#I've never watched Criminal Minds by the way

[shadowcats4]

Just look at Oskar here. Look at him slaying.

And the way he looks at Max when he sits down because that's where Charlotte and her lover would have sat..

[evilwickedme]

Can I ask why you're watching Criminal Minds?

Oh yeah cause I want to

[natsaffection]

heyy this is my first time making a request and idk if it's okay but what if reader is like an anti-hero or villian and when reader gets hurt she shoves up to Natasha's apartment thinking she would maybe help her? idk if it works but I've been thinking about something like this and it would be great if you actually write itt😭😭😭

Lines crossed. | N.R

Avenger!Natasha x AntiHero!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Gore and injurys

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: These are the stories I like the most. 🙏🏻 And I feel honored, that I can write your first ever request! 🏆

The city of New York was no stranger to chaos, but in recent months, a new shadow had begun to loom over its streets. This shadow was not the kind of evil the Avengers were used to dealing with..This was different. And this, was you, a name whispered in fear among the criminal underworld, a vigilante with a taste for vengeance and a history stained with blood.

You had risen to the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted list, a place usually reserved for supervillains and global threats. Your methods were brutal and unyielding, your sense of justice unwavering. To some, you were a hero. To others, a menace. But to the Avengers, you were a problem that needed solving.

“Another one,” Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, murmured as she stood over the lifeless body of a notorious gang leader, his blood pooling around him in a grotesque halo. “It’s her again.”

Clint joined her, shaking his head. “She’s getting bolder. This is the third one this week.” Natasha's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the familiar hallmarks of your handiwork. The precision, the brutality, the unmistakable sense of finality. "She’s not hiding anymore. She wants us to know it’s her."

Nick Fury appeared behind them, his expression unreadable as ever. "We need to bring her in. She's crossed too many lines, and now the media's starting to pick up on it. The last thing we need is a vigilante making us look incompetent."

Natasha nodded, her mind already running through the many encounters she’d had with you. Each one had been a battle of wills, fists, and wits. You were good, damn good. But Natasha was determined to be better.

You wiped the blood from your hands, your breathing steadying as you looked at the man you'd just eliminated. He had been a monster, a predator preying on the weak and innocent. You felt no remorse. In your eyes, justice had been served.

You knew the Avengers were close. You could feel their presence like a storm on the horizon. Especially Natasha. Your fights had become a dance of sorts, each trying to outmaneuver the other, each knowing that one day it would come down to a final, decisive confrontation.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced at the message: another target, another mission. Your work was never done.

Back at the Avengers' headquarters, the team gathered around a holographic display of the city, pinpointing the locations of your recent activities. "We need to be strategic," Steve said, his voice calm but firm. "She’s not just any criminal. She’s trained, skilled, and she's got a mission."

Natasha’s eyes never left the display. She knew you better than most. She understood your motivations, your drive. And she knew that stopping you would require more than just brute force.

"It’s personal for her," Natasha said quietly. "And if we’re going to bring her in, we need to understand why she’s doing this." The team nodded, each member resolving to bring an end to your bloody crusade. But for Natasha, it was more than just another mission. It was a challenge, a test of her skills and resolve.

You moved through the city like a ghost, your mind focused on the task at hand. You knew the Avengers were watching, waiting. You relished the challenge. Each encounter with Natasha had pushed you to be better, sharper.

But you also knew that the game couldn’t go on forever. One day, it would come to an end. One way or another.As you prepared for your next mission, you couldn't help but wonder: when that day came, who would be the one standing? You or Natasha?

The city was alive with the sounds of sirens and distant traffic, but your focus was razor-sharp. You moved through the shadows, your target's location clear in your mind. You knew the Avengers were closing in, but you thrived on the edge, where danger and adrenaline fused into one intoxicating rush.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your target, a corrupt businessman with ties to multiple criminal organizations. You slipped past his security with ease, your movements precise and silent. As you stood over him, your eyes cold and unyielding, you knew this would send another message to the underworld and the Avengers alike.

Just as you were about to strike, the window shattered, and Natash swung in, landing gracefully on her feet, guns drawn. "Y/n, this ends now," Natasha said, her voice a mix of resolve and urgency. You smirked, stepping back to assess the new threat. "You always know how to make an entrance, Romanoff."

The two of you circled each other, the tension thick in the air. You made the first move, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. Natasha countered, your fists and feet a blur of motion. Each move was calculated, each strike intended to find a weakness.

The fight spilled into the hall, your movements fluid and fierce. You were relentless, your skills honed by years of training and combat. But Natasha was no less formidable, her experience and agility a match for your raw power.

In a desperate bid to escape, you knocked over a set of shelves, creating a momentary barrier. You dashed down the corridor, but your path was blocked by Steve. "Going somewhere?" Steve asked, raising his shield.

You didn’t hesitate. You launched yourself at him, your attacks relentless. Steve defended himself with his shield, but your sheer ferocity pushed him back. You knew you had to move fast. Every second counted.

A blast of energy struck the ground near you, and you turned to see Tony Stark hovering in his Iron Man suit. "You’re surrounded. Give it up."

With a quick glance, you calculated your options. You grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, using it to create a cloud of smoke. In the confusion, you darted through a side door, your escape route planned to the last detail.

In the aftermath, the Avengers regrouped, frustration evident in their expressions. "She’s good," Clint said, rubbing his bruised arm. "We almost had her."

"Almost isn’t good enough," Tony replied, scanning the area for any sign of you. "She’s always one step ahead." Natasha looked at the ground, her mind replaying the fight. She admired your tenacity and skill, but she also knew that each encounter brought them closer to a dangerous tipping point.

"We need to change our approach," Natasha said. "She’s playing a game of survival. We need to make her see that we’re not the enemy." Steve nodded. "Agreed. We need to understand her motivations. If we can reach her, maybe we can end this without more bloodshed."

Weeks turned into months, and the chase between you and Natasha became legendary among the Avengers. Your reputation as a formidable adversary was solidified, but so was Natasha's determination to bring you in. Every encounter became a game of wits and skill, a deadly dance with an undercurrent of something more.

One night, Natasha found herself on a stakeout at a high-end nightclub. Her sources had tipped her off about a major criminal deal going down. She knew you would be there, drawn to the opportunity like a moth to a flame. Natasha blended into the crowd, her eyes scanning for any sign of her elusive target.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. "Looking for someone?" your familiar, flirty voice whispered in her ear. Natasha spun around to find you, dressed to kill and wearing a mischievous grin.

"Yes, you." Natasha said, her voice steady despite the surprise. "You're getting bold." You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you're getting predictable, Romanoff. I knew you'd be here."

Natasha moved closer, lowering her voice. "This ends tonight. You're coming with me." You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Are you asking me out on a date, or is this another one of your attempts to arrest me?"

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "Depends on how you look at it." Before Natasha could react, you leaned in, your lips brushing Natasha's ear as you whispered, "Catch me if you can." Then, with a swift movement, you disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha's heart raced as she pursued you through the crowded club. The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and she couldn't deny the electric connection between you. You were always one step ahead, leaving clues and taunts that kept Natasha on her toes.

The chase led them to the club's rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. You stood at the edge, the wind whipping through your hair. Natasha approached slowly, her eyes locked on you.

"You can't keep running forever.“ Natasha said, her voice a mix of determination and something softer. You turned to face her, your expression unreadable. "I'm not running, Natasha. I'm fighting. Just like you."

Natasha took a step closer, her heart pounding. "We don't have to be enemies, Y/n.. Let us help you." Your gaze softened, and for a moment, Natasha saw the vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. "You don't understand. I've crossed too many lines. There's no going back for me."

Natasha reached out, her hand brushing your arm. "It's never too late to make a different choice. You can Trust me.“ You looked at Natasha, your eyes searching for something. Then, with a sigh, you pulled away. "Maybe in another life, Romanoff."

Before Natasha could react, you leaped off the rooftop, landing gracefully on a fire escape below. Natasha rushed to the edge, but you were already disappearing into the night.

—

One fateful evening, you found yourself cornered by a gang of criminals. You fought valiantly, but the numbers were overwhelming. By the time the dust settled, you were grievously wounded. Blood soaked your clothes, and every step sent waves of agony through your body.

Desperation set in as you stumbled through the dark alleys. You knew going to a hospital was out of the question. The police would arrest you on sight, and SHIELD agents were everywhere. You tried to treat your wounds in an abandoned building, using whatever you could find. With shaking hands, you attempted to stitch a deep gash on your side, but the pain was too intense and your vision blurred.

Realizing the severity of your injuries and your inability to treat them alone, you remembered, „You can Trust me.“ You had placed a small tracking device on Natasha’s shoe during one of your fights, anticipating you might need to find her someday.

The rain pelted the city in relentless sheets, washing away the grime of the day. You stood in front of Natasha's apartment door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You leaned heavily against the frame, your vision swimming. Despite the pain, you forced a playful smile onto your lips. You had to get inside. You had to see Natasha.

With a trembling hand, you knocked on the door. It felt like an eternity before it finally swung open. Natasha stood there, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"How did you find me?" Natasha asked, her voice cold. You tried to straighten up, wincing as you did. "Miss me already, Romanoff?" you said, your voice weak but carrying a hint of flirtation. "Couldn't stay away.."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. Why are you here?" Ignoring the question, you leaned against the doorframe, your legs barely holding you up. "Thought I'd drop by... see your lovely face," you managed, your vision beginning to darken around the edges.

Natasha's patience snapped. She grabbed her phone, her fingers quickly dialing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s number. "Enough with the games. I'm done with this."

Your heart sank, your body swaying. You tried to take a step forward but stumbled, your strength failing. You collapsed into Natasha, who caught you out of reflex. As your full weight pressed against her, Natasha's eyes widened in horror. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and sticky, covering Natasha's hands.

"Oh my God.." Natasha whispered, her phone slipping from her fingers as she cradled your limp body. "Y/n, what happened??" Your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Guess I... pushed it too far this time..“ you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Natasha quickly assessed the situation, her mind racing. "We need to get you inside.“ she said, her tone urgent. She half-carried, half-dragged you into the apartment, laying you on the couch. Blood pooled on the floor, and Natasha's hands shook as she grabbed her first aid kit.

"Stay with me, Y/n," Natasha urged, tearing open your shirt to reveal a deep, gaping wound along your side. The sight of old scars crisscrossing your chest made Natasha's heart clench. "God, what did you do?!“

She worked quickly, her training kicking in. She poured antiseptic over the wound, her hands moving with practiced precision. Your body trembled with pain, your fingers digging into the couch. "God, that burns," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Natasha, it h-hurts..“

"I know it does," Natasha said, her voice softening. "But I need you to stay with me. I don't have any narcotics, so this is going to be rough."

Your eyes were glazed with pain, your breathing shallow. "Just do it…" you managed to say. Natasha threaded a needle, her fingers slick with blood. She began to stitch the largest wound, her focus intense. Your body shook with each stitch, your teeth clenched to hold back screams. The raw pain was almost unbearable, and low moans of agony escaped your lips despite your best efforts.

"You're doing great," Natasha said, her own voice trembling. "Just a few more." Your fingers clawed at the couch, your knuckles white. "Natasha... please, hurry," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Natasha's heart ached at the sight of your suffering. "I'm almost done," she said, her tone soothing. "Just hold on a little longer."

Your eyes fluttered, your strength fading fast. "Sorry... for your couch...and for everything," you whispered, tears mixing with the blood on your face. "I never wanted it to be like this.."

Natasha's eyes were full with understanding. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I need you to hold on." She finished the stitches, then bandaged the wounds as best she could. Your body relaxed slightly, your breathing still labored but more steady.

"It's done," Natasha said, sitting back and wiping her forehead. "You're going to be okay." Your eyes closed, exhaustion overtaking you. Natasha grabbed a blanket and covered you, then sat beside you, holding your hand gently. "I'm here," Natasha whispered. "You're safe now. Rest and we’re sorting everything tomorrow out, okay?"

You whimpered softly, your body shaking from the pain and the cold. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her expression tender. "I never thought I'd see you like this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on Natasha with difficulty. "Guess... I can't always be the strong one.“ you murmured, a weak smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's heart tightened. "You don't have to be strong all the time," she said softly. "It's okay to let someone help you." You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting closed again. "Thank you, Natasha.“ you whispered.

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, "You're going to be alright," she said, her voice filled with determination. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As she sat there, watching over you, Natasha knew that this was a turning point. You had come to her for help, and that meant there was still hope. She would find a way to bring you back from the edge, no matter what it took.

Part 2

[reiderwriter]

Unhappy Holidays

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).

Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).

Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆

Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.

Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.

If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.

It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.

Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.

A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.

He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.

Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.

The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.

“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”

“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”

“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”

You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.

He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.

Your resentment still burned though.

Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.

You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.

The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.

After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.

You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.

In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.

The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.

Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.

“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.

“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.

“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”

“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”

He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.

The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.

Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.

Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.

Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.

It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.

You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.

“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.

Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.

A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.

As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.

Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.

You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.

By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.

Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.

The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.

Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.

“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.

So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.

With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.

“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.

“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”

“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.

But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.

“You're sure he won't be there?”

“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”

“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”

“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

–X–

Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.

You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.

“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.

“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.

“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.

“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.

“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”

You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.

“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”

“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.

“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.

“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”

You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.

“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.

Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.

“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.

“I was invited.”

“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”

“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.

You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.

“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.

“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.

“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.

Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.

“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”

“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.

“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”

“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.

“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.

“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”

“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”

“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”

He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.

“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.

“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.

You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.

His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.

He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.

He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.

“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”

“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”

“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.

“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.

“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”

Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.

He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.

“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.

“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.

“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.

It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.

He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.

“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”

“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.

He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Liar.”

His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.

“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.

There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.

You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.

It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.

“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.

“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.

“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”

You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.

You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.

Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.

You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.

You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.

It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.

“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.

“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.

Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.

“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.

“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.

“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.

He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.

“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”

He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.

The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.

His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.

The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.

“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.

“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”

“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”

“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”

He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.

“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”

“Fuck. Why?”

“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”

You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.

He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.

“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”

“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”

“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.

“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.

“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”

“You just know how to piss them off?”

“Morgan says it comes naturally.”

“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”

A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.

“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.

“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”

“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.

“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.

“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”

He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.

“Oh my god you're an idiot.”

“When you're around, yes.”

“And that means I'm equally stupid.”

“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.

“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”

“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”

He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.

[astrophileous]

Derek giggling when Bug starts to waddle due to pregnancy 🤭 she doesn’t find it funny or endearing at all but he literally cannot stop watching her. He tells the team about it too and they just.. kinda smile and nod because they’re just happy that he is.

