyone that was even five minutes late. Hellfire was meant to start at 8pm sharp and Eddie was rounding the corner in the basement, keys in hand, by 8:07.

By the time he has the key and rounds the corner to their room, he sees everyone standing outside and their heads all turn at once. He honestly found it kind of disturbing. 

“Well, well, well. Look who finally arrived,” Gareth said with his arms crossed, “we’re glad to see you could make it.” Eddie doesn’t bother trying to justify his tardiness to him and pushes through to unlock the door and set his stuff down at the end of the table. 

Everyone agreed that the drama room back in Hawkins High was definitely more comfortable than their current room and was more aesthetically pleasing. Eddie thrived when he was sitting on that throne. He would have taken it home with him if he could. However, there were some cons to that location that were rarely brought up. They had to lug extra chairs into that room every week and always had to keep their voices down. Sometimes they’d arrive and find out the space was being used for something else that week and they had to cancel the meeting. It was also located in the one part of the school that lacked air conditioning so it became unbearable once the weather started to warm up. Also, the wifi was horrible.

Eddie considered this room to be an upgrade. It wasn’t as nice as the drama room with its white painted brick walls with absolutely nothing on them and the uncomfortable chairs, but he always knew this space would be open since he reserved it for them every Tuesday night. He also appreciated the monitor hanging in front of the tables so he could display the maps and character art he did himself. Yes, they did trade in a very hot room in Hawkins for a very cold one in a basement, but everyone thought it was worth it. 

Everyone began to filter into the room and take their respective seats at the long table. There was only one seat open since one of their former players, Ronnie, had transferred to another school at the end of the fall semester so her seat was being used by Jeff. Eddie is working quickly to pull up the necessary resources and load up the map they were using last week with twisting pathways and lakes of lava. He’s filtering out all the chatter around him in order to get everything set up as quickly as possible. Jeff sits down next to him with a box of pastries from the local Dunkin Donuts. They could usually get them for free in the evening since they were about to be thrown out and Jeff was friends with one of the cashiers. 

“So… what happened to you?” 

Jeff’s question is only heard by Eddie and Doug, Hellfire’s newest member. The rest of the club were busy getting their own materials out and digging dice out of their bags. Eddie could vaguely hear Gareth complaining about losing his own set and having to use one of the sets Eddie brought because ‘Munson always has the weirdest dice, I don’t want to spend tonight staring at dice with a bunch of tiny baby heads in them’. Without looking up from his laptop, Eddie simply replies, “I had a lab and lost track of time, that’s all.”

Jeff doesn’t believe any of this. He and Eddie had been friends since they were both gangly teenagers who got detention for trying to skip gym class. Jeff knew when Eddie was lying - Eddie would always bite at his lip when he wasn’t telling the truth. It wasn’t just a lab. Something must have happened.

Jeff begins to probe Eddie with questions. He knew the only way he’d get Eddie to confess to whatever was going on was by guessing until he got a reaction out of him.

 “A lab, interesting… So you weren’t able to finish it in time and that made you late?” Eddie says nothing. 

“Did you drop something and get in trouble?” Someone else almost did, but not him. No reaction. 

“Did you eat something and get in trouble?” Eddie reaches over to the box of pastries and grabs a boston creme donut.

“Did you meet someone? You found your soulmate?” Eddie pauses as he’s sitting back down in his chair. Bingo. Jeff is shocked. Throughout all the years he had known Eddie, the man was never known to believe in love. There was a girl he met when he was 18 but that never worked out so Eddie assumed he’d live the life of a bachelor. He grew up with parents who hated each other and always seemed to be fighting so he never knew what a healthy relationship looked like. Whenever someone asked about his love life he would brush them off and say it just wasn’t for him. He said it so much that everyone couldn’t help but believe him. 

“Oh my god, Eddie Munson is in love.” Jeff says this slowly with a shit-eating grin on his face. He also said this loud enough that everyone else in the room could hear him so all the conversations being held ended at once in favor of learning about this mystery person in Eddie’s life.

“You’re WHAT?” 

“I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“What are they like? What’s their name?”

The group questioning turned into an interrogation that yielded no results. Everyone only stopped once Eddie had finally located the music he needed and drowned their questions out with the sounds of a haunting violin, creaking, and muffled screams.

“Ok, so where were we? Uh, Tayr,” Eddie looks up at Jeff and points his pen at him, “you’re still imprisoned deep underground. You had 7 hit points when we last left off and you said you were planning to break both your ankles to get out of your shackles so I’m holding you to that.” Eddie then turns to Grant and Gareth who are looking annoyed that their friend is ignoring them, but he persists. He has a campaign to run. “Hylbaez, I believe you and Ariver were going to attempt horse stacking to get up to that open window. I don’t know how the two of you plan on doing that without your horses and how you’re gonna reach the 7th floor even if you had your horses with you. You’ve had a week to figure that out.” He looks over his notes one last time before looking up at the group. Nobody appears to be ready to play. No pencils in hand, only a few papers out. Hellfire won’t start until they get what they want. Eddie was really hoping they’d all drop the group questioning but that doesn’t seem like it’s happening anytime soon. With a huff, Eddie rubs his face and gives them all a look of resignation. “Okay, fine. You want to know? There was a girl that sat next to me. She complimented some character art that I’ve been working on and we talked about D&D for a while. I’m gonna try to get her number after spring break. THAT’S IT.”

It’s almost like everyone’s ears perked up when they heard him mention Dungeons & Dragons. Doug puts a hand up as if he’s in class and asks the question that everyone is thinking. “Are you going to invite her to join Hellfire?” It’s a question that Eddie had been asking himself on the hurried walk from class to the student center. Sure, the campaign they were playing had already begun but he could find a way to write you in. He knew he was a good storyteller so it would be a great way to impress you. Sure, he’s no Matthew Mercer or Brennan Lee Mulligan, but he never struggled to keep everyone’s attention and he’s proud of the stories he created. 

“I’ll think about it.”

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It had begun raining by the time their session was concluded (the student center was closing) and the shuttles weren’t running tonight so Eddie had to make the mile trek on foot. He didn’t even care that the elevator was broken again. He’ll, he wouldn’t care if it was broken for the rest of the year because he’s pretty sure he found the love of his life today and nothing could dampen his mood. He rushed up the four flights of stairs and fumbled with his keys before coming inside and slamming the front door shut behind him. His backpack was thrown onto the floor with a wet fwump and his bomber jacket followed close behind as he hastily shucked it off him.

Eddie had a routine he usually followed after each Hellfire Club meeting. He would always change into his pajamas, heat up the food he had brought back from the dining halls and make that his dinner, and retreat into his room where he’d go over what happened during their session and tweak his plans for their next meeting if necessary. He did this every week for the past three years he’s been DMing at this school and the only time he ever broke this routine was during finals his freshman year where he was convinced he’d fail if he didn’t dedicate all his time to actually studying. This was the second time he would ever break that routine. Instead of making himself comfortable, he stormed down through their small living space and walked past his own room to barge into the other bedroom.

This was the second year that Steve roomed with Eddie and the first year that they got their own rooms. Since they were so used to sharing a room together, it was second nature for Eddie to rush straight to Steve when he had to tell him something. Thankfully for him, Steve never locked his door so Eddie was able to rush in unannounced and blurted out, “You will NOT believe what happened today!”