Somewhat a continuation of this other Love Bugs blurb. Thanks for the request love! (and apologies for the delay because I've been very focused on The Countdown lately)

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Spencer stretched his back at the mysterious and unfamiliar sound. Next to him, JJ's eyes squinted in concentration.

"You hear that, too?" JJ mumured as she studied her surroundings, trying to pinpoint where exactly the sound was originating from.

Spencer nodded in confusion. "Who the hell—"

The question died in his throat when his eyes finally landed on the figure sitting across the room.

"No way." Spencer's elbow jabbed JJ's side, snatching her attention. "It's Morgan."

"Morgan? Derek Morgan?" JJ craned her neck to see around the partitions that blocked her direct line of sight. "What is he—don't tell me. Is he... is he giggling?"

As if confirming the ridiculous notion, Derek proceeded to cover his mouth and broke into, not laughter and not even a chuckle, but a series of giggles that made his broad shoulders shook. JJ and Spencer exchanged an incredulous look before they meandered sneakily towards him.

"Someone's happy," JJ quipped as she leaned back against the conference table, right next to where Derek was sitting.

The man in question looked up at the sudden interruption.

"What are you even watching in there?" Spencer asked curiously, trying to take a peek at the screen of Derek's phone that the latter man had been grinning at for the past few minutes.

Instead of tilting his phone away, Derek unexpectedly faced the screen towards his two coworkers instead, giving them an unobstructed view of what appeared to be a video of you.

"Penelope sent it to me." Derek grinned before pressing replay. "She waddles."

The video started playing then, showing a footage of you walking like a penguin as you struggled to carry the various snacks inside your arms. You looked up to the camera at the sound of Penelope's laughter, your face twisting into a pout when you noticed that it was pointed towards you.

"Peennn," you whined childishly. "Are you filming for him again?"

"He said he wants to see one where you waddle, Beets."

The scowl you were wearing was clearly visible through the screen. "Tell him to stop. It's not cute."

"I don't know." Penelope hummed. "It's pretty damn adorable from where I'm sitting."

The video ceased to black after that, and Derek retracted the device without ever wiping the smile off his face.

"You've been watching this for the past ten minutes?" Spencer questioned.

"Yeah."

The younger man looked as if he had something else to say, but he never got the chance to, as Derek was quick to immerse himself back in the video and watching it so earnestly as if it was the greatest movie in the history of mankind. Spencer and JJ shared a look before making themselves scarce. It was definitely weird seeing Derek act this way, but they didn't mind it one bit if it implied Derek's unadulterated happiness and your guaranteed safety.

For the rest of their stay in Louisville, Kentucky, the BAU became witness to Derek's blooming glee as it incessantly doubled in size with every video Penelope sent his way. More often than not, he'd let the team watch the videos as well. After all, they had also been missing your presence in their midst since you began your maternity leave, and every single one of them couldn't wait to finally welcome your baby boy into the world when the time finally came.

Derek was buzzing with excitement the moment they boarded the jet, impatiently counting down the minutes until he would see you again as the jet started its ascend. An hour before they were supposed to land, his phone began to ring in his pocket, flashing with the affectionate contact name that he had assigned for the team's tech analyst.

"Yeah, babygirl? What?" The sudden raising of his voice caught the attention of everyone on the jet. They watched from their respective seat as Derek sat up straight, running a frantic hand over his face. "Okay. Yeah? And how is she? That's good. Alright, thanks for calling. Keep me posted."

The call ended after that, and Derek, uncharacteristically, proceeded to sit in silence for the following minute as if he had been frozen in time.

"Everything okay?" Rossi asked, voicing the question that was circling everyone's mind.

"That was Penelope. It's (Y/N)." The atmosphere shifted. "She's going into labor."

[spidernuggets]

Reader being Jason's girlfriend, who doesn't know about their double life, casually blurting out that she was never a fan of Batman and Robin or that she prefers Superman and the whole family is offended. 😭

love your writing, btw<3

-🪩

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

"No, no, you're right, babe. Superman tops Batman for sure."

"Ah, Ms. Y/n, pleasure to see you," Alfred opens the door to see you patiently waiting with a smile.

"Hey, Alfie! Is Jay home? He asked me to hang out with him today."

"He's in the living room with the rest of the family. Come in, come in," he steos to the side, giving you to room to enter.

"Oh, yeah!" You exclaimed, reaching into your bag. "I did that cookie recipe you gave me! They're not as good as yours, but they're sure better than the cookies I've made before. D'you mind taste testing for me?" You ask, handing over a tupperware full of cookies.

"I thank you for the charming remark, Ms. Y/n. I'm sure your cookies are as excellent." He says, taking a bite from a cookie.

"Nah, now you're just being too modest, Alfie," you laugh as he does too.

"Well, this is a marvellous improvement, Ms. Y/n," Alfred says, happily taking another one. "Come on now, let's go join the others."

The two of you walk towards the living room and see everyone there.

"Y/n!!" Stephanie shouts, running over to you, embracing you in a tight hug. "Ugh, it felt like forever since I've seen you! How are you 'nd Jason? Is he being an asshole like always?" She snickers.

You laugh, and before you can reply, Jason is already pushing Stephanie out of the way.

"Don't answer that, N/n. Steph, go away," he grumbles, soon putting on a smile once he stands right in front of you. "Hey, mama," he muttered, pulling you in by the waist, placing a kiss on your forhead.

You giggled at the contact. "Hey, Jay," you kissed his chin. "Hi, Bruce!" You look over Jason's shoulder, wavung to Bruce, who was sat on the armchair, looking through the newspaper.

"Y/n, always a pleasure," he says before going back to reading.

Jason takes your hand and guides you to the couch, making you sit on his lap. "Sorry I couldn't go out for our date today, sugar. Someone wouldn't let me leave," he emphasised, glaring at Bruce.

"It's scarce that everyone is here at once, Master Jason. It's a good opportunity for bonding." Alfred says behind him.

You kiss his cheek, which makes his heart race. "It's okay, Jay. It's nice hangin' out with you and your family."

"Yeah, kick his ass!" Steph shouts at the TV.

Last night's news was playing, showing footage of Batman and Robin, and their alliances, taking out some of Gotham's frequent villains and criminals.

"Do you guys always watch the news?" You asked, curious that they aren't watching something more entertaining.

You didn't notice it, but the whole family seemed to hesitate by your question.

"The news is a suitable way of keeping us informed of Gotham's latest activities. Just in case there are needs of safety plans for us," Damian says, sitting on the chair beside you, petting Titus.

"Plus, it's good to see Batman and Robin in action. Just in case there's anything they need to improve on." Bruce mutters that last statement, sending a sharo glare towards Damian, who, last night, didn't follow direct orders and backfired a section of the mission.

Damian ignored this statement and kept focusing on Titus.

You rested your head on Jason's shoulder. "Mm. I was never really a fan of Batman and Robin."

The whole room freezes, leaving the news to continue playing, and all heads turn towards you. The sudden attention had you tensed up.

"What?" You quietly ask.

"Batman and Robin are always keeping the streets clear of crime. How can you not like them?" Damian asks with a scowl on his face.

"I don't don't like them. They just don't pique my interest." You shrugged.

"Well what about their alliances," Tim asked. "Red Robin? Spoiler? Orphan? Red Hood?"

The questioning about Red Hood had Jason's full attention on you now.

"I dunno, I guess I prefer Red Hood. He's pretty cool," your unsure opinion had Jason mentally punching the air in victory.

"But.. to be honest, I kinda like Superman over all the superheroes," you smiled.

It was the calm before the storm. You didn't think a little opinion could've caused such a ruckus.

Even Bruce looked away from the newspaper annoyed.

"Why Superman? He's only so great because he has superpowers. Batman has no superpowers and can still put so many behind bars!" Bruce exclaimed.

Subtle. Jason thought.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know that you guys like these superheroes so much!" You said, almost scared that you somehow offended the family.

Jason then kisses your temple. "No, no, you're right, babe. Superman tops Batman for sure," Jason says, narrowing his eyes and sending a snarky grin towards Bruce, which, in response, he rolls his eyes and backs away from the conversation, going back to his newspaper.

"Did I say something wrong?" You quietly ask Jason as the other begin yelling at each other about which Batman ally is better.

Jason smiles, caressing your soft face with his rougher, calloused thumb. "Nah, don't worry, sweet thing. They're just mega Batman fans."

"What about you? Who's your fave?" You ask.

"Red Hood, hands down." He immediately replies.

You nod, thinking for a moment. "Okay. I wanna see more of Red Hood then. He'll be my favourite too." You say.

Jason thinks his heart just exploded. He shifts his right arms under your legs, his other supporting your back as he lifts you up, followed by a yelp coming from you.

"Get ready, babe. You're about to absolutely love Red Hood," he says, carrying you to his room, ready to go on a 5 hour lecture about Red Hood and why he's Gotham's greatest hero.

[killerlookz]

Hello my fellow Criminal Minds fan! 😊

May I please request headcanons for Spencer falling for a female agent who’s cynical about love and relationships due to being hurt in the past?

a/n: thank you sm for the request! i'd be happy to write this for you! :-)

Falling in Love Again | Spencer Reid Headcannons

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

content: mentions of reader having been cheated on in the past, uhhhh that's really it haha

word count: 1,478 (sorry she's so long)

Spencer Reid had always been excited about falling in love, the thought of being so close to another person- to share so much with someone was such a wonderful thing to him.

Especially after watching his mom and dad growing up, and the way his father treated her-Spencer was dead set on never becoming anything like him, he looked forward to treating a woman right and spending the rest of his life with her.

But, for as excited as he was he was probably 20 times more nervous about the whole falling in love thing.

So when you came around, and he started to experience that warm, creeping feeling in his chest- he felt a little bit like his world was going to end.

Spencer had never made a move on anyone before, sure he did make out with Lila Archer that one time but he didn't exactly initiate it.

Spencer decided just to channel all of his romantic interest in becoming friends with you, at least he got to spend time with you, that's what really mattered to him. Maybe one day it would turn into something more.

Well.. he hoped until he couldn't help but overhear...

"I went on my first date in months last night, and all this guy did was talk about himself the entire time- didn't let me get a word out, I mean, can you believe it?" Emily says, exasperated

You look up at her as she stands in front of your desk, "Oh, trust me Emily, I can believe it." You shake your head

"I mean," She throws her hands up, "What is it with men? What's wrong with them."

"Everything," You smirk, "They're men. I can't remember I had a good experience with one of them- never maybe?" You laugh. "I've given up on dating."

Your words sunk into Spencer's brain, leaving him with a heavy feeling all around he felt awful- not just about the fact that his chances with you seemed to reduce to zero right there in that moment, but because of how upset you seemed under your sarcastic exterior, he could tell you'd really been hurt before.

A few weeks later you're out for drinks with Emily, Penelope, Morgan, Spencer, and JJ. Amidst the loud, drunken conversations and music at the bar- you can hear the faint chiming sounds of your ring tone, Who would be calling this late?

As you take your phone from your pocket, your stomach drops when you see the number flashing on the screen. The mere sight of those 10 digits making you want to throw your phone to the ground and stomp on it until nothing remains.

"Ooooh, who's that calling." Morgan smirks

You look him dead in the eyes and respond flatly, "My ex."

Morgan's smile doesn't fade instead his smirk seems to deepen, "You two got a little thang goin on?"

"No," You shove your phone back in your pocket, "More like he's trying to get back in my pants after cheating on me- twice."

"Ooh!" Morgan responds, wincing, "So he's a dog."

"A pig is more like it." You scoff, "Who does he think he is. I can't even imagine giving my time to another man again, and even if I could- what makes him so confident I'd give him the time of day."

That familiar heavy pain hits Spencer again.

He's staring at you, and it's like the rest of the bar doesn't even exist. Only you, as you bite your lip, trying to hide any emotion in your face.

Spencer has become good at reading your emotions, maybe it's because he spends so much time with you- maybe it's because of how often he finds himself staring at your face. As much as you try to seem nonchalant, he could tell how upset you are.

Spencer would spend more time than he wanted to admit fantasizing about treating you well, about giving you the love you never seemed to have.

Every time you made a snarky comment about love, or how men had treated you in the past Spencer would want so desperately bad to just tell you about how well he would treat you, how he would never ever hurt you, how he would spend his entire life taking care of you.

The words were practically scratching up his throat, begging to be let out. But still, he would just swallow them down, and give you a sympathetic look, he couldn't muster up being able to do anything more.

At the very least, Spencer's plan of becoming friends with you was working.

The two of you would become very good friends.

Spencer would learn everything he could about you, he would want to know as much as possible.

Not in a weird creepy way- but in a he just thinks you're so amazing he can't get enough of you sort of way.

Every time you and Spencer hung out he wouldn't be able to ignore that nagging feeling, the thought of putting an arm around you and pulling you close, of holding your hand in his, or placing a delicate kiss on your cheek.

The thoughts would eat away at Spencer, and he would only fall more, and more in love with you.

Still, he would lose more hope every time you divulged information about your prior encounters with love. He couldn't blame you for feeling so cynical it, not after what you'd been through.

Spencer would think about his mom, about all the wives Rossi had been through, about Hotch and Hailey, about you- he would wonder why love had to be so painful for some people. He was sure he would never hurt somebody he loved.

One day you're over Spencer's apartment, watching a rom-com, and you make a snide remark, "Oh, real love isn't like that." You scoff and roll your eyes.

Spencer doesn't know what it is, but something in him makes him respond, "It could be." He says meekly

You look up at him, caught off guard at his disagreement, "Hm?" you hum

Spencer wasn't able to take it any more, he hated hearing your cynical nature. He would need you to know how you deserved the entire world.

"Love- It can be like the movies." He affirms his stance.

"Not in my experience."

"I would give you love like that." Spencer would tremble as he makes his confession, so unsure of what would happen next.

He would be terrified of your reaction, scared he was about to mess everything up, ruin any future the two of you had together, and even worse, lose your friendship.

"W-what do you mean, Spence."

"I mean, you always talk about how you've been hurt before, and it just-" He takes a deep breath in, contemplating what he's going to say next, "I love you, y/n," He looks down at his lap, then back up at you, "I would never hurt you."

Despite the obvious passion in Spencer's voice, you were still hesitant about it, but everything inside of you told you to give Spencer a chance.

Spencer would insist on taking things slow, you were his first real relationship and he wouldn't want to rush things, for both his and yours sake. He wouldn't pressure you to put a label on things, or even say you're "dating"- those would come on your own time.

Spencer was determined to make you believe in love again, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you knew without a doubt how he felt about you.

Spencer would often get to work before you to surprise you with coffee and a breakfast sandwich, or a donut on your desk in the mornings.

He would insist on having a date night at least once a week, even if the two of you were on a case, ordering room service or finding a local pizza restaurant way late at night was sufficient, as long as the two of you got to spend time together.

Spencer would be hesitant about PDA or really moving too quickly into being too affectionate, still, he would frequently hold your hand, squeezing it tight when he could tell you were stressed or upset- either by a case or by life in general, he just wanted to give you that extra reassurance that he was there for you.

Spencer would really put the work in, he'd exert more effort than you had ever seen from any past relationship into even the tiniest things.

Spencer wouldn't mind though, anything he could do to reassure you that he loves and cares about you, he would do it.

Every little act of love and gratitude would be worth it to him.

He would savor and cherish every hug, every shared glance, every peck on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips.

It was all worth it to him, every second of it- all he wanted to do was make you smile, to make you fall in love again.

[kurakisses]

⟡ ⠀rather unexpected⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ guns n' roses & you

gn reader. poly relationship later on, reader is just messing around with them here, might be not fully canon-compliant. argenthill is established.

wandering through the intricate cosmos, the knight of beauty and the cowboy met by mere chance.

they had several encounters, and exchanged ideals, words and opinions in brief conversations.

boothill was attracted to the singularity of the man.

it was unusual for the cowboy that someone would not avoid him just because he was a wanted criminal, and that he would go out of his way to praise every aspect of him.

argenti had never seen a cyborg so… beautiful. he was completely captivated by his body, every part of it and the complexity of it— it was simply spectacular.

and just as the two of them met and began a curious and unexpected relationship through these encounters, they found you during their many travels.

over and over again; you were always there, on some distant planet or star.

they knew nothing about you, beyond your voice, unique appearance and… curious ability to be everywhere at once.

it was both an ethereal and ominous feeling

why didn't boothill's bullets reach you?

why were you oblivious to argenti's voice?

you seemed to disappear in icy frost every time they tried to get close to you.

you were unconscious of how peculiar you were to both of them, and you played along with the little cat-and-mouse chase you had meticulously orchestrated. the company of these two was not bothersome, after all.

however; every symphony comes to an end and although aha's ballad danced along with you, you were exhausted after what seemed like months of empty haunting.

you were unaware then that this would be the prelude to a everlasting, gentle orchestra.

“good evening, gentlemen”

your voice was as cold as winter itself, and the hands positioned on his shoulders felt like a sharp sickle blade.

soon you would feel a gun and a spear kissing your cheeks, and a faint smile would appear on your lips.

you closed your eyes, forming crescents as you felt the spear separate with an agonized sigh.

“forgive me, i had no idea it was about you. it has never been my intention to appear hostile.”

his voice genuinely sounded distraught

in comparison to the cowboy, who was still pointing at you with a determined frown on his face.

argenti tried to convince him to greet you differently, but his words seemed to be silent to the cyborg.

you watched the interaction with amusement, grin gradually widening

“how could i trust someone who has only been giving us trouble all this time?”

you felt boothill's finger bury itself in the trigger of his gun

in a split second the shot echoed out, bullet stuck in a far wall while behind both of their backs you laughed.

you feared for a few seconds that the cyborg's action would cause you harm, but you trusted blindly in your abilities to get you out of that predicament.

you wanted to have fun with them, to prolong the interactions as a dramatic finale to a lively score. it never crossed your mind to hurt them in any way— you were as attracted to them as they were to you.

you covered your mouth with one of your hands, the cowboy's hat resting on your head as if that was its place.

although in your opinion that's where it should stay

it's not as if you didn't know the implications of that action.

“you…!” the cyborg looked dumbfounded, his companion equally surprised

“no need to resort to violence, 'hill. i've been merciful, greeting you properly, and now you want to scare me away?”

but you were a curious fool

even if they tried to get rid of you, you would continue to accompany them on their travels through the starry firmament.

argenti mentioned something about how charming it was the way you could evade them at will.

boothill seemed more annoyed by it than captivated.

and while you were listening to argenti's nice words, he kept aiming at you and making several attempts to remove the hat.

it wasn't until the knight of beauty approached his partner to give him a gentle kiss on his cheek that he stopped.

genuinely, he completely stopped

you burst out laughing at the sight of the puzzled face of the criminal, his eyes almost showing blue screens due to the suddenness of that action

you returned the hat to its owner as he remained frozen.

“if they had any intention of harming us, they would have done it by now, darling.”

argenti was right

you just wanted to get closer to them, that was all.

wasn't it?

inspo from jadestone2's roses 'n bullets for her.

part two

[letstevengrantsleep]

Speak Your Truth

Spencer Reid x f!feader

Summary: Spencer has just got out of prison, and you see him for the first time in months

Word count: 699

Warnings: fluff, implication of sexual activity if you squint

a/n: I've been watching a ridiculous amount of criminal minds recently and holy mother of god this man has had me in a choke hold

masterlist

"He's out?" You almost sob, stumbling back into your chair beside Garcia.

"This morning. He's on his way home right now, should be at his apartment soon." Penelope held out her hands for you to take,

"Oh my god... Garcia I - I don't know what to do, I-"

"Honey, if you don't get in your car right now and go see him, I'll never forgive you."

-

"Spence!" You scream, running like your life depends on it down drab corridors, hoping to catch up with Spencer and the arresting officers before they take him away.

There's nothing you can do as you reach him but try your best to take in every detail of his face, his figure, everything about him as if it's the last time you'll ever see him again.

"Spencer... I don't know what to do, what can I do?"

"You're okay, I'm okay. Make sure my mum's safe, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

Nodding, tears forming in the corers of your eyes, "yeah Spence I can do that."

There's something left unsaid between the two of you, and the officers either side of Reid are beginning to get impatient. As they begin to pull him away from you, the fear of losing him hits you like a tidal wave.

"Spence, I-"

He shakes his head knowingly, "tell me when I get out, okay?"

-

There's two things stopping you from breaking down in tears as you reach Spencer's apartment door: the loving face of his elderly neighbour passing you in the hall, and the knowledge that everything can begin to get back to normality once you see his face again.

After knocking on his door you stand shifting your weight on your feet, anxious to see the state that Spence has been left in whilst in prison. It's only a few more seconds before he opens it, immediately securing your gaze as he lets out a content sigh, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"I missed you." Is all he says as he steps back into his apartment, pulling you with him as his grip on you doesn't give.

"Oh Spence, you have no idea. We fought so hard for you, I-" you pull away to look him in the eye, hands gripping at the lapel of his jacket. No words follow, just silence as you stare at each other, the unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

"I know, I know..." his hands reach up to your face, tucking stray hair behind your ears, "me too."

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of having him back, as though nothing had ever taken him away in the first place.

Your eyes shoot back open in surprise as you feel his lips on your forehead, "Spencer..."

"I'm sorry, I just-"

You cut him off by pulling him down and crashing your lips into his, trying hard to pour every ounce of emotion you feel towards him into this one kiss, hoping it'll be enough for him to understand.

Spencer responds by wrapping his arms tight around your figure, whimpering into the kiss as it deepens.

Nothing could have prepared you for how reactive Spencer is, how he sighs at your touch and tries to pull you impossibly closer into him when you run your hands over his chest. The way he runs his hand up to gently tug at the hair at the base of your head...

It's over all too quick as he pulls away, mouth open, eyes searching your face.

"While I was in prison, I had a lot of time to think... about the things I wish I'd done, the things I could be doing..." he trails off, looking you up and down. "I can't keep pretending that we're not made for each other, baby, I can't keep pretending that I don't want you. In every way I can, any way you'll let me."

"Have me." You say, throwing caution to the wind and acting on every instinct you've got. "I'm yours, Spence."

"Oh baby," he whispers, dragging a thumb over your lips as he leans in, "I'll be so good, I promise, so good for you."

[miraclewoozi]

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader.  content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI). w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change? warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut ( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net.  )

note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass. ( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )

smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).

—————

He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday. 

As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.

The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.

His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house. 

The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure. 

Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.

He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back. 

—————

You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.

Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.

Variety.

Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch. 

He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.

This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.

They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.

“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over. 

Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.” 

He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.

“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit. 

That’s when he sees you again. 

He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.

By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.

“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”

—————

Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.

Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.

It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.

To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.

He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.

“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person. 

Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice. 

“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.

A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.

You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.

He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.

It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.

He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.

Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat. 

He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.

To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.

It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?

“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly. 

Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.

“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).

It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.

“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…

“Hm?” he questions. 

You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning. 

“Oh. Right.” 

He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.

He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure. 

“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”

You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.

“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.

“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”

You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.

“I guessed you could,” you say. 

Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.

“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.

“Mm. You can tell.”

Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.

He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.

Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”

What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.

“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”

“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.

You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do. 

With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”

Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.

He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.

“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”

“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.

Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.

“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.

But you don’t.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.

“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day. 

But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?” 

He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.

“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”

You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.

“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly. 

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself. 

“See you around, y/n.”

You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone. 

—————

He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks. 

For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays. 

It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?

Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something. 

Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts. 

The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served. 

Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.

Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to. 

You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today. 

He can hazard a guess at your predicament. 

After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress. 

But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look  at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.

“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.

“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle. 

He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”

“How… have you been?” you ask. 

“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question? 

“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”

Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”

The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you. 

“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.

“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.

“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.

“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”

A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.

“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —” 

His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”

The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”

“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”

Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.

Except the obvious. 

“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.

Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.

“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them. 

“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring. 

“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.

Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.

“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”

You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen. 

Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm. 

His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.

“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”

“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.

Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.

“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”

“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table. 

More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.

“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”

You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun. 

“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him. 

“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”

You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though. 

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?” 

He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one? 

“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.

Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers. 

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten. 

All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when  Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon. 

Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.

It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since. 

He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other. 

jihoon: fine. you’re right. 

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right. 

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao 

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!

soonyoung: because we told them????? 

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks. 

At least he’s admitted it now. 

He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters. 

So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

—————

Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.

As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty. 

All this before he even gets to work.

He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.

It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.

Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else. 

Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway. 

A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.

So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.

It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.

He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus. 

“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.

“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this. 

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Slim, he decides. But not zero. 

There’s hope.

“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin. 

He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”

“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”

“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”

“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.

“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.

He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach. 

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.

Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time. 

And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?

You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel. 

“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”

“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.” 

Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs. 

“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”

“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest. 

“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.

“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.

You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.

For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.

y/n: hey :)

y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?

He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)

Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no. 

jh: apparently yes, you can.

jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.

He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.

The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away. 

“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.

“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”

He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.

You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside. 

You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in. 

“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.” 

“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”

“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.

“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.

“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”

——-

Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.

“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”

“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that. 

“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”

A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.

Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.

One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.

The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.

He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him. 

Any. Fucking. Minute. 

“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”

“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”

In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you. 

“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”

He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”

You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold. 

Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.

“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.

“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.

You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.

Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too. 

And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.

“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point. 

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”

“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”

“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”

“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”

You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…

“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”

Oh, so you can read his mind now, too? 

You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.

“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”

You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”

“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.

“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor. 

He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.

“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.” 

You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.

“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.   

At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely. 

“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard. 

“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”

He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”

“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”

“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”

“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans. 

He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”

“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”

His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.

“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.

“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length. 

“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.

He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.

“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.” 

A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.

Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing. 

“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.” 

Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”

“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”

“Mm, says you.” 

It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.

The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.

You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.

“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”

So, you do.

Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.

“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”

You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.

It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth. 

—

You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms. 

You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.

“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”

“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers. 

“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”

“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks. 

“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”

“Of course I want to.”

So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

——————

He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again. 

All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.

“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.

Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.

“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.

“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.

Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.

He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly. 

“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”

“Not important enough,” he sighs. 

“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers. 

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows. 

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

[radioactiveparker]

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part Three - Hallway Vision

Chapter Summary - During an adventure through the maze of school hallways, we see the Criminal become the hero, and the King become the villain. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Emotional Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Vandalism / Strong Sexual References / Drug References / Angst

Word Count - 5k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five)

~~~~~

Saturday.

October 25th, 1986.

Hawkins High Library.

1:00pm

~~~~~

"Let's take off. Dick's gone cruising." Eddie poked his head back into the library.

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No, Buckley. It means Higgins has just left his office."

You looked at the others as if this was an easy yes; you wanted to leave this library. Steve and Nancy didn't look too fond of the idea. Robin was torn between not wanting to leave, and not wanting to be the only one left behind. 

"How do you know where he went?" Nancy asked, as if his answer would determine hers.

"I don't. But he's gone. He wouldn't've come to check on us first if he wasn't going somewhere for a while. Jesus, I've never seen so much chicken shit in one place in my life."

She didn't find that answer very reassuring, but if Nancy was anything, it certainly wasn't chicken shit.

Robin looks at her, then back at Eddie. "I'll go out in the hall for a minute, but I don't wanna leave." As if that was proof enough that she wasn't chicken shit.

You really wanted to get out of that library. It had felt a lot bigger when you had first got there, but now, five hours later, it was starting to get suffocating. You didn't want to see another book for the rest of your life. 

"Do you mean take off for good?" You asked hopefully.

Eddie shook his head. "For good? No, just down to my locker."

"Okay." You agreed simply, taking your place beside him.

He smiled at you. "Being bad feels pretty god, huh?" 

You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a playful shove. The others looked like they were starting to consider it. Eddie's locker wasn't that far away. They would be gone for five minutes tops. If things went well, that was.

"What's the point of going to a locker?" Steve questioned.

"Why don't we just stand in the hall for a minute? That'd be fun, huh? If we get away with it." Robin attempted to persuade.

You and Eddie ignored them, taking the chance to slip out the door. The longer you all spent debating it, the less time you would have to get back.

Steve, Robin, and Nancy looked at each other.

"I'm not chicken." Nancy disclosed boldly, shifting on her feet and crossing her arms.

"I am." Robin gulped. At least she was honest.

"You two gonna stay?" Nancy flicked her eyes between the two of them.

"Not if you don't." Steve leaned against the door frame, like his answer showed her some sort of compassion, that he was thinking of her. 

"What do I have to do with making up your mind?"

Steve gulped. Not the reaction he was hoping. He cleared his throat and accepted defeat. "I don't know. I guess if you're not scared, I shouldn't be... not that I am. I'm not scared. Not of Principal Higgins."

Nancy stared at him like she didn't believe him, then left before he could dig the hole any deeper for himself. Steve was crushed as he watched Nancy walk away. He felt like he had just blown a chance at impressing Nancy. His shoulders slumped, and Robin patted him on the back.

"Maybe you should think for yourself for once. It's healthy." 