Steve was sitting at his desk, still dressed in his red school scrubs from his clinicals earlier in the day with his nose buried in his textbooks. His hair was tied back in a small ponytail, wearing his glasses, and headphones over his ears. When Eddie forced his way into the room, Steve nearly jumped out of his seat and ripped his headphones off his head and was glaring daggers at the other man.

“Do you ever learn to knock?” Eddie ignores the comment from Steve and goes to the other side of the small bedroom to sit down on Steve’s bed, still wearing his damp clothes and definitely tracking mud across the apartment. Steve is only angry for a moment until he sees the giant smile on his friends face. Eddie wasn’t exactly a grumpy person, but Steve hadn’t seen him smiling like that in a long time, probably not since Eddie got Metallica tickets from his Uncle Wayne as a graduation present. He was smiling so much that Steve was sure his face actually hurt. Eddie was beaming just like he was all those years ago.

Eddie’s leg began shaking from excitement as he began speaking, “I think I met my soulmate today. I was in my anthropology class and she sat down next to me and she’s perfect. I mean, first of all, she’s beautiful. She plays Dungeons and Dragons and we like the same music and she’s so fucking funny.” The metalhead then gets up from Steve’s bed and takes the few steps it takes to stand right in front of him. He’s wildly waving his hands around as he recalls everything that you two talked about during that lab. Steve swore Eddie didn’t stop to breathe even once during this entire recollection. As the story starts to wind down, Eddie removed his hair tie from his hair and ran his fingers through his dark locks. He sighs and says, “Honestly man, I didn’t think after Paige that I’d find anyone who I really connected with but she’s different. I don’t feel like I need to hold back when I’m talking to her.” Eddie finally stops talking and takes a breath before moving back to Steve’s bed and flopping down to lay on his sheets, wet hair and all. 

Steve fully turns around to face Eddie with an impressed look on his face as he closes his books, asking the other, “I’m happy for you, man. So what’s her name? Did you get her number?” Eddie hears this and his eyes widen, opting to look up at the ceiling rather than Steve. He realizes his horrible, horrible mistake and is kicking himself for hurrying off rather than taking an extra minute to get your name and contact information. His silence prompts Steve to scoot closer in his chair as his tone turns more serious. “Eddie, did you get her number?” Silence. “Her instagram?” Silence. “Snapchat??” Eddie purses his lips, too ashamed to say anything. “Munson, did you get ANYTHING from her??”

Eddie groans and sits up now, rubbing his face and tries to defend himself. “Listen. I was going to be late to Hellfire and I didn’t want to listen to anyone complaining about being late so I just told her I’d see her after spring break. I wasn’t thinking straight! I swear I’ll get her number the moment I see her in two weeks.”

It’s now Steve’s turn to groan and he shakes his head, getting up from his chair and moving to sit next to Eddie and begins to try to reassure his friend, telling him, “Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. There’s like a missing connections instagram page for the school. You just need to message them and tell them you want to find her and get her contact information. Maybe she’ll see it.”

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You spent the rest of the week hopelessly searching for Eddie in the massive crowds of students. There were a couple instances of spotting a head of curly brown hair only to be disappointed when you realize it’s not him. There’s about 40,000 students in this school so you wonder why you figured you could just find him casually walking around campus. Your roommate, Elena, suggested looking at your school portal page to see if you can find him on your class page but your professor didn’t enable the ‘Students’ section, only opting for pages that were vital in completing coursework. One of your friends spent two hours scouring Instagram and Facebook convinced that they could find Eddie but came up empty handed. You told everyone you knew what he looked like and what his name was, but he wasn’t in anyone’s classes or in anyone’s dorms. It was like he just vanished into thin air. Elena reassured you that you’d see him in two weeks so all you had to do was wait.

Your search was paused during spring break and put on an indefinite hold when things went downhill. People all over the world were getting sick and you watched in horror as the virus slowly creeped closer to your home state. Then into your county. Spring break was extended for an extra week as the school administration worked to find a solution to keep the staff and student body safe. Schools around the country were shuttering their campuses while yours promised in-person classes would resume shortly but they soon changed their mind. You received an email by week three stating the remainder of the semester would be spent online and you needed to pack up your dorm room. The administration was unable to confirm if you’d be returning to campus in the fall. At this point, both you and Eddie came to the conclusion that you’d never see the other person again and it would take a miracle for you two to reunite.

————————————————————————

I’m not sorry

[cod-dump]

Sickness

PriceGraves, NikPriceGraves

___

Graves doesn't get sick easy. He has a very strong immune system. Yet when he does get sick...

"Remember hot summer days with a flat beer? Steaks on the grill, cicadas screaming. I miss those days... Will I ever see them again?"

"For fuck's sake, Phil, you're not dying."

Price has never met a man, a soldier, so dramatic while having the flu. You would believe he was dying, with a red nose while spread out in bed like he was trying not to smother. It was pathetic. Nik was whiny but at least he didn't try his damnedest to convince his partners he was dying.

"I could use affection," Graves whined, making a weak attempt at trying to grab Price.

"You could use medicine, soup, and sleep."

He stepped away and Graves fucking sobbed. Price had to remind himself he loved this man, no matter how annoying he could be. Price turned back around and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Graves' forehead. Damn he was burning up.

"You definitely need medicine."

Graves grunted as Price left to get some. He already had soup simmering on the stove, clean sheets in the dryer, a load with pajamas in the washer. He had to check on Graves at least every twenty minutes or he would start whining about being 'abandoned'. He was starting to compete with Nik on clinginess.

Price checked the soup, it smelled bland yet good. He didn't want to upset Graves' stomach after he noticed him dry heaving earlier that morning. The sheets were done drying and Price took them out and folded them. They would replace the current bed sheets after Graves takes a bath and changes his clothes.

"Joooohn," came the whine and Price sighed. He quickly shoved the wet pajamas in the dryer before returning to den of the dying man.

"I'm hungry," he didn't even cross the threshold when Graves cried.

"Soup is almost done. How about a bath first?"

It was like he had a toddler. Graves grumbled a 'no' and turned away from him. Price sighed, Nik was never this bad.

"Bath, then you can put clean clothes on, eat, and get in a nice clean bed."

Graves grumbled again, not making an effort to move. Price decided he was going to have to move him himself. He's been wanting manhandle him since he started the 'I'm dying' shit. Price left to run the bath, warm with soap, before he braces himself and returned to grab the man it was made for.

"Phillip," the sweet approach first, typically he hadn't need to go past it, "A bath will help make you feel better."

Graves seemed to melt with his tone, it might just work. So Price gently took his shoulders and coaxed him into sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed.

"Come on, love."

Graves was easy after that, he went to the bathroom without issue, only some hesitance to take his clothes off and get in the bath. Once he was settle Price gathered the sweaty night shirt and pants and threw them in the hamper.

"I never had such an issue of getting you out of your clothes."

Graves snorts, settled in the water and visibly relaxing. Price assumed it would be safe to leave him there while he finished the laundry and got the soup off the stove and into a bowl.

"I'll be right back, don't forget to clean your hair."

Price chose to not acknowledge the glare coming from Graves as he left the bedroom. Pajamas were clean and folded, he set a set aside to give to Graves to change into. A portion of soup ladled out for Graves, it would be cooled enough for him to eat by the time he was out of the bath.

Conveniently, he had a moment to breathe. No whining Graves, laundry done, no soup cooking. A true moment of silence. Then his phone rang. Price admits he groaned in frustration.