She hadn't said it in a bad way, but it had still injured his dignity. He brushed her hand off him and left without a word. Robin turned to the empty library. She debated sitting back down, but she had visions of Higgins storming through the doors and hounding her with questions. At least if she got caught in the halls, she'd have the others with her. She quickly followed after Steve.

Nancy and Steve caught up with you and Eddie, with Robin running behind, trying to catch up. You all hurried up the steps as quietly as possible. You made it to the teacher's lounge and paused, hearing noise coming from inside.

"For cryin' out loud!" Principal Higgins hit the vending machine. His soda can was stuck inside. 

You and Eddie ran across the open doorway while he was distracted. You tried not to think about the way Eddie had grabbed your hand to pull you along. Higgins rattled the coin return and started banging on the buttons. Steve and Nancy went next, taking a big lunge across and landing on their feet silently. Higgins let out a defeated sigh and started rummaging his pockets for more change. Finally, Robin made it across, just in time before the Principal turned around after having no luck. Eddie turned to make sure that everyone had made it across. He hadn't realised that he was still holding your hand until you wiggled it out of his grip. Your face flushed, and you awkwardly wiped your hand on your skirt, suddenly feeling the perspiration on your palm. You took a step away from each other at the same time. Eddie cleared his throat, and the others eyed him, wondering why his demeanour had suddenly changed.

They all turned when they saw his eyes staring behind them, paralysed in panic. Principal Higgins had walked out of the teacher's lounge. 

Everyone froze.

The Principal paused, looked down at his watch, turned the other way, and walked down the hall. Everyone released a breath when he was out of sight. Eddie led you down another hall until you reached his locker.

His locker was so ugly it hurt your eyes. The white paint on his locker was non-existent. It was a horrific amalgamation of stickers from bands you've never heard of, spray paint graffiti, and lettering scratched into the metal with handwriting so bad you couldn't even read it. When he opened it, the inside wasn't much better. The stickers and writing wrapped around the inside of the locker door. It was a stunning mess of clothes, bags, papers, books, cassette tapes, and auto parts. You'd hate to see what his bedroom looked like. 

Not that you were thinking of being in his bedroom.

Eddie started fishing through his locker. Nancy was revolted by it. 

"You're such a slob. Your maid take the week off or something?"

"This is on purpose, Princess. Don't worry." Nobody believed him. "It discourages nosey people from going in it. Like cops."

Eddie smiled when he located what he was looking for. He pulled out a greasy, stained shopping bag. Out of the shopping bag, he took a smaller brown paper bag, and out of that, an even smaller paper bag. Then, with great drama and a huge, proud smile, he reached his hand into the final bag.

"You ready for this action?"

He slowly took out a baggie bulging with marijuana. Your mouth hung open in shock. Nancy looked at it like it was infectious.

"No way, man. Put it back." Steve insisted, making a reach for it.

Eddie stuffed the baggie down the from of his pants with a smirk. Steve pulled a disgusted face; there was no way he was going to take it from him now. 

"Let's go."

You all turned and quietly crept back down the hall. You were about to turn the corner when Eddie stopped you. Professor Higgins was standing outside of the teacher's lounge again, holding two cans of Coca Cola after finding some spare change in his office draw. He was only five yards away. You all scooted backwards to hide behind the corner. You bravely peeked a head around. Higgins turned and made his way down the hall. He was on his way back to the library. You told the others.

"We're screwed!" Robin cried

"You asshole!" Steve seethed. "I knew this was a lost idea!"

Nancy shook her head in disbelief. "We're finished. This is just great." 

You had a bit more optimism than that. You turned to Eddie. He got himself out of shit all the time. What's one more? You had faith in him, and he had felt it in how you spoke your words. "What're we gonna do?"

Eddie thought hard. Higgins' leisurely footsteps echoed down the hall, each one diminishing your chances of getting back to the library undetected. 

"We'll go around, cut through the lab, and double back. C'mon."

Eddie urged everyone to start running. You all swerved around corners and scrambled downstairs, sacrificing volume for speed. You narrowly escaped Higgins' sight when you turned and corner and seen he was walking head on towards you all. He was too busy sipping on his Cola to notice the group of students at the end of the hall. At least he had decided to take the scenic route back to the library. He was unintentionally buying you all some time. You all ran in the opposite direction again.

"Cut through the cafeteria." Eddie directed, starting to run down the hall to the right.

"The gym will be faster." Steve countered.

"What? No, you don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm through listening to you. You'll just end up getting us into more trouble. We're going this way." Steve had managed to persuade the others into following him. 

Eddie hardly spent time in school, and he certainly never used the gym. He couldn't remember if it was quicker or not. He didn't like not being in control. He felt like he was running off a cliff head first with a blindfold on. He watched as the others followed Steve down the hall to the left. It was just you and him left. You stared at him fearfully, listening to Principal Higgins' footsteps grow closer. You started backwards slowly, encouraging Eddie to follow. He did with a scoff of annoyance. The two of you quickly caught up with the others, falling behind while Steve led the way. After a couple of twists and turns and another almost run in with the Principal, you reached the gym doors. Steve pulled on the handles.

They were locked.

Sheer panic set in.

"Great idea, shitbag." Eddie spat at Steve.

"Fuck you." He tried the doors again to double check that they were locked. 

They were. He kicked them bitterly.

"Fuck you, why didn't you listen to Eddie?" You defended. 

You crashed back on some lockers and folded your arms in frustration.

"We're dead." Robin whimpered.

Eddie looked at you. You had probably given him more credit that what he was worth before when you had asked him for help, but now, as you stared back, he wanted to prove himself to you. You seeing the clogs working in his brain and the change in his eyes.

He didn't take his eyes off you. "No, just me." He said heroically.

"What do you mean?" Steve's voice finally drew his eyes away from you.

"I'm gonna take the rap." He pulls his baggie of marijuana out and shoves it down Steve's pants. "Keep your unit out of it."

The girls giggled. Steve was horrified that a group of girls were laughing about his genitals.

"I mean, what if the bag broke and the dope seeped into his thing and it got high?" Robin laughed.

"Can you imagine this airhead running around with his little weenie stoned?" You cracked up.

"Little?" Steve looked wounded. "It's not that funny." 

The girls just cracked up more. Eddie smirked.

"I don't want this, Eddie!" Steve begged.

"C'mon King Steve, I'm gonna save your buns! It's your fault we're in this mess, the least you could do is hold on to that until Dick leaves." 

The girls were still laughing. You meet Eddie's eye and he starts laughing too.

Steve turned back to the group of girls snickering behind him. "Excuse me, but I don't want to do this. Eddie's making me, so I'd appreciate it if you guys would stop with the jokes. Okay?"

Eddie turned and started running back down the hall. "Just get back to the library!"

There was a pause as the girls calmed down. No use in trying to be sneaky when you can't stop laughing. 

"Eddie, wait." He paused, eyebrows raised in interest at your voice. "Be careful."

Eddie beamed and shot you a wink before sprinting down the hall.

"That stuff couldn't really happen, right?" Steve's voice quivered with concern for his unit.

With a roll of your eyes, you urged the group to start towards the library. You lead the way, taking Eddie's route through the cafeteria. As you ran through the halls, you could hear his loud singing, but he was too distant for you to understand any of the words. If you could hear him from all the way over here, Principal Higgins would most definitely already be on his way to catch him. 

You managed to get them all back to the library safely. Everyone was huffing for breath, and Steve kept adjusting his pants. Everyone took their seats, except for Nancy, who was peering out of the doors to keep an eye out for Higgins or Eddie. 

Nancy gasped. "Higgins' got him! He's gonna get reamed."

Steve recoiled at the name. "I do not want these drugs in my underwear anymore."

"Shhh!"

Nancy rushed from the door to her desk. No sooner was she seated than the door opened up, and Principal Higgins shoved Eddie in. He was red-faced from running around, and he had managed to tie his hair back into a low bun that you thought suited him. His red paid shirt was half hanging off, and he was carrying one shoe in his hand, but he still had a big shit-eating grin on his face. You wondered what on earth had happened. He made his way towards his seat next to you, hopping on one leg as he tried to walk and put his shoe back on at the same time. 

Higgins crossed his arms impatiently. "Mr. Munson has taken it upon himself to visit the gymnasium. So, I'm sorry to inform you that you'll be losing his company for the remainder of the day." 

Eddie chuckled to himself as he sat back in his seat next to you.

"Everything's a joke, huh, Munson? The false alarm you pulled on Friday? Are false fire alarms real funny? What if your home was on fire and the fire department was over here answering a false alarm?"

"I'm not that lucky, Sir."

Everyone suppressed the urge to laugh at Eddie's wisecrack. 

"Fine, what if it was your dope on fire?"

"That's impossible, Sir. It's in Harrington's underwear."

Everyone cracks up again. Steve turned red, adjusting himself in his jeans not-so subtly.

The Principal turned his attention on everyone else. "You like this? You think Munson's funny? Do you think he's cute?"

He got no reaction from anyone. Eddie glared at Higgins as he made his little speech, trying to hide his embarrassment at the fact that the Principal had managed to one-up him. 

"I bet Y/N thinks I'm cute." He mumbled under his breath. Eddie had spoken your actual name for the first time. It sounded like honey running off his lips. Your eyes widened, but you pretended not to hear. 

Higgins continued. "Go visit Big Eddie Munson in five years and see how goddamn funny he is." He smiled and leaned in close to Eddie. "You look like you're gonna cry, Munson."

Eddie was struggling to keep himself from striking Principal Higgins across his smug fucking face. How dare he humiliate him in front of everyone. How dare he humiliate him in front of you.

"You're not tough, Munson. You're pathetic." He reached out and grabbed Eddie by the front. "Let's go."

Eddie smacked his hand away. "Get your fucking hands off me! I'd expect better manners from you, Dick."

Eddie shuffled around the table, planting a big kiss on your cheek as he left. You almost gasped in surprise. As he walked away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Why he was carrying sunglasses in October, you had no idea. You had learned it was probably better not to question him. He lay them on the desk in front of Steve. 

"For better hallway vision." He sniped.

Principal Higgins walked out, holding the door open for Eddie as he shuffled languidly behind him. He turned his head and looked at the others. 

He held up a peace sign in farewell. "It's been a slice, ladies."

The door closed behind them.

The room was silent once more. 

You reached a hand to your cheek where Eddie had kissed you. The skin was tingling under your touch. You couldn't help but smile at the memory of his surprisingly soft lips. Billy flashed through your mind again. Your heart dropped into your gut. How could you have let Eddie have that effect on you when Billy was waiting for you at home? The thought had your body tingling again. But not the good kind. 

Everyone awkwardly glanced at each other. You realised now that somehow Eddie had been the glue that was holding you all together. You had all bonded over your inadequacy to tolerate Eddie that, now he wasn't here, you had absolutely nothing in common.  You were unable to prevent the disappointment swarming in your chest.

"Principal Higgins is a total meat head." You broke the silence and everyone turned to you.

They all had the same sort of sorrow in their eyes. The girls agreed with you, but Steve shook his head like he didn't have any regrets.

"The freak asked for it."

The insult upset you more than it probably would have upset Eddie. "Hey! It isn't fair that Eddie gets treated like that. We all left. He saved our asses."

"Oh, get a life, Y/N."

You thought Steve was starting to come around to you after your talk on the way to the teachers lounge. You guessed not. "He sacrificed himself so we could get back here. I didn't see you volunteering."

You had wounded Steve's dignity. "I didn't want to leave in the first place. He got us into it, it's only right that he take the shit for getting us out of it." He bit back.

"You weren't forced to go!"

"Munson is a troublemaker."

"Yeah? So what does that make you?"

"Meaning what?"

"Wimp."

CCRRAASSHH!!!

Everyone turned in the direction of one of the seclusion rooms. There is a gaping hole in the ceiling where the tiles had crashed through, and Eddie splayed, stunned, on his back on the table. After catching his breath, he sat up and shook the dry plaster out of his hair. He sauntered out into the main library like nothing had happened.

"Miss me?"

"How did you do that?" You bewildered.

"Smoke and mirrors." He winked, taking his rightful seat beside you.

"Goddammit!" Footsteps came hurtling towards the library doors.

"Shit!" Eddie ducked underneath the table. 

His tall, lanky body hardly fit underneath. He shuffled upwards until his upper half was tucked between your legs. You cringed, trying so desperately to close your legs so Eddie didn't look straight up your skirt, but your legs were trapped on either side of his shoulders. 

Principal Higgins stood at the door, red-faced and puffing. "What was that ruckus?" 

"What ruckus?" You played dumb, jumping in before Steve could open his mouth and rat on Eddie. 

Higgins eyed them all up. You all sat like little angles, up straight and arms folded innocently in front of you.

"Could you describe it, Sir?" Robin asked.

"Watch your tongue, Missy."

Eddie shifted in discomfort, adjusting himself so his back didn't ache as much. He eyed your white keds. Only a slight discolouration in the laces and few specs of mud from when you had crossed the school field, but otherwise clean. He moved back slightly so he didn't get any dirt on himself. He followed his eyes up your white socks, tracing the green trim at the top of your knee. He was glad to be under the table when he flushed at the sight of your bare skin. The soft flesh of your thighs enticing him to follow higher.

There was a sudden knock from under the table from Eddie accidentally banging his head. You jolted in surprise, hitting your hands on the table to disguise the sound. The others copied, tapping their own little beats.

"What was that noise?"

"What noise?"

Eddie hoped that the sight he saw would never leave his mind. It was enough to send anyone into a cardiac arrest. His mouth hung open as he ogled straight up your skirt. You hadn't worn your spandex briefs since you weren't actually doing any cheerleading, and instead had opted for a pair of baby blue cotton panties. Eddie's mouth was watering at the excruciatingly tender bulge. In his entire life, Eddie would not be able to duplicate the raw power of this moment. Eddie's eyes were locked in a stare, hand trembling and eager to touch.

"Really, Sir, there wasn't any noise, just ---"

You shot up straight with a gasp, hands reaching underneath the table and into Eddie's hair. You could feel it tickling the skin of your thigh as his head moved further between your legs. The others looked at you with alarm. You pulled gently on his hair to urge him to stop, but couldn't find yourself putting in any effort to resist him. Your hand stayed weaved into his curled as he continued to delve in deeper. Your legs had started trembling when you felt his lips graze your inner thighs before placing a soft kiss there. Your mouth hung open in shock before you came to your senses. You quickly covered your gasp with a cough.

The others joined in and you couldn't be more grateful. The four of you sat in a coughing fit with Higgins eyeing you all suspiciously.

"What that the noise? The noise I just made. Was that it?" You thought fast.

Eddie's nose prodded at your mound. You suppressed another gasp and slammed your thighs closed around his head to stop him from moving any further. Eddie snapped out of his trance at the sudden pain on either side of his head. He slapped your leg to tap out, and you relaxed your thighs. He moved away from you, rubbing his ringing ears. When you felt him leave, you gave him a deserved kick to the arm. He hissed in pain, but Higgins hadn't heard it.

The Principal scowled. "I didn't catch you this time, but you can bet I will." He pointed a finger at you. "You!"

You tensed.

"I will not be made a fool of."

And with those final words, he stormed from the library.

Everybody held their angelic expressions for a couple beats and then, assured that Higgins was out of earshot, Steve, Nancy, and Robin break into laughter. You shoved your seat back and kicked your legs at Eddie as he scrambled out from under the front of the table. 

"You're such an asshole." 

Eddie tried to keep as serious as he could, but struggled to contain his laughter at your anger. "What?" He asked innocently.

"You know what."

"It was dark under there, it was an accident."

The others seemed to take interest in your spat. They wondered what had Eddie laughing and felt inclined to join in.

"What?" Steve asked.

"None of your business." You slumped back into your chair and crossed your arms, angry and embarrassed.

Eddie saw your wet eyes and soft pouting lips. He started to feel bad. He hadn't meant to upset you.

"I couldn't help it, okay? I'm sorry." 

You refused to look at him. He placed a gentle hand under your chin and guided your eyes to meet. His voice was much softer. "I'm sorry."

You hadn't said it out loud, but Eddie could see the forgiveness in your eyes. You relaxed under his touch, feeling the truth in his words. He smiled tenderly.

"What did you do?" Steve asked again, still hoping for a laugh. 

Eddie had clearly embarrassed you somehow. Steve thought it was only fair to get a few jokes out on you after you and the other girls had made fun at him in the hallway.

"Shut up." Eddie snapped, and the moment was over. 

He held out a hand to Steve who just looked at it in confusion. He reached like he was going to shake Eddie's hand but he slapped it away just before they clasped hands. Eddie looked at him like he was as thick as pig shit. 

"You smoke all my reefer or something? The dope, waistoid. Give it to me."

Steve's eyes lit up at the disclosure, wondering how he had managed to forget. He reached into his pants and tossed the baggie to Eddie, murmuring a 'good riddance' to it under his breath. Eddie sat back next to you and opened the bag on the table. You stared at it in curiosity.

You had never smoked weed before. You had never smoked period. But Billy did. He always tried to force you to smoke it with him, but you refused. It wasn't that you hadn't wanted to do it, it was because Billy wanted you to. It was kind of like when your parents ask you to do something and it immediately puts you off wanting to do it. He'd call you a killjoy, or Miss Priss, which always got under your skin. But what made it worse was that Billy always got horny when he was high. He struggled to contain himself around you, even when you told him no. Luckily, he had never done anything, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he would. 

You knew Eddie wouldn't be like that though. You had never seen him stoned, but there was something about him that told you smoking with Eddie would be okay. He wouldn't pressure you into trying it if you didn't want to, and if you did, that was okay too. Eddie sold weed to people all the time, heavy hitters and noobs alike. He had taught plenty of people how to smoke before. You could try it for yourself, without Billy's untoward provocation. 

He patted his pockets then looks troubled. "Do you have any papers." He asked no one in particular. 

Then with a shake of his head, he answered his own question. "Why would you dinks have papers?"

"You're not smoking in here." Nancy looked fearful.

"Yeah? Watch me."

"If you want to smoke, go back to where you were before. Before you fell through the fucking ceiling." Steve ordered on Nancy's behalf.

Eddie reached over and pretended to click a switch to turn Steve off.

"What can I use for papers?"

"A book?" You suggested.

"What about the smell?" Nancy quizzed.

Eddie regarded her off-handedly. "Take your shoes off, that'll mask the smell."

Nancy's mouth hung open in offence, She knew her feet didn't smell so the insult hadn't wounded her pride too much. But it was still embarrassing none the less. Especially in front of Steve.

Eddie ignored her and turned to you. "Book pages are too thick."

"How about dictionary pages? That paper's real thin."

Eddie looked at you impressed, eyebrows raised and a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. The look of pride made your stomach flip. You took a great deal of pleasure at his silent praise. He walked over to the dictionary stand. 

"You can't tear up a dictionary." Robin protested. "What if somebody needs a word and you smoked it?"

Eddie ignored her, opened a dictionary and ripped out a random page. He couldn't care less if he had caused someone a minor inconvenience. There was more than one dictionary in the world.

He pointed at Nancy. "Hey Princess, watch that door. This is a police matter if we get caught."

Nancy tensed. She didn't like that idea very much. She swallowed hard. Eddie walked to the back of the library where the comfy chairs were and plonked himself down on one of the bean bags, making himself right at home.

You got up to follow. Steve looked at you completely pissed off at you for encouraging Eddie's behaviour.

"Loosen up." You scoffed.

"I'm not getting my paper written." Nancy sighed to herself.

"You know," you continued, "he's not all that bad. I'm kind of getting used to him."

"You're just bored."

"Why are you acting like this towards me, Steve?" You'd had enough of the way he was talking to you. "I thought we were fine after I apologised."

It was like when you were alone together you were fine, but in front of the others he hated your guts. You thought he had some nerve calling Eddie out at lunch for trying to keep up with his image. He was being such a hypocrite right now.

He scoffed. "It was hardly an apology."

"It was hardly an apology because I had nothing to be sorry for. I told you already what Billy did wasn't my fault."

"I know!" His voice softened. "I know."

Nancy gave him a gentle look, as if urging him to apologise. He sighed in defeat, tracing a finger along the split in his lip. Suddenly it didn't hurt as much anymore. Like holding this grudge over you was a constant reminder of the pain Billy had given him. He knew apologising was the right thing to do. He opened his mouth, but his time was up.

You shook your head in disappointment. You didn't know what you were expecting from him. Perhaps Steve wasn't as nice as you once thought. It was crazy how things had turned out. In the beginning, you thought for sure that this experience would have given you a chance to make amends with Steve, maybe even become friends of some sort. Turned out that you grew apart from Steve and found yourself feeling closer to Eddie. A notion you had never entertained in all your years at Hawkins High.

You walked away before Steve could say another word to you. 

~~~~~

<<<Previous // Next>>>

~~~~~

Taglist: @cruwushes @the-ch0sen-on3 @namelesshumanperson @ali-r3n @cadence73 @munsonssweets @ahoyyharrington @mewchiili @yourdailymemedelivery @httpsunflowers @b-irock @coolglittercornbae @sav12321 @cumslutforaemond @siriuslysmoking @learninglinesintherainn @peaches-roses-sins @lodeddiperrodrick @catherinnn @lilocapoca @minniedreamers @melaninjhs @chaosfrogsonfire @levylovegood @bowsforsienna @rcailleachcola

[jasmines-library]

Lost and found.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 20. Prompt: “You will regret touching them.” Fandom: Batfam

Summary: After falling into a trap, you are captured by Scarecrow and exposed to his fear toxin. When your older brothers arrive to help you, your fear gets the better of you.

Warnings: Fear, disappointment, beating, hurt.

Word count: 2K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You hadn’t been living with Bruce that long. A few years. If that. You were the baby of the family, younger than Damian and in some ways you supposed he resented you for it; always narrowing his eyes at you when passing him the hallway. You often felt estranged from the rest of the boys, never fully understanding their inside jokes or nightly routines. You never felt as though you belonged despite the fact that the older boys had tried to make you feel welcome. 

The one person you had managed to connect with was Alfred. When your time wasn’t occupied by training or patrol it was often spent curled up in the study with a book and excitedly explaining it to him. Reading was one of your passions; it allowed you to escape the harsh realities of the cruel world and alfred was glad to hear you rant, it often resulted in him mirroring the smile on your face. 

It was a late autumn night when the call came in. You were lounging on the window seat watching the rain batter against the glass. Your brothers were out on patrol and you were the only one left home, so you floated over to the phone, answering it and bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

There was static on the other end of the line, followed by a shuffling. And then came the voice of a child. “Please… please help me.”

You began to pull on your suit, listening closely to the girl speaking over the phone. 

“My friend she-”

“Calm down.” you told her. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

She rattled off her location through sobs. “Please hurry.”

“It’s gonna be okay.” You reassured her. 

Once you had calmed the girl, you slipped out of the exit of the batcave and began to race through town. It was a quiet night. The rain had pushed many people inside, so the lack of people on the streets really threw you off, but you decided to warn your brothers where you were going, just in case. 

“Nightwing?” You asked over the comms, hoping that he wasn’t too occupied to answer. 

“Raven?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing out?”

“A call came in. A young girl said her friend was cornered by a group of armed criminals. I’ve got it handled, but I thought I'd give you a heads up.”

“Copy that Raven.” 

The line went silent again as you continued to push your way into the city until you reached the location that the scared girl gave you over the line. Only, there was no one in sight. You called out into the darkness but there was no reply. And then, there was a sharp prick to the side of your neck. 

~

When you awoke, your hands and hands were bound together by old rope that scratched at your skin. The floor was dank and dusty and your mask had been torn from your face. You could feel a small nic along your eyebrow, and your entire body ached. 

Without full use of your hands, you struggled to sit up when you noticed the figure leaning against the wall across the room. Tall and masked with a straw hat, he loomed over you, observing you from afar. You used your legs to inch yourself away from the humanoid figure, but he outpaced you, squatting down in front of you and trailing a gloved hand along your jaw.

“Hiya little birdie.”

“Get off of me.” You spat.

Scarecrow tutted, but removed his hand. “I’m glad to see you. You see, I've been watching you for some time. I’ve seen how miserable  you’ve been. And I've been waiting for a chance to get you alone. I have to say though, it was much easier than I anticipated.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The villain chided. “Mm, I have something more fun in mind. You see, I've been experimenting with something new. Well, new and improved. You see, my old fear toxin, it was good but you couldn’t really feel. If you know what I mean? So I did some experimenting and I've finally created something I've just been dying to test out. So I figured, why not have some fun while I'm at it?”

“They’re coming for me.” You told him with narrowed eyes. “And you’re gonna be a dead man?”

He tilted his head, resting his hand on the door before he stepped out and shut it completely. “Are they?”

He bolted the door shut, leaving you in the dimly lit room where a thick, green smog began to billow through the vents. You tried to back away from the smoke, but it surrounded you, cascading down all four walls. You took a deep breath, taking in all of the air you could, but it didn’t last long, eventually you couldn’t stand the burning in your lungs and you were forced to inhale the substance, choking as it filled your lungs. 

When the green began to fade away, vanishing into the air, you were left alone in the silence. Though it wasn’t long before the door was broken down by heavy pounding, and the masked face of your brother burst through the door. 

“Y/N”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Jason. Oh thank god, I thought you weren’t going to come. He told me that you none of you would and I-”

“Shut up.”

You stilled. “What?”

“I said shut up!” He kicked you hard to the ribs eliciting a yelp from you. 

“Jason…?”

“God, are you as stupid as you look? Shut it.” Jason kicked you harder, each one growing in intensity and followed by a snarky remark. You tucked your head to your chest, pressing your hands tightly to your ears until eventually, Jason vanished into a cloud of green and you were plunged back into emptiness. 

“Oh god… Y/N.”

It was Tim’s voice, shaky as he raced towards you. His hands gripped your arms as he forced them away from your ears. You half glanced up at him, doing a double take when you saw the look set upon his face. It was tender, but laced with worry. You wanted to reach out into his arms, but you were hesitant. 

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He bent down and removed the frayed rope from your wrists, you rubbed them. Tim then swung his arm around your shoulder to help you up, but you only made it a few steps towards the door when he flung you over his shoulder, sending you plummeting to the floor with a sickening crack as your skull collided with the ground. Your head throbbed as blood dripped from the crack that had opened in the back of your head. 

“Silly girl.” Tim laughed. “You really think we care enough to come and help you? After you were foolish enough to fall for his trap? You always mess things up Y/N. You’re a burden. Nothing more. Bruce’ll be glad to finally be rid of you.”

“Tim, Please-"

He reeled his fist back to land the final blow. You scrambled backwards, raising your arm above your face to protect yourself, but no pain came. And Time was gone. 

Fat, hot tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time that Damian entered the room. He narrowed his eyes at you like he normally did. They were so full of hate. You closed your eyes, biting down on your trembling lip and sinking against the wall. 

“Get up.” He demanded, voice thick with venom. 

You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. 

“Damian… please don’t. I don’t need to hear how-”

“I hate you.”

It was only three words, but they cut right through you like a bullet. 

“I hate you.” He gritted out. “You ruined everything. We were fine without you. We were happy. And then you came along and you- you took all of that away. You’re a disappointment. And I hate you.”

Damian didn’t move to hurt you, but you supposed in some ways that's what hurt the most. Not the pain and the beating, no. That’s not what you were scared of. It was disappointing your family. You grimaced as Damian left, waiting for the cycle to start again.  

~~~ 

Damian didn’t think he had ever ran faster in his life. His boots slapped against the concrete as he raced alongside his older brothers. He had never been more scared than at the lack of your voice over the comms. The four of them had been trying you for hours but had had no such luck. That was until Alfred managed to snag your location on the computer. And so the four of them ran. 

Dick’s heart thundered against his ribs. He feared what Scarecrow had done to you. He had heard the stories; witnessed the horrors. But he couldn’t bear to fathom what your mind would conjure up. You had seen too much. 

When he pushed his way into the warehouse, it was dark. And silent. The four of them kept their eyes peeled for a sign of anything, but there was no sign of you or Scarecrow. That was until Damian spotted the frame of the door poking out from behind a metal cabinet. It took two of them to haul the heavy piece of furniture away. It squealed awfully as it scraped across the floor. When they pushed the door open they had to squint to see you hidden in the corner of the room. Your eyes were wide and you were hyperventilating at the sight of them.

“Y/N?”

“No, no…” You shook your head, trying to back further into the wall when he took a step towards you. 

Jason tried too, but it only worked you up more. 

“Not all of you…please. Please…”

Jason knelt down beside you, reaching to touch you gently, but you flinched away.

“It’s not going to work.” A voice laughed out from the doorway. 

The brother’s whipped round to face the scarecrow. 

“What have you done to her?” Tim spat. 

He chuckled deeply. “She’s been exposed to my new fear toxin. See, I don’t know what she’s  been seeing but whatever it is, you guys are clearly an important part of it.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “You are going to regret touching her.”

They surged forwards, pinning him towards the wall. He fought back, but was no match for the anger-fueled vigilantes. When he slumped to the ground, they were tasked with the even more challenging job of getting you out. But when they moved towards you, tears rolled fatly down your face as you sobbed. 

“Please…” You shook. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me please.”

Damian froze. “What?  

“You’ve done enough…please.” 

You flinched as the youngest of your brothers laid a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N? It’s us. We’re real, I promise.”

You shook your head. “...no”

“We’re not gonna hurt you, kid.”

“You already have…”

Their hearts stopped simultaneously and Dick swallowed thickly. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

Everything went black as his fist collided with your head.