He grabbed his phone from the table and answered without looking, "Price speaking."

"My love!"

Price couldn't help the smile twitch onto his lips, "Yes, Nikolai?"

"You don't sound very happy to hear from me," god he could practically hear the pout.

"Sorry, dear, but I've been a bit preoccupied with a very needy Phil."

Nik laughs gleefully. Graves had gotten sick only once before since he got with them, Nik had the pleasure of caring for him while Price was on duty. Price mocked him when he told him about Graves' over the top dramatics while stuck with a cold. Now he was realizing his husband was, in fact, not exaggerating.

"Give him kisses for me. I'm still in Moscow. Not sure when I'll be home."

"You can give him your own kisses, he's been living off mine just fine."

Nik laughs, Price smiling at the sound. He saw Graves walk out of the hall, naked, in a half-asleep state. Price tried to suppress his sigh.

"Love, pants."

"WHAT!?"

Graves was dazed, looking at Price with a pitiful look, "Where's the PJ's?"

Price motions to the set he left aside for him before returning to his call with his husband.

"I have to go, have to make sure this gremlin eats."

"Fuck you," Graves muttered half-heartedly as he weakly grabbed the pajamas next to Price, dressing himself slowly.

"Fine fine, I will leave you be."

Price snickers, "Phil, Nik's on the phone."

Graves waddles over and leans against Price, reaching for the phone. Price let him take it, holding him by the waist. Graves practically melted against him as he mumbled into the phone.

"You should be here."

Price could faintly hear Nik reply sweetly, "I will be soon! I will come with plenty of kisses!"

"Promise?"

"Of course, любимый."

Graves hums, satisfied. He gives the phone back without another word and slips out of Price's hold, heading straight to the kitchen.

"I think he's done for now. Love you, travel safe."

"I'm flying, I'll be fine."

Price laughs before the call ended. He watches Graves take the bowl set aside for him and slumps over it, face stuck in the bowl, spoon laying forgotten by the bowl. Price groans, he's drinking it like a dog.

"Phillip-"

This was going to be a long week if he doesn't get better immediately tomorrow.

[tricksh0t]

★ goody two-shoes

☾ gregory house x cop male reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ just a quick thirst, don't start freaking out, also sorry if he turns out ooc cuz i've literally only watched tiktok clips from the show

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1.26k words

cw: suggestive thirst, but no nsfw, trying to corrupt a cop

You've seen everything in your time as a traffic officer. Specifically everything about traffic, of course.

Men, that could possibly be great-grandparents, taking a little too long to move after the red light while driving the family hatchback, doing their grandkids a favor by driving his great-grandkids home.

Old men speeding because their reflexes are just not the same or they can't tell how fast they're going or their vision fails them and they read the speed limit sign wrong.

Men in their mid-life crisis driving the restored version of the old car they yearned to have in their childhood, speeding because they want to feel that rush thet felt lacking in their life.

Younger men speeding in their beatdown cars because they slept in one day and ended up being late for work, fearful of a paycut.

Young men speeding in their flashy sports cars because they're rich and apathetic, because they think the world revolves around their money.

You thought, however, that this shift would be boring. Hoped for it, even. It was a late night. You were just looking to kick your feet up on the dashboard, park under a shadow and fuck around on your phone.

You were wrong, though. Of course you were.

You've seen a lot of things, but not this. A graying man speeding late at night like he has somewhere to be that isn't home. No, no, who are you to judge?

...is that a cane on the side of his bike?

House sighs as sirens follow him. He should've known that dark shadow was a perfect spot for a cop.

He pulls over, like the good citizen he is. He gets off his bike, like the good citizen he is.

"Officer." He greets cordially, placing his helmet on his bike with a sigh. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

You raise a brow. You can already tell this old man is going to have an attitude. "This will take as long as it needs."

The man has the audacity to roll his eyes and cross his arms. "Look, I've got a busy night ahead."

"Tell me about it." He opens his mouth, but you stop him. There's some satisfaction in making him look like a gaping fish. "While you look for your license and registration and proof of insurance."

He gives you more attitude when he looks to the sky as if muttering a quick prayer before digging into his decidedly tight pants and fishing his license out of his wallet.

You inspect it, but he stays still as you do so. "Look for your papers, sir."

Not expired, good...address isn't too far from here to justify speeding...he certainly looks like his picture. His name is Gregory House.

"I don't have them."

"You don't have them?" You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. "You–"

"This jacket is small enough as it is, and before you ask, it is stylish and protective. Scraped skin is more painful than it is harmful." He locks eyes with you. A man several years your senior, staring you down to try to make you back down. With what, attitude?

Luckily, you have the better hand. You're taller, you're bigger–no, nevermind all that, you're a cop. "You–"

"Exactly why did you pull me over again?" House tilts his head.

"Speeding." You say between gritted teeth. "Twenty over the speed limit."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He says, kicking off his bike to stand upright. He shuffles closer with an awkward gait, yes, that was a cane on his bike. "It's late at night. Age gets to you, you know, officer. I couldn't see very well."

"That's what the lights on your bike are for." You say, shoving your hands into your pockets and breathing deeply. You can't let him get on your nerves. "And you're driving a motorcycle, sir, I think you can't play the age card."

"You don't get to decide that." Despite his bad leg, he stands up tall, challenging you. You see eye to eye, and you notice he's not exactly handsome...but there sure is tension, there.

"Really?" You huff out a laugh. All thoughts about keeping your calm are gone after that.

House smiles. "Really."

"Well, I do get to decide that you are going to sleep in cold jail cell tonight."

His smile disappears, replaced with a frown. "Come on, officer. You're seriously not going to detain me over not having my papers, are you? That's absurd. And it's petty, too. Even you cant deny that."

"That's funny," You scoff, "I'm thinking the same about you."

Out of all things, House looks offended at that. "Fine, fine you know, I can understand that, really, officer. I deserve it. I'm an asshole, I know, but you like it, don't you? You can't help but find my words charming."

You breathe out a huff, something between laughter and disbelief. "Now that is something I've never heard before."

"Something you've never heard before?" He seems to be in disbelief too, "I'm sure you've heard it from some young lady, maybe even another man. You mean you've never heard it from an old man, don't you?"

He takes your silence as a yes. "You know, there's always a time for firsts."

"You're really not as charming as you think you are." You approach. He walks backwards in return, but you follow, up until the back of his foot hits his tire.

"I'm a doctor." House begins desperately. "I'm expected at the hospital tomorrow for an early morning shift. You're not going to stop me from saving lives are you?"

For a moment, you let him think he's got you. You let the words sit in, like you're really thinking, like you're sympathizing with him. "Are you resisting arrest, sir?"

"What? No–"

You take his arm and spin him around, keeping his forearm pinned against his back.

"Hey!"

You use that forearm to press him against the back of his own back and pin him down further. When the first cuff wraps around his wrist, he begins to protest.

He doesn't even say "we can talk about this". He just starts talking. "Oh real funny, yeah. Pin down the helpless old cripple."

Then the other cuff wraps around his other wrist. "I bet this is one of your fantasies. Pinning down an old man and using him as you please. I'm too weak for you, I'll admit that. So why don't you just push me against the hood of your work car and do as you like?"

Staring down at the way his leather jacket and loose shirt ride up, you're certainly tempted. His tight pants do nothing for the imagination, especially with how close you are. You're pressed against him, really.