~~~

You sat up abruptly. You were back in the safety of your own room, tucked away in your bed. Although you were more aware of what had happened, you couldn’t shake the fear that rolled over you. But you weren’t alone when you woke up. You were surrounded by a sea of familiar faces.

“Y/N?” Dick asked when he noticed your eyes were open.

“Yeah.” You murmured groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You just shrugged meekly.

“Oh y/n/n we were so worried.” Damian said. His tenderness was foreign. 

“What did you see?” Dick asked hesitantly. 

“All of you. Disappointed in me.”

“Oh kid.” Tim looked at you with sad eyes. “We would never be disappointed in you. We love you so, so much. And we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“But I fell for his trap. I-”

“Uh Uh. You did what you thought was right. How were you supposed to know?”

Again, you just shrugged. 

“We’re proud of you, little wing. So proud.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 19 ⛤ DAY 21 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Dogs

Jennifer Jareau x fem!reader Warnings: violent crime (I mean it is Criminal Minds...), nudity (but nothing graphic/sexual), trauma, nightmares, hurt/comfort, established relationship (let me know if I've missed anything) Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Takes place after the Tobias Henkel incident (02.14 & 02.15). JJ comes home from this case deeply traumatized and super guilty about Reid, but she's not used to showing emotion or needing comfort. Reader is there to show her that it's okay to be weak.

“JJ.”

She jumped when you said her name, shivering under the shower stream. She’d been in there for over an hour, silent, unmoving. You’d poked your head in to check on her a few times, but she’d said she wanted to be alone. You were worried about her. You’d been worried about her since that call the night Spencer went missing. The way her voice had shaken, you could tell she wasn’t okay, but you could also tell that she wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Spencer was safe now, doped up on Dilaudid, but coming off of it safely at the hospital. JJ would still be there if Hotch hadn’t made them all go home to sleep.

It was late, but JJ wasn’t sleeping. At first, she’d had the water so hot you were afraid she’d burn herself, but now she’d been in there so long that the hot water was out, and you could see her body shaking under the cool stream, her eyes glazed as she stared at nothing.

She didn’t talk to you as you stepped into the bathroom, didn’t even look at you. You couldn’t tell if her face was streaked red from how hot she’d had the shower or from crying, but either way it was clear that JJ was not okay.

You turned off the water and she shook violently, whether from cold or trauma it was hard to tell. You tried to meet her eyes but she wouldn’t look at you. It was like she was numb, like she’d gone into some kind of coma. You didn’t know what to do to help her, so you just tried to keep her body safe and comfortable.

“You’re freezing, honey,” you whispered, carefully draping a towel around her shoulders and wicking the moisture away from her body. She let you dry her off, still and silent, like a mannequin. So unlike JJ, who usually liked to be the one in control–of her body and yours.

You gently cupped her face, worry covering yours, then took her hands. “Come here.”

You led her to the bedroom and pulled pajamas onto her. Underwear. Sweatpants, sweatshirt. She sat obediently on the edge of the bed as you combed her hair, tugging her knees to her chest. Lastly, you got her a glass of water and made her drink some of it. JJ didn’t speak once the entire time. She didn’t look at you. She didn’t touch you. Honestly? You were terrified. She wasn’t okay. She didn’t have to be okay, of course. But you wanted her to be able to show it. But maybe this was how JJ showed she wasn’t okay. Maybe it was different from your way.

When she lay down in bed, you carefully draped the covers over her, gingerly climbing in. You watched her for anything–any sign of life, any sign of anything other than being nearly catatonic, but she just lay there, wet hair splayed around her, eyes glazed and distant.

You hesitantly wrapped an arm around JJ’s waist, pulling her gently into you. You kissed her shoulder, using your other hand to run slow fingers through her hair. It felt odd, almost uncomfortable, to hold JJ when she wasn’t also inching herself back to get as close to you as possible. When she wasn’t lacing her fingers with yours, resting her arm on yours. But you held her nonetheless. Whatever JJ needed from you, however she needed you, you would be there.

“I love you, Jayje,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

She said nothing, and you turned off the light, wrapping your body around JJ’s and trying your best to translate all the love and care and devotion you held for her through the fabric of your skin. Soon, you fell into a fitful sleep, JJ bundled tightly in your arms. You’d never let her go again, not when she was like this.

You woke up sometime in the night to JJ turned away from you, sobbing so hard she was shaking and coughing. She was curled on her side in the fetal position, and she looked for all the world like a bedraggled puppy. Your heart shattered. She always tried so hard to be strong. For you. For all the other people on her team that she assumed had it “worse” than she did. And she was strong. She was so strong. But even the strongest people have to let themselves be weak sometimes.

You felt like you might cry yourself, watching her fall apart. “Oh, honey,” you breathed, nearly jumping over her so you could look in her eyes, so you could wrap her up and pull her tear-stained face to your chest.

“Shh,” you cooed, pressing your face against the top of her head as you held her. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“It’s my fault,” she gasped between sighs. “He almost died!”

“JJ, baby, that was not your fault. It could’ve been anyone. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I left him alone,” she cried, shuddering.

“Honey, shh,” you continued, rocking her. “It’s not your fault. Spencer’s safe. You’re safe.”

But she couldn’t stop crying. You’d never seen her cry so hard, so hard you thought she might throw up. You kept shushing her, holding her against you like a baby, rocking her and soothing her. It broke your heart to see her like this. You would do anything, anything, to take away this guilt she was feeling, this trauma that seemed to be swallowing her whole. And, somehow, at the same time, you were also so deeply honored that Jennifer Jareau felt safe enough around you to let herself fall apart. You just wished she didn’t have to.

When her sobs quieted to small, shaky shudders, you brushed her hair out of her face, wiping away her tears. She had huge circles under her eyes, and she could barely keep them open.

“Jayje, honey, go to sleep. It’s okay, I’m right here.”

“I can’t,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “How come?”

“The dogs,” she answered, shivering, tears glistening in her eyes again.

Of course. She’d seen a woman ripped to death by starving dogs and then had to shoot the dogs to protect herself. Who wouldn’t have nightmares after that?

You cupped her face, placing soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, on her mouth, wet with tears.

“Just try, honey, please,” you begged. “You have to sleep.”

Another tear dripped down her face.

“I’ll stay up, okay? I’ll be right here if you get scared.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that.”

“JJ,” you breathed, rubbing your thumbs along her eyebrows as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “It’s okay. I love you. Let me take care of you, alright?”

JJ seemed to have used up all the fight in her. She buried her face in your chest, exhaling deeply, and let her eyes stay closed. You kissed the side of her head and cradled her there and as you watched her fall asleep–tear-stained face half-covered by your sweatshirt, fists gripping onto handfuls of it, the little huffs of breath that you knew meant she had fallen asleep–you knew there was not a thing in the world you wouldn’t do to protect this woman.

You were just about to drift off when JJ jerked awake, gasping and flailing.

“Hey, hey,” you said, pulling her close. “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.”

She looked around with frightened eyes then, as her heartbeat and breathing slowed again, twined her legs with yours. She wrapped both her arms around your abdomen, squeezing you tight, as if she was afraid she’d drift away in the night, as if she wanted to be tethered to you. 

You held her so tight that night, so close. Usually JJ was the protector, JJ was the strong one, but tonight it was you, and you were glad to do it. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’d fight off a thousand rabid dogs to keep her safe. That you would enter into the dark recesses of her mind to fight off all the dark things that lodged there. That you would shield her very body with your own.

Something changed that night, between you and JJ. But it wasn’t a bad change. It was like the ringing of a bell, the finding of an equilibrium. It was you knowing that you could be strong, and JJ knowing that she could be weak. It was the somersaulted back-and-forth of a relationship going still and peaceful in the knowledge that you were each other’s lifeline, each other’s outstretched hand, each other’s port of calm in a whole world of storm. It was love that let itself be seen. You couldn’t go back. And you didn’t want to.

[delulu-hours]

My Scholar

Paring: Derek Morgan x Latina!reader

Summary: Derek's girl was his scholar. She was the perfect smart girl who always seemed to doubt her ability. So when she called, saying she had a possible theory to help with their case, he never once doubted her.

A/n: I hope you guys enjoy this little imagine. It takes place in season one episode 15.

"Morgan," Derek answered the ringing of his phone; his eyes didn't look away from the image of the dead woman on the screen staring back at him. He hadn't even looked to see who was calling him.

"Hey, cariño." The corner of his lips quirked upwards as he closed the laptop, getting the dead woman out of his mind. He glanced around and noticed the rest of his team was busy, so he got up and walked to get himself some coffee.

"Hey there, mama." Morgan could already picture the sweet smile that would pull at her lips and the slight rosy color that would adorn her cheeks. "Everything okay?"

"Peachy," The voice on the other end hummed. "I just missed you." He hummed, knowing that they hadn't been able to spend much time with each other. Working at the BAU, Morgan was always traveling and working cases, which involved being away for long periods. It also didn't help that his girlfriend was still finishing her schooling.

"How are classes going?" He watched as the mug slowly filled with the black coffee. A groan on the other end caused him to chuckle.

"I'm calling for that reason." He raised an eyebrow before taking the mug that was filled with coffee. "I know you're busy working on the Keystone killer, but I think there's something that I might be able to help you with." He could hear some flipping of papers and a few Spanish curse words.

"Y/n," Derek stopped what he was doing and shifted his phone back in his hands. "What are you talking about, beautiful?" He knew his girl was on her way to working for a Ph.D. in Criminology and Criminal Justice. A smart pretty woman he knew so he wasn't going to stop her.

"His MO has changed since he started up killing," He wasn't surprised that she was keeping up with the case of the Keystone Killer. "I know. Before you say anything, I got some more information from the police as I managed to get my professor to help get more updated information for my essay." He hummed to let her know he was listening as she continued. "Well, what if he changed his MO because he had to? The change came from the need to adapt."

"Hold up," Morgan stopped her from rambling. "You're onto something, Scholar. Just hold that pretty little thought of yours. The team might need to hear this."

"Wait, qué? (what)" She stumbled over her words. "No, Derek, you tell them. Besides, it's just a thought; I don't even know how accurate this thought is."

"You need to give yourself more credit than that," He lingered behind the door that played a barrier between his team and him. "You are a set of fresh eyes. Trust me when I say that your idea would make sense, but I need you to be the one to explain this." It was quiet, and he felt Hotch looking at him as he opened the door but didn't enter.

"Fine." He smirked as he walked in. All eyes were now on him.

"I think I got us something that would help." Derek moved the phone from his ear before placing the call on speaker. "Do your magic, beautiful." He sat in his seat as he placed the phone on the table. He ignored the confusion from everyone as his girl took a deep breath.

"Okay, uhm, where do I start?" The voice was soft, and the rest of the team looked confused. They half expected to hear Garcia's voice by Morgan's choice of words. They only knew one person he used those nicknames for. "This might seem un poco raro (a little weird), but I've been studying the case of the Keystone Killer, and with the recent evidence gathered, it's evident that the unsub had changed his MO. Before it was a rope, which gave him the pleasure to be involved and feel his power over his victims. It also explains why he strangled his victims. "

"Why?" Gideon spoke up, trying to find where this unknown person was trying to get at. "Why change his MO if he isn't getting anything out of it."

"That was exactly what I thought when he used the flex cuffs and suffocation. That also includes taking in why he had began to knock some of his recent victims out as well, which he hadn't done before." Some typing could be heard before a small ping took over Morgan's phone. "I asked myself why he knocked out the victims when he didn't have an issue over it before, and it made me realize that maybe he had no choice. Before, he could overpower his victims, but what if now he couldn't? I mean, he could've sustained some injury that left him weak or something. A stroke. Maybe even a heart disease."

"That would explain the sudden need to use the flex cuffs and why he began suffocating his victims." Reid nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Because he couldn't control her physically while she was awake." Ellie sounded impressed as they took in this new information.

"Exactamente! (exactly)" They heard a slight finger snap on the other end of the phone. Morgan couldn't help but shake his head as he took in his girl's excitement. "I mean, think about it; why else would he change what made him get off? The feeling of having the lives of his victims slowly leave their bodies as he strangled them. Seeing the fear in their eyes until they died and the power it gave him." If they could see the girl now, they would see the mess she was surrounded by. The papers on the bed, open books, and photos on the ground. She had been following this case since his latest victim, and it didn't help that she had written about the Keystone Killer in one of her previous assignments. "If he did sustain some sort of injury, there has to be some record of it in the hospital."

"So what are we talking about," Derek asked. "This must have happened after the middle of 1988 in Philadelphia."

"That's a lot of hospital records." Reid shook his head

"That is where I got stuck." She let out a small huff.

"Call our girl Friday." Gideon pointed at Derek, who gave him a short nod. Derek wasted no time picking up his phone and leaving the room. He took her off of speaker and placed the phone to his ear.

"You're a genius, baby." He placed a kiss on the phone, which earned him a laugh that he loved.

"I'm glad I could be of some help, cariño."

"I'll call you later when your theory leads us to the scumbag."

"Well, I hope you catch him and hurry back home. I miss my handsome man." He smiled as he heard the slight pout in her voice.

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n messed with the sweater hem I was waiting for as she waited for Morgan. He texted her, saying he wanted her to meet with him later tonight at his job. She leaned on her car as she bit my lip, nervous to be here. "There she is." She perked up at his voice and turned around. A smile tugged at her lips as she rushed over to him, throwing herself onto him and pulling him into a hug. Wrapping her legs around his torso, she peppered him with kisses as he chuckled. A slight stumble backward, but he had a hand on her thigh, close to her ass.

"I missed you, mi amor. (my love)" She placed a kiss on his lips. A hum vibrated through her as he kissed her back. His touch was soft as he took her in. The way she felt in his arms.

"You don't say." He pulled back a bit and smirked at her. She saw the amusement dancing in those beautiful eyes as he placed his forehead on hers. She gave him a big smile as she closed her eyes, soaking in his touch and his body's warmth. She had missed him so much. Morgan couldn't say much himself as he, too, missed his girl. He missed her smile. The soft touches he enjoyed after the long days at the office. Or the way she bit her lip as she was focused on her schoolwork. "I missed you too, Angel."

"Ready to go?" She asked as she unwrapped her legs from him. As much as Morgan didn't want to let her go, he had called her for a reason.

"Actually, some people would like to meet you." He took her hand in his and pulled her with him.

"A mí? (me)" He smirked at the confused look on her face as she followed behind him.

"Yes, you." Since solving the case, his team had been bugging him about the unknown girl who helped with the case. She frowned a bit and looked at the building they were walking to. "Don't think too hard with the pretty head of yours." He nudged her with his shoulder, and she rolled her eyes at him. It was a mutual decision to keep their relationship private, so Morgan wasn't surprised that his team was confused and wanted to know who she was. He also had no intentions of hiding their relationship. They never asked him about it, and he never bothered to bring it up.

"Oh, tu mamá me llamó. (your mom called me)" She slightly swung their arms back and forth as they kept walking.

"My mom?" Dating a little over a year allowed Morgan to understand enough Spanish to connect the dots. Y/n speaks a lot when they're together; however, it is usually mixed with English.

"Yeah, She wanted to know if we were still going down Jamacia later this year. I told her we planned to go, but it wasn't certain yet."

"Was that it?" She nodded, and Derek hummed.

~~~~~~~~~

His team watched Morgan talk to the girl who stood close to him. Their hands interlaced as Derek's smile grew from whatever she said. "Derek is down bad." JJ looked amused as she took in this new side of her teammate.

"Did someone tell Garica?" Ellie asked softly as she glanced around, not finding the blonde anywhere. "I'm sure she'd love to meet the mystery woman." Reid shook his head before he could say anything. Morgan and the mystery women neared them.

"Guys, I would like to introduce you to my beautiful, sweet, intelligent girl, Y/n." The woman beside Morgan gave them a bashful smile as a slight blush dusted her cheeks, embarrassed by the compliment her boyfriend showered her with.

"It's nice to meet you." JJ was the first to hold his hand out to her. "Heard you were of great help with the case." Y/n took her hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Encantada, (nice to meet you)" She nodded at them as she took in the rest of Derek's team. She could tell who they all were just by how Morgan described them. "I didn't do much, but I was glad my theory helped JJ." JJ looked slightly surprised. She knew who she was. Y/n took in the man who sat on his chair; his was longer than the rest of the men in the team and tucked behind his ear. As expected, he wore a white button-up shirt with a black tie and a burgundy sweater vest. She knew right away that man was Spencer Reid.

"You mentioned that you had been working on the Keystone Killer case," Reid shifted in his seat. "Why is that?"

"It was for my class." She smiled at Reid. "I've written an essay about him before, so when he started killing again, I decided to follow along and use it for another assignment." She could tell that Reid was intrigued with what she was saying. "If you like Spencer, I can have Morgan give it to you when I finish it."

"Really?" He sat up straight in his seat. "I'd love to see what you have down. I read the small portion you sent Morgan and thought it was interesting."

"Claro que sí. (of course)" She nodded, delighted to share her work with him. She knew she would get along well if Reid were anything Derek described him as. Morgan watched, pleased to see his girl getting along with his team.

"Look at this," Derek threw an arm around her. "My nerd and pretty boy geeking out." A small groan left his lips as Y/n elbowed him in the stomach. His team was amused as she rolled her eyes at him, knowing she didn't even hit him that hard.

"Don't be jealous that they like me better than you, amor." She teased back at him. "Everyone loves me."

"Y/n?!" A cheer caused her to turn around as she took in the blonde-haired girl who rushed over to her.

"Pen!" She held her arms open as Penelope hugged her tightly. "It's good to see you again." She placed a friendly kiss on her cheeks as she smiled at her.

"Derek didn't mention you were stopping by!" She gushed as she shot a slight glare at Derek. Derek just chuckled as he knew how much Garcia adored his girl. He didn't blame her. Y/n was amazing. Truly.

"Well, Miss, Y/n," Hotch's voice had Y/n look over at him, a small smile on his lips as he nodded at her. "Good work with the case." He took his briefcase and looked at the rest of his team. "I'm going to head out for the night." They said their byes and watched him leave.

"It was a pleasure working with you briefly." Gideon gave her a slight nod as he followed Hotch, leaving for the day. The smile never left Y/n lips as she looked at Morgan, who gave her a wink.

"Told ya you did good." He gently rubbed her cheek. "My scholar."

[planchettewrites]

Until the Twelfth of Never

SSA Aaron Hotchner (Criminal Minds)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: A lonely evening without your husband causes some positive reflection, that is until he comes home again.

CONTENT: Pure fluff, brief and minor allusions to sex, mentions of Haley Hotchner's death, mentions of loneliness.

A/N: Aaron Hotchner, my beloved! Initially, this fic centered around another song, but then I reworked it to a song that fit much better. I apologize for not posting, I've been working on other fics and preparing for my new job. I wanted to make this fic realistic to what it would be like to be married to Hotch, so prepare for some angst. All that said, I hope you enjoy it!

1.9k words | Safe!

Evenings with your husband were usually tranquil. Evenings without your husband were far more tranquil, at least for the most part. As you cared for your stepson, who you loved with all your heart, he kept the house lively. He came into your room and showed you his drawings, or you helped him with his homework, eventually tucking him into bed at night. It was those moments you cherished with Jack. The moments where you could read a story to him about faraway lands and slain dragons or the defeat of monsters or hear him talk about his day at school. However, no matter how much you loved that little boy, there was always a space in your heart missing from your husband’s absence.

You worked during the day, picked Jack up from school, and then returned home to a relatively clean house. Then you cooked dinner, ensured Jack got cleaned up for the evening, tucked him into bed, and watched television until it was time for you to sleep. That was consistently the hardest part of the day, where you fell asleep next to an empty side of the bed. Almost every night and every day, like clockwork, before you sleep and before you wake, you reach out and put your hand on Aaron’s pillow, feeling the soft material under your hands. Some days, you spray his cologne on his pillow to trick your brain into thinking he’s there. 

You learned rather quickly that it’s very hard to be a wife to a husband who rarely comes home. 

In some ways, you don’t feel like you have ever a right to complain. His not being home was the same thing that brought the demise of his marriage to his late ex-wife. The solitude and the silence can be pleasant, but your husband is your other half. You miss him like any wife would. However, when he was home, it was like he never left. He was still the kind, silly, dedicated, and wonderful father and husband he was before he left. When he was home, he always made time for you and his son. He’d take you three out to dinner or the movies and spend plenty of time with each of you in ways where it matters. He’d take his son to school and back, take him to baseball games, and watch Jack’s favorite shows with him. He’d spend time with you in the mornings and at night, ensuring you were happy and all your needs were fulfilled. He’d cook dinner for his family and spend every waking moment with the both of you. 

This week was another week Aaron was gone. He was supposed to return by the weekend, and then he’d return to your arms again. Until then, it was you and Jack. Except for the rest of the week, based on his wishes, he was with his Aunt Jessica. He wanted to see his cousins on the Brooks side of the family. You and the Brooks family got along fine, which is very fortunate for you. You had no ill will towards Haley (nor the rest of the Brooks family, for that matter); in fact, often, as a family, you would visit her grave. 

Needless to say, the Hotchner household was very quiet with your husband or your stepson. As you made dinner, funny enough, one of Jack’s favorites, fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and chicken, you turned on one of your CDs, an assorted mix from songs of the 1950s. Aaron got one of his coworkers, Penelope Garcia, to burn the CD for you. It was a mix of songs that both you and Aaron enjoyed and ones that made Aaron think of you. Songs like “Everybody Loves a Lover” by Doris Day, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, “Please Mr. Sun” by Tommy Edwards, “Fortune Teller” by Bobby Curtola, and so on and so forth. 

One of Aaron’s favorite tracks on the mix was “The Twelfth of Never” by Johnny Mathis. Aaron said it was one of his favorite love songs from that era; the slow melody and beautiful lyrics really spoke to him. In fact, he loved the song so much and associated it with your relationship and marriage entirely that it was your first dance song at your wedding. It was one of the first tracks on the CD since Aaron found the song so representative of your love. 

The music from your CD player blasted throughout the house, with no worry of waking any sleeping children or husbands. Currently, the second track of the mix was playing, “(I Got Spurs) Jingle Jangle Jingle.” Although the lyrics no longer applied to you, you had told Aaron it was one of your favorite songs in college. 

“'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (Jingle, jangle)

As I go ridin' merrily along (Jingle, jangle)

And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single" (Jingle, jangle)

And that song ain't so very far from wrong (Jingle, jangle).”

You sang along with the track from nearly the top of your lungs. You danced around your chicken as the pasta was cooking towards al dente. Your broccoli was also being steamed, and the chicken pieces were already cooked. Your hips swayed to the rhythm of the song, the funky orchestra carrying the tune of the music while Kay Kyser sang the lyrics. 

You always preferred to cook with music on. There was nothing like a dull life, you thought. You needed music to carry you through the good times and the bad, the lonely moments or the otherwise not. You twirled by the counters, imagining that your sleep shorts gave you the same twirl as a skirt from the early 1950s. 

“…Oh, Lillie Belle (Lillie Belle)

Oh, Lillie Belle (Lillie Belle)

Though I may have done some foolin'

This is why I never fell.”

You laughed a little to yourself as you sang along to that last lyric. You remember that promise you made in college: never fall for a man who stole your heart. Of course, that all changed when you met Aaron. Upon meeting, the attraction was instant. You met through a mutual friend of your father’s, and even though he was noticeably older than you, that didn’t seem to matter too much. You were a grown woman; you could make your own decisions. You didn’t expect that decision to be falling in love with and eventually marrying Aaron Hotchner, becoming a mother figure to a beautiful boy in the process. Still, you wouldn’t ever regret your heart’s desire. 

“… Oh, I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle)

As I go ridin' merrily along (I go ridin' merrily along)

And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single" (And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single")

And that song ain't so very far from wrong (And that song ain't so very far from wrong).”

As the third chorus came in with a woman’s voice, you found yourself totally entranced in the music. You did the twist as you stirred your pasta, singing your heart out. Some of you wished that Jack or Aaron were here to enjoy this moment with you, but concurrently, you were having a great time with yourself. The music kept you company, and the gentle hum of the stove fan kept you grounded in reality. 

“… Oh, Lillie Belle

Oh, Lillie Belle

Though I may have done some foolin'

This is why I never fell

'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle).”

You kicked up your feet and continued to sway around the kitchen. While you were by no means a professional dancer, you knew how to dance well enough that you could carry your body to the melody. As the last chorus kicked in, you huffed out a sigh with a smile. All that dancing knocked the wind out of you. You went back to stirring the pasta, finally tasting it to see if your pasta was fully cooked. It was. After draining your pasta, you put it back in the pan to add the sauce as the next song begins. 

Part of you stopped to smile when you heard the opening notes of the next song on the tracklist: “The Twelfth of Never” by Johnny Mathis. Part of you wanted to skip to the next track, avoid the slight twinge in your heart when you heard the song and thought of your physically absent husband, but that’s not what Aaron would want. If Aaron were here, he’d grab you to slow dance, singing along to Johnny’s baritenor with his low baritone. 

“You ask how much I need you; must I explain?

I need you, oh, my darling, like roses need rain

You ask how long I'll love you, I'll tell you true

Until the twelfth of never, I'll still be loving you.”

You sang along under your breath, your eyes closed as you stirred. You sang along to the following verses, swaying gently from side to side, imagining Aaron’s big arms wrapped around you. You wished you could feel his arms wrapped tight around your waist, kissing your neck as you cooked. One of his favorite things to do when he was home was cook together. You kept singing until you felt a presence and heard a familiar voice sing along to the song. 

“Hold me close,

Never let me go,

Hold me close,

Melt my heart like it will snow.”

Your eyes shot open as you turned to the sound of the voice, and there stood your husband in the flesh, leaning against the doorway, looking at you like you were a fresh drink of water in the scoring heat. Such love was apparent in his eyes; it almost made your eyes tear up. You nearly dropped the spoon, placing it quickly on the counter and almost sprinting into your husband’s arms. 

Opening his arms for you, Aaron immediately pulled you into a tight hug, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “I’ve missed you, my angel.” he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

Tears were beginning to brim in your eyes as you looked up at Aaron, a smile growing on your face. “I didn’t even hear you come in! When did you get home?”

“A few minutes ago. I heard our mix playing, and I had to come to see what you were up to.” his arms grew tighter around you, one of his hands slithering up your back to cradle your head. “I see that you’re cooking.”

“I’m sorry; if I knew you were coming home, I would’ve made some for you too.”

He smiled. “Not to worry, sweetheart, I ate on the plane ride back.”

Effectively abandoning your dinner, you let yourself melt into your husband’s touch as the last verse of the song began to play, the two of you singing along and swaying to the rhythm. 

“I'll love you 'til the bluebells forget to bloom

I'll love you 'til the clover has lost its perfume

I'll love you 'til the poets run out of rhyme

Until the twelfth of never, and that's a long, long time

Until the twelfth of never, and that's a long, long time.”

At your wedding, you promised to love each other for the rest of your lives, come what may. The song currently ending perfectly encapsulated your relationship with your husband; you two swore to love each other through the hard times and the good, regardless of what life threw your way. You and Aaron would always have each other’s backs, and that is what this song meant to you: that you would love each other until the twelfth of never—which, indeed, was a long, long time. 

[phyrestartr]

Vampire | Miguel x M!Reader

Vampire!Miguel x Reader W/C: 5.9k

#NSFW, vampires, blood, gore, violence, bottom!reader, top!Miguel, mentions of sex work, mentions of assault, it's kinda cute idk, posessive behaviour, questionable relationship, reader is morally grey, reader is lowkey a criminal though lol, Johnny Blaze = Nic Cage 5ever sorry not sorry

Note: I FINISHED IT! Lost steam with editing so some bits may be kinda weird and word-y, but I really enjoyed writing this honestly :clap: ty guys for voting for me to finish this o(--( I actually finished it so quickly wtf--

--

Vampires. Blood-sucking, man-killing, devil-calling creatures. Many feared them, even now, even after the legends of Dracula faded into obscurity and out of the minds of mortal men. But there were some who kept weary watch on the old castle looming before your meager town: older folks, the ones with bleached scars and haunted voices, with quivering hands and a phobia of the dark. 

You thought they all spun tales, convinced themselves of a time that never happened thanks to whatever their parents hushedly told them come the waning of the sun. “Don't leave the house after dark,” “be wary of the man you know not,” “pray to God for his protection,” is what you figured they'd been told. You couldn't blame them. Not really. Mass hysteria, mass lies told to the young had a penchant for warping their minds, destroying their futures. 