If he were a woman, with his short jacket and his belted pants, you might've even seen the peek of a thong from this angle...but he's not a woman. Yet, undeniably, the curve of his ass still entices you. His attitude would certainly be fun to quiet.

...but you're a cop.

The handcuffs click as they're pushed as tight as they can be.

"You want to have a fun time?" You ask, forcing him to stand back up with a grip on the cuffs. "Jail's fun. You can imagine the cold as the climate of a skeeing mountain."

As you drag him off towards your car, he digs his feet into the ground. "Wait, my bike!"

"You know the rules. It'll be towed." You continue dragging him.

House sighs. "Fuckin' goody two-shoes cops."

[h2llish]

i've been following your blog for a while and absolutely adore your writing!

if its okay i'd love to see something with either leona or jamil (up to you!) and a reader who falls asleep on their shoulder during some sort of nrc road trip.. i'm not sure if nrc would have buses per say considering all the magic and stuff but the concept of an nrc school trip seems super interesting to me so if you're up for the request by all means just have fun with it!! i do notice that your requests are semi open so feel free to decline ofc !

— ☁️

⁀➷ ˖ ROAD TRIP DROWSINESS

notes ─── hi anon! i’m so happy you like my writing! i don't think they'd have buses at nrc because of the mirror, but crowley would probably spring a sudden road trip on them which would just confuse the students, because why? (i also imagine their bus would probably be a bit fancier? idk how to explain it but nothing like the busses i'm used to.)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR ─── a wave of drowsiness leads you to find comfort on his shoulder ♡ fluff, gender neutral, can be read platonic or romantic, not proofread

transportation for students at nrc was not hard, all they had to do was enter the dark mirror and then they found themselves safely at their destination. so if it was that easy, why in the world was the headmage so adamant that they boarded this bus like they were kids back in middle school? ─ a road trip was his very (might many students say stupid) answer.

the only person who seemed to not have a problem with this sudden turn of events, was the magicless prefect from ramshackle. you didn't give any complaints or groan about using the easy way to get to the destination. you just nodded when the headmage announced the decision.

students were chosen at random, names drawn from a hat (a method the headmage seemed to rely on often).  and as the prefect, and the designated scapegoat for everything crowley did, you were of course among that group, with your dire beast other half. 

“i don't get it,” grim frowned, sitting on your shoulder as you approached the bus, where many familiar faces waited to board. “why can't we just use the mirror?”

ace was walking alongside you, being one of the people drawn to join the group. he had decided to met you at ramshackle, knowing you would inevitably have to board the bus as well. “i think the headmage called it some sort of bonding experience. don't know how a hours-long road will be a bonding experience.”

grim grumbled, turning his head to look at your face. you have yet to say anything to add to the conversation. “whaddya’ think, [name]?”

“what?” you blinked, sending a glance to the dire beast before looking ahead of you once more. “what do i think about what?”

“were you even listening to anything we just said?” ace sighed. 

you hummed, “i’ve learned to tune you guys out the moment you start speaking.” ─ and then you were wincing as the two of them shouted, leaning your head away from the monster as he and ace expressed how offended they were.

you sighed, this was going to be a long ride.

and right you were. 

things were okay (as okay as a group of irritable teenage boys with magic on a bus could be) during the first hour. but as the first hour turned to half, and you found yourself growing drowsy, you attempted to doze off, at least for a good twenty minutes. you were unsuccessful, as the moment you closed your eyes, you were quickly opening them to glance at a yelling grim.

epel and sebek, also being among the names drawn, were sitting next to you. epel and grim looked ready to pounce on an unnamed student who seemed to have picked a fight with them. ace didn't do much to stop the argument, in fact, he was actively encouraging it. and sebek, while he made an attempt to hold back a seething grim, was not of much help either. 

you sighed, but made no move to stop it ─ you expected something to happen eventually, and you weren't all that up to being the “reasonable” one of the group. you aren't sure what the argument was about, but neither did you care. if grim got in trouble for attacking a student, it would come back to bite you, but that was something for future you to worry about.

you glanced around the bus, before your attention landed on the savanaclaw housewarden sitting alone. ─ your friends continued to argue with the random guy, and you were sure they had no intention of ending the argument anytime soon. and you would rather sleep off some time on the road rather than listen to your friends go back and forth with someone you didn't even know the name of. you stood from your seat, uncaring of whether or not it was okay to do so as you approached the empty seat. 

leona had his head down, probably napping, the same thing you wanted to do. when you sat down beside him his ears twitched and he lifted his head to look at you, probably intending to scowl and scare off whoever had been stupid enough to sit beside him, until he realized it was you.

“what are you doing?” he frowned at you, but you went unfazed.

“sitting next to you, obviously.”

leona rolled his eyes, “why?”

instead of giving a verbal answer, you pointed at your friends, where sebek now had a grip on the scruff of grim’s neck, keeping him from jumping at the student. ace was laughing, offering no help to the half-fae. epel was no better than grim, with sebek’s arm held out in front of him, keeping him from doing anything.

"so you came to bother me instead?" he asked, and you looked at him straight-faced.

"yup."

leona sighed, but he didn't tell you to scram (not like you would if he did). he didn't say anything else, only close his eyes again and turning away, likely to try and nap. you weren't offended by his lack of reply, leaning your head back against the seat and trailing your eyes over the bus and your peers.

the longer you sat in somewhat silence ─ save for the incoherent yelling from your friends, you had for the most part zoned out, and the chatter of those on board ─ you found yourself falling to the drowsiness that have been interrupted before. you closed your eyes and let the movement of the bus guide you to sleep.

leona was awake, annoyed by the bus and those on the bus. his ears twitched when he heard your breathing slow beside him and he lifted his head, just as your head lolled to the side and you leaned against his shoulder.

he sighed, but made no move to push you off, glancing around you at the rest of the students of nrc, who were all either sleeping themselves, or chatting with friends. he leaned his head back, eyeing you as you shifted for a moment before relaxing again.

"where'd [name] go?" leona could hear your friends ask, no longer distracted by the argument that they were having with the random student.

he looked back at them, just in time to catch ace's eye, who was the first to see you sleeping against leona. he looked ready to say something, but leona narrowed his eyes on the first year. ace immediately shut his mouth, grinning awkwardly as he turned back to his friends.

leona huffed, looking back down at you to make sure you didn't stir. he adjusted in more comfortable position, an arm resting behind you on the seat, allowing you to lean closer, and hopefully, be more comfortable than leaning against his shoulder the way you had. and then he closed his eyes and joined you in a nap for the rest of the ride. (at least until they stopped for a break.)

this wasn't proofread so there will be probably be mistakes, i'll try to come back to edit later!

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"WE HAVE ENOUGH TIME"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH SERGEI

I hope you like it! 🖤😊😌☝

tags : @myesc8petw0rld

gif made by : @coltscupofcoffee 😊

You waited impatiently for Sergei to arrive at the agreed-upon meeting point.

The prison they'd tried to hold him in was one of the most secure in the entire region, but you knew that wasn't going to stop him from his mission to escape after killing one of the country's biggest human and animal traffickers.

The poor wretch didn't believe he was the hunter all the stories spoke of, and Sergei had to bite his throat out so everyone would know the hunter wasn't a myth, that he was a real man and that he was there, among them.

You took another sip of the coffee you'd made hours earlier and placed it on the shelf next to the controls after taking a sip.

You waited for a few more minutes, and then you heard it.

Someone was running quickly toward you, so fast it seemed they weren't even touching the ground.

You looked back at the back of the plane as Sergei entered, leaping down in a way that was quite similar to the way a lion pounces on its prey.

His gaze met yours for a moment before giving you a quick hand gesture.

"Go, go!" he said, signaling for takeoff.

You quickly gripped the controls tightly, and after skimming across the ice for a few moments to gain speed, you took off.

Visibility wasn't great due to the snowfall, but luckily for Sergei, you were one of the best pilots he knew.

Whenever he needed air travel, he'd call you to pick him up, which meant you two would see each other quite a bit.

Like that time in Japan when he saved several elephants from being killed in some sort of ritual murder.

Apparently, it hadn't rained in that area for a while, and the locals had listened to the leader of what they called their congregation, who had told them they should sacrifice five elephants to make it rain.

Sergei sprang into action before that happened, saving the animals and putting the leader of said group in his place.

You flew over a bank of clouds and put the autopilot on for a moment before turning to him.

"How did it go?"

"I'm still in one piece," he laughed. "I can't say the same about the one you and I know"

"He got what he deserved," you murmured. "Now everyone will know that the legend of the hunter isn't as legendary as they thought."

He took off his shirt to change, replacing the prison clothes with his own, which you had prepared earlier: a white T-shirt and black jeans. You couldn't help but glance at him briefly as he did so.

You didn't want to seem like a voyeur or anything, but it was almost impossible not to spend every few minutes staring at the way his strong, large arms flexed whenever he moved, or the way his hair, partially damp with sweat, stuck to either side of his face, giving him an even fiercer air than he already had.

He felt your gaze on him and jerked his head up, colliding with yours. You jerked your head to the side, focusing on a fixed point on the ground.

You felt your cheeks heat up, and decided it was best to go back to piloting manually, so you wouldn't have to deal with that situation.

You returned to the controls, and you were so focused on the scene in front of you that you didn't notice him coming closer until he was behind you.

He leaned forward, placing his hand on the unusable panel to your right, causing you to be trapped between the controls and his body.

"How much longer until we get there?" He asked in a whisper

You tried your best to focus on answering, and not on how the smell of wet earth and sweat reached your nostrils.

"I guess about twenty minutes," you murmured, swallowing hard. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he smiled. "Then we have enough time."

"What for?" you asked, feeling your breath catch in your throat.

"I've seen the way you look at me, dorogoy," he whispered in your ear. "You've been doing that for quite some time." He smiled. "Did you think I wouldn't notice how your heart races every time I'm around?" "He murmured."

"Sergei… I… I don't know what to say…"

"You don't need to say anything, darling," he smiled. "I'll do all the work." He gestured to the controls with his head. "Put the autopilot on," he whispered before walking away, giving you a couple of minutes to breathe

"You pressed the autopilot button and turned to face him again. His blue eyes studied you intensely, as he patted his leg. He raised an eyebrow and gestured for you to come closer.

"Come here, Printsessa," he murmured, and you almost moaned when he brushed his hair back, making you focus again on his long fingers. "I promise I won't bite, unless you want me to," he added with a mischievous smile

You walked over to where he was and tentatively sat on his lap. You could feel the strong muscles of his legs against your skin.

His hands rested on your hips with equal parts delicacy and possessiveness, causing you to focus your gaze on him without making eye contact, dying of embarrassment.

"Look at me, prekrasnyy," he whispered gently. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," he murmured, holding your face in his hands. "It's just you and me here," he reassured you. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, it's just that I…" you swallowed hard. "I've never…"

"It's okay, baby," he murmured, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. "I'll go slowly, okay?"

"Okay," you nodded nervously. He could see your anxiety reflected in your eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" "He whispered, and you almost gasped when he did so, his voice now dangerously husky and low.

"Yes," you murmured, still not quite believing what was about to happen.

Sergei closed the distance between you and gently placed his lips on yours.

A small sigh escaped your lips as he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

It may have been the first kiss you'd ever had, but you knew you'd never get another one like that again.

He pulled away to look at you, asking if he was being too rough with you, but when he saw your rapid breathing and dilated pupils, it was answer enough for him.

He tightened his grip on your hips and pushed you forward slightly, against him.

The curve of his cock brushed against your most sensitive part, drawing a gasp from you that made him smile.

"You… you're so…" You blushed as you remained silent, but he wanted you to say whatever you were thinking. "So what, dorogoy?" He whispered. "Tell me the thoughts that are going through that beautiful head of yours."

You swallowed nervously before answering.

"It's just that y-you're s-so… big and-and s-strong, and I…" You blushed all the way to the roots of your hair. "I feel so small compared to you."

"I see," he murmured, giving a half-smiled smile. "And you love it, don't you?" He whispered, slipping his fingers under your shirt very slowly. "You like feeling small when you're with me, is that it?" You nodded shyly, not believing you'd just confessed one of your biggest secrets. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," he murmured. "You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you."

"It's not true," you shook your head.

"Of course it is, I would never lie to you," he assured, staring at you. "I know you're not ready to go all the way," he said. "I can see it in your body posture, and in the sparkle in your eyes," he whispered. "And that's okay. Do you know why?" You shook your head. "Because the fact that you peeled back so many layers in front of me, that I could kiss you and touch you like this, is enough."

"That's… very kind of you," you whispered on the verge of tears. "I can't say that about other guys who almost happened to you."

"Did they hurt you?" "He asked. You remained silent, and Sergei knew you were hiding something from him. "I'm going to kill them," he growled. "Whoever it is, I'll track them down and kill them with my own hands."

Unable to do anything else, you laughed as you held onto his shoulders and he stole another kiss from you.

And there, in his arms, you thought that life might not be as bad as it was sometimes made out to be.

[yxngbxkkie]

pranking the husband (l.y.f)

okay, so i saw this tik tok today and instantly had an idea for my baby, felix 🫢 this is fucking adorable. i love it, i hope you love it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

~

You keep giggling to yourself while in the bathroom, and you're surprised Felix hasn't come to ask you what's so funny. You glance over your shoulder, a smile on your lips as you watch your husband scroll through his tik tok.

“Cutie,” you mumble to yourself, making a mental note to kiss him after you finish the tik tok you're about to make.

While scrolling through your for you page this morning, you found a trend that you wanted to try on Felix. You're typically not one to make tik toks, but you don't actually post any of them, but this one makes you want to see how he'd react.

You stealthily put up your phone, checking to see if both of you are in it before hitting record. You fluff your hair and check yourself out in the mirror.

“Babe, how much longer do we have?” You ask him, knowing you need to leave in twenty minutes.

Felix doesn't look up from his phone, answering your question. “Twenty minutes. Are you ready?”

“No, not yet,” you sigh and rest your hands on your hips. “I'm not sure I really like the outfit I'm wearing.”

Your husband lifts his head, his eyes roaming down your body. “You don't? I think you look really good, sweetness,” he smiles at you, seeing the love in his honey-brown eyes.

“God, I love you,” you smile at him, blowing him an air kiss. “But, I think I'm going to change. There's another outfit I've been dying to wear.”

Felix pouts but gives in, nodding his head. “If it'll make you happy, go ahead,” he mentions, puckering his lips for a kiss.

You melt at his cuteness, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest. You reach where he's sitting before planting a kiss on his lips. You giggle softly and pull away before he can deepen it.

“Okay, can you get out real quick so I can change?” You ask him nonchalantly, taking a step back.

Felix nods his head, closing the apps on his phone as he stands up. Your jaw drops a bit as he just strolls out of the room. You glance towards your phone when his voice echoes into the bedroom.

“Wait!” He rushes back in, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Why am I leaving the room? You got changed in front of me earlier.”

You bite your lip, deciding to keep playing along. “Well, I wanted the outfit to be a surprise,” you tell him while leaning against the bathroom door frame.

He narrows his eyes at you before walking closer to you. You go back into the bathroom, holding your hand out in case he tries to tickle you. He's sneaky like that.

Felix finds your phone propped up and points a figure at you. “You sneaky! You're doing a bit,” he figures it out, laughing cutely.

You giggle as his arms wrap around your waist. You hug him tightly, both of you swaying in your shared bathroom. “I saw it on tik tok,” you tell him, combing your fingers through his hair.

“I can not believe you almost got me,” he laughs, pulling back. His gaze meets yours, and Felix smiles softly before kissing you again.

“I love you, my baby,” you grin, planting short kisses on his lips and cheeks. “Plus, you should know that I prefer to strip in front of you.”

Felix's smile turns into a smirk, one of his hands finding a place on your waist. “You love my eyes on you,” he impossibly moves in closer, his chest pressing against yours.

“Baby,” you sigh, tilting your head back when he starts kissing your neck. “We're gonna miss our reservation.”

“What if,” Felix trails off, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, “we canceled.”

You pout at him while grabbing a hold of one of his hands. “But, baby, we've already had to cancel on them once. I don't want to do it again. Chan was telling me how excited he is for tonight. And, two, I got all pretty for you. Don't you want to show me off?”

“You do look pretty,” Felix sighs, taking in the outfit you've “decided” to keep on. “And, I love showing you off. Can I eat you out when we get home?”

You throb at his question, squeezing his hand you're holding. “I can never say no to you,” you chuckle breathlessly, leading your husband towards the front door.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP PROMPT

GPS Shenanigans

So it's a regular Tuesday for Danny. He woke up late, got to first period by the skin of his teeth, got his lunch knocked out of his hands by Dash. You get the picture. Even after all that, the universe decides to throw in a ghost attack standard with this glorious day that he was having.( Sence his sarcasm? Good!)

Anyways, it was all very normal for him by now. Very predictable. What wasn't predictable was the natural portal opening up and the Ghost he was fighting to see it as an opportunity and blast him through it. He was annoyed, even more so when the portal shot him out in the Bremuda Triangle.

Not really knowing which way to go to get home, he takes out his phone and puts in his home address, hoping to get back before the Ghost he was fighting could reek more havoc. And maybe soup them up before his test sixth period.

All was going great. He was making great time flying back. He might even wrap things up to make it to fifth period and tell Tucker and Sam about the weird event of the day. Only his phones GPS takes him to Paris, Texas. Okay, not where he ment to go, but it was alright. He can just put his address back into his GPS and be on his way home again.

Only this time, he ends up in Seattle, Washington. What? Alright, the third time is the charm. Then he ended up in Star City. What?! He tried again and ended up in some small town in Kansas. So he tried again and nearly crossed the border to Mexico.

Completely fed up at this point, Danny then restarted his phone, did two virus sweeps, and changed the settings a bit before bringing his GPS up again. Putting his address into it, again! And was on his way home, AGAIN! Only for the stupid app to take him to another random location that he most definitely did not want to be. AGAIN!!!

Grounding himself on the roof of another apartment building, Danny cursed his luck and his phone and decided to play around with the GPS settings to see if that would do anything. Because now it was nighttime, and all he wanted to do was go home, collapse in his bed, and think of a way to convince his parents not to ground him for skipping school.

As he angrily grumbles to himself, he notices a dark figure land on the roof not too far from him. Looking up from his phone screen, Danny is shocked to see the one and only Batman staring him down not even fifteen feet away. Huh, guess he was in Gotham then.

"Uh, hi-hello, Mr. Batman, sir." Danny stuttered anxiously. 'Smooth Danny, smooth.' He thought to himself as he cleared his throat before continuing." Don't mind me. Im just trying to get my stupid GPS working-" he said with more calm than he felt." At Melbourne and 6th, make a u-turn." A macanical female voice said from Danny’s phone. Oh, he must of accidentally turned on the audio voice assistance function while messing with the settings.

"At Melbourne and 6th, make a u-turn. Then go straight till Wellmore Avenue." The GPS voice said making Batman hum curiously." Those street names don't exist in Gotham." He said making Danny double check what city the GPS said his location was." It's saying I'm in Gotham." He tells the older hero." Turn left on Wellmore Avenue. Keep left and go straight for twenty six miles."

"I literally haven't moved." Danny complained to the device in his hands. Not expecting an answer from the phone but getting one from the black clad vigilante just feet away now." I take it this is not the first time this has happened bassed on your reaction." It wasn't a question but Danny still answered it like one. Shoulders sagging with a sigh Danny nods and turned to the Dark Knight

"It's been acting like this all day. No matter what I do, every time I put in my address into the GPS app on my phone it'll take me to the most random places. I've been coast to coast already and almost flew to Mexico. I've tried restarting it, I played around with the settings and locations. Nothing helps." He complains frustratedly.

"Make a u-turn at-"

"Shut up you!"

Danny gets thrown through a natural portal during a fight and ends up getting spit out in the bramuda triangle. He trys to get home be using his phones GPS but unbeknownst to him the phone was damaged, either during the fight or because of the triangle; and it keeps giving him random directions to literally anywhere but Amity Park. He finally gets so frustrated that he lands just to see what the heck is going on with his phone when Batman shows up. Having seen a very agitated meta fly over and stop in his city.

Here's a question for you. Why, in comics do they never have GPS for people who can fly, and im not talking about like in helicopters. Im talking about people with the ability to fly. Sure they can see everything while they're up there but that doesn’t mean they know where they're going, where they are, or how to get there from so high up. I myself have lived in my hometown for most of my life and I still need a GPS to tell me where some things are. Your thoughts?

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

"Hey, Babs,"

"Dick? It's late, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm about to go on patrol, D, can this wait?"

A sigh. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Blockbuster's after Oracle."

***

Gotham Proper is a thirty-three minute drive from Bludhaven. The drive to Bristol from Bludhaven is a fifty-one minute drive through Drescher, Burnside, Sumerset, Victoria Place, and Little Stockton before crossing the bridge over Gotham River into Bristol. Gotham Proper is made of four islands connected to each other and the mainland via several bridges. Technically, all of those cities and towns - as well as Charon and Brentwood - are sister cities like Bludhaven, but everyone counts them as a part of Gotham anyway.

Dick spent the entire drive alternating between sulking and panicking.

Danny would know. Ghosts, as he's come to understand, are beings made of emotion, meaning that he can sense emotions better than living beings. Though, he didn't need an empth ability to read the air around Dick.

'What if something happens while we're gone?" Dick asked for the nth time in the past few minutes, "What if Brutale decides to blow something up while I'm gone? What if Blockbuster starts something big?"

"Bigger than what he's already doing?" Danny didn't bother to look up from his conversation with Tim. "The fact that you can't even name specific examples proves that you're not actually worried about Blockbuster or Brutale."

"I'm worried about Brutale blowing something up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'something'. Who even is Brutale anyway? I don't think I know that name."

"No one you need to worry about." He moved into the right lane.

Danny turned his phone off and set it face down on his leg. "What are you really worried about, Dick? I've known you for five weeks now, and I've never seen you this worried about anything."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"No, you've known me for three weeks. I've known you for five weeks. And don't change the subject."

Dick sighed, running his left hand through his hair before dropping it back onto the steering wheel.

"Is it Bruce?"

"...yeah."

"You know he's at work, right?"

"Yeah, I- How do you know that?"

He waved his phone a bit. "I checked with Tim. So, it's just going to be Tim and Alfred at the Manor when we get there."

"You know Alfred?"

"I know of Alfred." Danny slapped his right shoulder, "Stop trying to change the subject!"

"I can't help it! Deflecting has worked pretty damn well for me up until this point!"

"Oh, yeah? Against who?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Everyone?"

A beat. "Okay, so maybe only most people, but that's not the point!"

"Doesn't matter what your point is because we're going back to talking about mine!" He huffed. "If you don't want to go straight to Wayne Manor, then stop by somewhere else. You had to have gained at least one friend in Gotham before you moved to Bludhaven."

Dick paused for a moment, eyeing the signs. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes. He could hang a right just before Sumerset to cross the New Trigate Bridge into Arkham Island, take another right onto Midtown and drive to Old Gotham to meet Babs/. Yeah, that'd be nice. But, the detour would increase the chance of running into Bruce later on in the day. Maybe he could have Bab's drive to the Manor?

"Is it too late to turn around?"

"Yes."

"Why are you even so insistent on going? You don't know anyone in Gotham!"

"I know Tim!" He argued. "Besides, healthy relationships are good in this kind of work."

Dick raised his eyebrow, glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. "You wanna second to rethink that or..?"

Danny clicked his tongue. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to Bruce, and I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize to Tim for snapping at him. If you end up with better relations here in Gotham, then that only works in your favor."

Dick groaned, ditching the turn onto New Trigate and continuing on through Sumerset. "Fine! But we're leaving before Bruce gets back. I can't stand him right now."

Danny smiled, a sad look in his eye. "Alright."

He knew very well that Dick's relationship was near irreparable. From what he'd gathered, from either overhearing or snooping, Bruce had been a pretty good dad and boss to Dick up until he'd turned seventeen. He hung up the Robin mantle when he was eighteen, appearing as Nightwing when he was nineteen. Bruce, apparently, hadn't taken this very well, but copped, adopint ong Jason Todd when Dick was twenty years old, giving him the Robin mantle a few months later.

According to Dick, when Jason was killed, he'd been off world. Bruce hadn't even called him to inform him, let alone tell him about the funeral. And, when Dick got back and heard what happened from Batgirl, he'd confronted Batman in the Batcave. Batman, apparently, though he's inclined to Dick's side, punched him the face and shifted the blame.

Danny doesn't blame Dick for being angry. Not for a second. He can't really relate, but he understands.

Entering Bristol, there was a shift in the air. Outside was stuffy and smelled like money. Inside the car, however, was tense. Dick's attitude shifted to his work smile. It was plastic.

This was going to be a long day.

He didn't say anything. Quietly, Danny messaged Tim, letting him know about the shift. Tim was quick to respond, letting Danny know that he was fully prepared for whatever was coming. Danny didn't think he was.

Danny knew that something was going to happen. The air was suddenly suffocating, the world fake manufactured to perfection.

"You alright there, bud?" Dick asked, his voice perfectly professional.

"Yeah, fine. I-I'm fine." Danny wanted this car to turn around.

Part 10 Part 12

[reiderwriter]

This request is inspired by the season 1 finale when Elle and Morgan are on that tropical vacation:) could you do something where the team is somewhere like that for a case and after it’s closed they decide to stay another night and go to a club and the reader gets Spencer to dance with her and at first he’s really awkward but then they really get into it (can end however you want:))

A/N: I took this idea and RAN. When I tell you I was sitting furiously the entire way through this, I mean it 😭 thank you so much for requesting! 🥰

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, semi-public sex, Munch!Spencer, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, cum play, alcohol consumption, slight masturbation (m).

The sun was bright and hot in Jamaica. You'd landed a week ago for a case which had now wrapped and were enjoying the cool breeze from the sea and the hospitality of Derek Morgan’s hotel-resort-owning friend. 

Travelling internationally was always a little bit tougher than working on the domestic cases, but the international team was spread thin, and somehow, no case had landed on your desk until this one did. Graciously, the FBI had let you have another 24 hours before your return. 

You'd spent the day stretching out in the sun, an incredibly large beach umbrella set up beside you housing Spencer Reid who had let you know early into the trip that he burned easily. 

“All I'm saying is, I've read enough papers on skin cancer to know the sun is a deadly laser.” 

“A twenty minute game of beach volleyball isn't going to kill you, kid. Come on, these ladies are waiting, and I will leave your ass here.” 

“Stop bothering him, Derek,” you defended Spencer, partly because Derek was casting a shadow across you and cutting off your sun, and partly because you didn't want to acknowledge the pit of jealousy bubbling up in your body when the women threw themselves at Spencer. “Besides, do you really want Spencer on your team for a physical sport?” 

“Y/N has a point, listen to Y/N,” Spencer whined, nodding profusely at your words. 

Derek held his hands up in defeat and walked away, wondering how long it would take the two of you to sort whatever attachment issues you had out. 

When the sun had eventually retreated, and you'd pulled the beach dress you'd bought earlier that day back on, Spencer was still at your side. 

“You know, I think you caught some sun, Spencer,” you giggled, running a hand across his now permanently rosy cheeks and feeling their warmth. “Your cheeks are so red. It's like a grandma just pinched them and held on.” 

“I told you I could look at the sun and burn, and we've been out here all day,” he grumbled, pouting slightly. 

You beamed up at him, though. You hadn't forced Spencer out. In fact, you'd been fully prepared for him to stay inside all day reading. But when he asked you your plans at breakfast, he'd asked to join you, and you hadn't protested in the slightest. 

Walking slowly back to the main part of your resort, you softly hummed the music that travelled from the outdoor beach bar. The music had been constant throughout the day, and you swayed your hips in time to the music as you walked. 

“Y/N…” Spencer started, a few paces behind you. You turned to look at him. His usual wardrobe wasn't exactly the most beach friendly attire, so you'd hunted down a pair of board shorts and a short sleeve button down when you'd bought your dress that morning. You thought they'd hang awkwardly off him, but he filled them out surprisingly well. As he spoke, though, you found yourself unconsciously moving forward to straighten a wrinkle in his shirt.

 “I think Rossi, Hotch, and Prentiss mentioned they were going to get drinks in the bar this evening. Do you want to go, too?” 

Your hand stilled on his chest, and you looked up at him. It was golden hour, and the sun had halo'd him perfectly in its dying rays, showing off its beauty one last time. 

You had to recapture the breath you'd hiccuped out when he'd held your gaze, willing your heartbeat to stay somewhat normal. 

“Oh, great! That sounds like fun, I was just thinking about how I wanted to dance.”

“I know,” he whispered softly as you turned away cheerfully. You almost didn't hear it, and though you desperately wanted to turn around and ask him why, you continued ahead toward the twinkling lights of the bar. 

Three hours later, you were in your cups. You'd worked hard on your case throughout the week, and now it was time for distraction. 

Besides, you knew that sun and alcohol weren't always the best pairing, so you'd stayed hydrated on the beach. Now the sun had gracefully set, you were happy to enjoy a glass or two of your liquid joy. 

Pulling Spencer Reid onto the dance floor in front of all your coworkers was just another symptom of your piña colada buzz, and he followed you with a small hesitation and a small laugh of protest. 

“Y/N, I can't dance.” 

“Shhhhhh, you don't have to dance, you just have to sway. Just sway.” 

“By my definition, swaying is dancing.” 

You rolled your eyes at him but pulled his hands around your waist always. Your coordination faltered, though, and you landed awkwardly high on your body. Without a care in the world for the trail of fire you were igniting down your back, you slid his hands lower, until his hands were sat nearer to your ass than your hips, and you stepped in. 

With his arms in position, you threw your own around his neck, and absent mindedly began playing with the curls at the base of his neck. 

“Now sway, Spencer.” 

His eyes locked with yours, and he obliged. Your chest had pressed up against his after all, your bodies practically flush, and now that you were moving in time to the music, it was inevitable that he should, too. 

Time travelled quickly as you stood in the glow of each other, laughing and joking about each clumsy step, each bump from other dancers. Your coworkers had each come up to wave a quick goodbye through the night, but you were still there. Still swaying. 

You were sure that his hands had travelled the length of your body, the heat that burned you from inside out having filled your body a millenia ago. 

He'd spun you out a couple times, and you'd giggled in delight at the motion, letting your dress raise and spin in the breeze, and returning to a closer position than before, more intimate somehow each time. 

The two of you were so lost in each other that by the time the DJ was shutting his system down, you hadn't even realised the music had stopped. You were now simply swaying along to the sound of the waves crashing in and out. 

“Y/N,” he finally whispered into your ear as the sun again began to show its head. “Y/N, the sun is coming up.” 

“I know. I think…. I think I don't want to let you go just yet, though.” You kept moving together in that silence for a few more minutes, but now your eyes were locked. 

It wasn't a surprise when his lips touched your own. After all, you'd seen them coming. But the jolt of electricity it sent up your spine stole your breath anyway. 

You opened your mouth to take in some air, and he saw that as welcoming. His tongue tangled with yours as his hand lifted to tip your head back, his back already bent slightly to accommodate your height difference. 

His guiding hand wasn't enough, though, he was still not close enough. 

You subtly lifted your leg and his hand instantly dropped to your thighs, hauling you up into his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“Our flight is in six hours,” you panted as his lips left yours, suddenly sober again. “We should get some rest.” 

He nodded in agreement, but he was already walking back to your rooms. You each had your own, but he hadn't relinquished his hold on you yet, and you knew he wasn't going to. 

Good, you thought, because logic be damned but you weren't planning on letting him. 

He carried you like that all the way to his door, as you pressed chaste kisses across his face, head, ears, hair, anywhere you could reach on his body. Places you appreciated because they were beautiful and lovely. 

You longed to kiss everywhere else, too. 

“Y/N, we're here.” He said, meeting your eyes once more. There was an unspoken question there. An invitation to leave if you didn't want this. 

Your answer was a hand in his hair and hips pressed back against his. It was all he needed as he blindly pushed into the room. 

You thought he'd throw you down on the bed, but he was much too gentle for that. 

Instead, he sat himself down, taking care to make sure you were comfortable even as his tongue twisted and writhed against your own. 

With this new position, you could try to relieve some of the tension that had been burning in your body since you'd first pulled his hands to you. Your hips moved in slow circles, pressing down into the now obvious bulge in his pants, picking up speed with each caress of his hand. 

He'd pushed under the hem of your dress, his hands on your bare thighs gripping you tightly as you used his body to get off. 

You both moaned and whined through each wet kiss, the gentleness of your earlier encounters chaste in comparison with the animalistic need pulsing through yourself. 

You nearly growled when he lifted your hips again, but you let him continue his motions as he lay back, guiding your hips higher and higher until you straddled his face. 

“Shit, Spencer-” You lost the words as his fingers pulled the two ties holding your bikini bottoms in place, effectively discarding them and leaving you bare. You gasped as you held yourself above him, but he was strong and insistent.

Wrapping one hand around each of your splayed thighs, he pulled your core to his mouth and began to pleasure you. Your hands jolted to the headboard so you could steady yourself. 

Your dress still remained, spread across the bed and obscuring his face from view as he flicked his tongue against your clit, like a flower decorating the Emerald green sheets of the bed. 

“Spencer, fuck,” his hold on your thighs loosened now that he knee you weren't going anywhere, one hand sliding down to his own neglected cock. 

The looser grip meant you could move, just slightly, and so you began to ride his face. 

You moved your hips back and forth as he flattened out his tongue, and you heard the music that had carried you into the night start up again. 

Your moans were melodic, a tribute to your lust for him, an offering made to show him how truly desired he was. 

You came with a shudder, the full weight of your body falling down onto his tongue, but he didn't stop. 

His tongue started moving again now your hips had twitched to a stop, prolonging your orgasm by an eternity. 

You finally rose up on your knees when you felt a second orgasm begin to build, craving something different this time. 

He didn't come out from under your dress so much as rip the thing off of both of you. 

You'd already rid yourself of your bikini top earlier in the dar, so you sat bare above him as he pulled you again into his lap, his cock now free from his pants. 

Your lips came together again as you hovered over him, his length running through your folds, readying himself for the sweet moment he'd finally be inside you. 

“You taste sweet,” he said before you sucked on his tongue, desperate to taste your joint lust. 

The music played once again as he pulled your hips lower down and sheathed himself inside you, but louder, a crescendo of perfectly resonant notes sounding one after the other. 

You were too lost in it to be any help to him, and he kissed away your fatigue as he lowered you to the bed, gently placing your head on the pillow and smoothing the hair out of your face before pulling out until only the tip of his cock was inside you and again pushing in. 

His rhythm was steady, pulsing through your entire body. You felt the pleasure of his body inside you everywhere as his lips returned to your ear. 

You thought he would talk and say something again, but his teeth found you instead, his to gue licking the spot where your neck met your lobe before he gently nipped the side of your ear. 

He couldn't talk, but he didn't hold back any moans. 

Your whimpers, his groans, the steady rhythm of your hips meeting and pulling apart, the sound of your arousal slick between your legs, all joined together in a symphony of love as your hearts sang to one another. 

“Y/N,” he finally moaned, and hearing your name on his lips like a prayer was enough to send you over the edge. 

“Spencer! I'm cumming again, Spencer. Please don't stop-” You begged even as your body tensed up beneath him. 

He continued that rhythm, not letting your music end until it was absolutely necessary. 

But as the sun shone through the curtains again, you knew you were reaching the end of this song. 

“Where should-” he couldn't form the full question, elbows holding his weight off of you as he held back the full force of his orgasm. 

“P-Pull out,’ you whispered, and he did. 

It took him only a few strokes to find completion on your stomach. He sat back on his knees, mindful not to press his weight back down upon you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and grabbed at him anyway, needing to feel his lips on yours one more time. 

You wondered if your entire life would now be the moments in between his kisses. 

“Y/N, our flight is in 5 hours.” 

“We can sleep on the jet. We can't do this on the jet,” you said pulling his head back down for a kiss as you heard the music start up once again.