But still, you'd listen. Face alight with a smile, one ear turned their way as you poured drinks for whatever patron came bumbling your way that night. There was one man, one who claimed to have been touched by the devil himself, momentarily transformed into something wicked and unholy, who frequented the establishment. 

“Come on now, Johnny,” you chided with a laugh, “you don't really believe all that rubbish. Touched by the devil? You Americans really are the dramatic sort, aren't you?” 

“You don't need to believe all of it,” Johnny said mildly. “You just need to believe a sliver of it. It'll do you some good. Keep you safe.” 

You smiled to yourself as you busily made a drink for a new customer. “Yeah? Keep me safe from what, exactly?” Your eyes met his, then, and you found your blood stood in place for a moment. 

“You know what.” The devil. He'd said it too many times to count without uttering his name. “Just be smart.”

“I'm always smart,” you said with a phony laugh, the sort you used to lull women and men into some cheap sense of comfort. 

“Smart people do dumb things, too.” He took a swig of his drink before peering down at the amber pooling against crystal. “Like sneaking around old, unhallowed castles.” 

You pursed your lips. “I'm just curious, old man, you don't need to worry. I've not been inside, yeah? Just looked ‘round the outside of the old place.” That's probably filled with loads of goods. 

But Johnny only stared at you, calculating, thinking. It almost unnerved you. 

“Just be careful.” 

And in that moment, a man whose name you didn’t know, but whose body you knew too well, walked into the bar. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall, and from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden away under the brim of that hat, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones. His eyes, a bizarre colour, always glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of, and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadow rolling off his strong neck. 

He didn’t look at you, but you couldn’t look away. Your gaze followed him to where he found a quiet seat off to the side by a small table. He wouldn’t order anything. He never did. He only ever waited for your shift to end. 

“Kid?” Johnny prodded, freeing you from your momentary curse.

You blinked and sputtered, nodding in earnest to whatever Johnny had said. “I–right. Careful. I’m always careful.” 

–

Just be careful.

But that was impossible with this otherworldly spirit around you, waiting for you every other night just for the sake of bedding you, and leaving before morning with nothing but a stack of bills (or sometimes some jewelry, if you were lucky) to remember him by. Your favourite client by far. Your only client, per his request.

Your fists twisted into the bedsheets as you gasped with every brutal crashing of the man’s hips against yours as he took you from behind. He was in a bad mood tonight, it seemed. Normally, he liked to take it slow, he liked to savour his meal, but for some reason–

His hand clasped over your mouth when his teeth tore into your neck again. The cry that left you was hoarse and tired, but not so surprised, no; the man had his kinks, and one just so happened to be biting. He did quite the number on you, too, always breaking skin and leaving scars and scabs in his wake. But it felt good. It felt right to be claimed. The greedy, ugly little part of your heart wanted people to know you were taken and owned by this strange, captivating man.

“Fuck, I–” You buried your face into the mattress as another orgasm hit, striking your dull nerves like hammer on hot iron thrust after thrust. Soon enough, you felt his body stutter against yours just before an uncanny, liquid gold filled your guts and seeped into your core–he was finally done. Finally. Though part of you wished it didn’t have to end. 

His teeth, the pointed, feral things, dislodged from your neck before he ran the flat of his tongue against the weeping wound. Somehow, that always staunched the bleeding. You didn’t quite understand it, but you weren’t exactly well-versed in medicine.

“Tired already?” He mocked in that smokey, American accent. “Thought the young had more than that to offer.” The purr of his voice soothed the pulsing start of a headache as you came down from your high. Yet another strange effect he had on you. 

You took a good handful of moments to catch your breath before you tried to hazard an answer. “I’m–you’re in some kind of mood, darling; can’t blame me for your brutality.” You turned your head to rest your cheek against the scratchy sheets, and the beast took the opportunity to leave nips and kisses along your jaw. 

“Tch. I’m just reminding you who you belong to. Where you belong.” Sharp teeth grazed your skin again, and you shuddered. “No one likes to see theirs fawning over another man.” 

You strained to look back at him. “You–you mean Johnny? He’s not–I wouldn’t let him bed me, are you mad?” A rough push of his hips against yours reprimanded you. “H-He’s a mate, love, that’s all.”

The man twitched. “A mate?” 

“A friend, you bloody idiot.”

He relaxed, but still sought confirmation. “A friend.”

“A friend, indeed. Father-figure, maybe.” With a bit of effort, you managed to wriggle free from the strength of the man pinning you in place, and laid on your back to gaze up at him. “I’m not interested in him, he’s not interested in men, so you needn’t worry a thing.” One of your worn hands reached up and smoothed over the curve of his sharp cheekbone, drawing a pleased hum from the chamber of the beast’s chest. 

“Fine.” He rested his weight on you, and you sighed, content and warmed. But that bony chin digging into your chest was a tad bit fucking irritating. “Then if he’s not trying to fuck you, what makes you listen to him for hours on end, hm?” Hah. Annoyed. Jealous. Quite endearing. 

“He has stories to tell,” you offered. “Words about the devil and the curse of the undead. About Dracula and that old castle.” 

The man’s brows raised in interest. “Oh? And you like ghost stories, is that it? Here I figured I'd be enough to keep your mind entertained,” he said with a taunting smirk, like he thought your suggested belief in those spooky tales was laughable. 

Heat washed over your face. “I–you–shut up, I just like me a good story, is that so wrong? Tch, stupid American.”

He laughed, a sound you adored to hell and back. “I’ll keep it in mind. Might have a few good stories up my sleeve, too.” His head tilted the slightest bit. “Maybe then your eyes won’t wander.”

“Terribly jealous one, aren’t you? I never would’ve guessed it.” You raked your hands through his hair and he sighed, deep and ancient. But your words were true–this man, your mysterious client-turned-lover, he captivated all wherever he traveled. With so many eyes on him, why did he want you to look nowhere else but to him? 

Greedy man. That’s what you decided. He wanted everything and more. 

“Other men don't get to look at what's mine,” he mumbled after a time of you pampering him with pets and scritches. “And you're mine, for the record.” 

“Hm. I quite like the sound of that.” 

“Then marry me.” 

“I'm not sure I can,” you lamented. “I find myself in trouble too often. It puts me on the run, jumping from town to city and back again.” 

“You'd never have to run again if you let me have you.” He picked himself up and loomed over you, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke against your lips. “You'd be safe, cared for, never want for anything. None of those sacks of shit would would lay a finger on you again.” His lips trailed down, brushing against the thick vein in your neck. “I think it's for the best if you agree.” 

You almost argued back, but the large hand engulfing your throat gave you pause. He didn't hurt you, no, but gave you a silent warning. The power that man held over you contradicted his weakness to your wants and desires, and twisted your thoughts into unorganized knots. 

“I'll think on it,” you breathed, not wanting to say yes but unwilling to say no. You didn't want marriage, but commitment was a tantalizing idea. You'd just never thought it'd happen to you. 

His eyes came back to yours again. Your heart fluttered at the glints of carmine shimmering in candle-lit eyes. God, he was beautiful. 

“I better like your answer.” 

–

You left. You hated doing it, you hated running from your problems and whatever seemed to haunt you day to day, but too much happened in too short a time. 

For one, the landlord demanded more and more rent money from you when he noticed your gifted jewelry and newly tailored coat, and then, when you didn't give it to him, he took to trying to get payment another way. You shot him, obviously. 

Which led to your second reason for leaving–you'd shot a man and fled the scene, unknowing if he was alive or not, and uncaring of the outcome, quite frankly. You figured the lowlife would be more pressed about the money than dying, anyway. 

And third, the bar you worked at found out you'd been swindling and stealing on the job, pocketing tips and taking home near-empty bottles to refill with something of your own design to sell on the streets. Admittedly, it was fine work, but you'd long abandoned that method of money-making once that stranger wandered into your life and offered you more cash than you could imagine.

But you liked that bar. You liked those patrons. No strings attached.

And that's why you were back. Not with the intention to stay, no; you were back to scout out the castle after getting confirmation from some university lads about how valuable the old place was. You figured you could find enough in there with the scoundrels you'd come with, and maybe you could pay the old owner back before leaving for good. 

You'd never have to run again if you'd let me have you. 

Maybe you should've just said yes.

– 

The castle stood beautifully, even with the screams of the slaughtered ringing through the halls. It was big, too, eagerly letting you get lost in its enchanting halls and inviting rooms as you tried in vain to remember the way out. 

That's when you crashed into one of the uni snobs you'd come with, Harry. He was a mess, clothes and hair out of place for once, with a spray of sticky blood coating his face and white shirt. Osborn must've seen their tormentor. 

He grabbed your shoulders as you grabbed his arms. “We have to go, we have to go–” he chanted, pulling and pushing you in undecided directions. 

“Osborn, where did you see it? Where–” Another scream gave you a hint. Your eyes snapped down the hallway, staring deep into the torchlit halls and finding nothing but the unknown staring back. 

Then, there were footsteps. Slow, methodical things that rung to a tune hidden in your memories.

“We have to go,” you whispered, like that'd help. “Osborn, we have to–” a splitting pain electrocuted your senses and sent you stumbling backwards. The world spun. Your head ached. Funeral bells shrieked. Worst of all, that dress shirt and that fancy jacket you loved so much were stained suddenly, a foul colour of darkness that reeked of pennies and iron. It took you too long to look back to the student, and to see the smoking pistol held out in his shaky hand. 

“I had to,” Osborn whispered, so, so haunted. “I had to. You understand.” And quite frankly, you did understand; wounding a lamb to leave behind for a wolf to indulge in was a sure way to let a farmer escape. 

Harry took off. You grasped your stomach and leaned hard against the wall, trying to pull yourself together to make some kind of run for it before those languid steps found you and cut your story short. But you felt so tired, so dizzy. The red weeping under your hand and the bewildered pants leaving you left you colder and colder. You wondered if Osborn had shot himself in the foot with this one (hah), killing the sacrificial lamb, rendering it useless to what was believed to be a vampire of all things. They devoured the living, not the dead. 

Clack, clack, clack. The haunting echo of fine shoes on wooden slats passed you by, then vanished all together. You collapsed to your knees and heaved in the burning air just as a deafening screech ricocheted through the halls with the echo of frantic gunfire, and the slosh of viscera. You fought back the burn of bile in your throat when you braved a look; there laid a body on the floor, and a corpse standing above it, illuminated just barely by torchlight. 

His shoulders were impossibly broad, his frame unnaturally tall–

“We could have avoided all of this,” the creature growled. 

–from the glimpses you were allowed of his face hidden in the swath of darkness around him, you remembered strong lines and proud cheekbones–

“But you didn’t listen.”

–his eyes, a bizarre colour, glimmered ruby in the firelight thanks to some strange disease you never quite remembered the name of– 

“Why couldn’t you just listen?”

–and his hair, a dark oaken hue, wisped like tendrils of shadows rolling off his strong neck.

He appeared beside you so suddenly, so soundlessly, you wouldn’t have known he approached if it weren’t for the strength of your fluttering eyelids seeking the truth. You stared hard at the tips of his leather shoes. Perhaps you should’ve known it was him all along. Perhaps you had known. 

He knelt before you and forced your chin up, making your eyes meet his as he stared down through you. Blood marred his face, matching the wine-red hue of his furious, gem-cut eyes; even like this, teeth bared, about to kill you, he was beautiful. 

“Look what you’ve done. This is your fault–”

But that beauty was wasted on such a foul-mouthed monster. 

“My fault?” You spat. “Fuck you.” You tore your chin from his grip, but his hand sought out your throat instead. “Don’t fucking touch me–”

He smiled, bitter but so wholly and infuriatingly amused before he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do whatever I want with you.” And before you could lash out, before you could throw a fist at his stupid face, he yanked you in and bit.

A winter breeze rippled through you. Cold. Piercing. And you gradually froze like water dripping from the gutters, no longer able to fight back, too sluggishly slow to do anything about your fate. You breathed hard, feeling the hole in your stomach and ache of your heart weep and worsen with every shattering breath you took. Your hands, gentle in their weakness, pawed at his chest and sought a spot to dig in and hold on to for dear life as the waking world turned its back to you.

But despite the bitterness, and despite words exchanged, he held the side of your face as you faded in and out of consciousness. He called something, and a flurry of orange wisps appeared above you. 

–

You awoke to the echoes of a dream, one you hadn’t had for a while. A cloudless night where you’d been caught in bed by a taken woman’s man and beaten half to death; in return, you shredded through the man's chest with a knife from the kitchen while the wife watched on in silence. You'd been ready to kill her, too, slit her throat in one easy motion, but she never screamed, never looked at the wild animal with fear. 

Tell the police he attacked you, miss. 

Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

You fumbled through the alleys after leaving the scene, but others, foul things that roamed the streets where not even rats lingered, found you, threatened to use up the last of what you had to offer this pitiful world. It seemed as though they disappeared in the time it took you to blink, though, and a man was left, standing in their wake. He looked somewhat disheveled, like he’d just finished some grand task, but he was just so put together, too. You struggled to make sense of it, but you didn’t really care to. 

“Well, isn't that impressive,” you said with a breathless laugh. “Not a shred of blood on you. Are you the ripper the paper’s gone on and on about?”

The being glanced over his shoulder, eyes alight in curious mirth. He turned your way and stepped closer. You saw it then, the slightest bit of dark smears on his face.

“Is that what they're calling me?” He adjusted his cuffs, and rolled his shoulders. “Huh.” 

Adrenaline poured into your heart. “You're quite the dangerous man, aren't you, sir?” you swallowed thickly as you looked him over: fine shoes, expensive coat, luxurious rings. “And, ah, well-off. You wouldn't happen to be interested in spreading the wealth, hm?” 

His hand cupped your jaw, sticky with freezing blood, and he leaned in. The pungent scent of iron curled your gut as he breathed you in, making up his mind with what to do with you. Then, with the dry, warm back of his gloved hand, he caressed the side of your face and watched your eyelids flutter, devouring the simple gesture. 

“Let's see if you can convince me to.”

-

“I know you’re awake,” he mumbled.

Curiosity willed your eyes open, and you gazed down at the hollow tube connecting you to the walking corpse. You fought to ease the jump of your heart, but it became impossible when a dark red raced from the vampire's arm down into yours. 

“Is that going to make me like you?” You whispered, nerves twitching and burning with the bite of restless fire ants. 

Crimson eyes found yours and looked deep. “It won't. You can relax.” But you weren't convinced, and your lover could tell. “You'd have to drink my blood.” 

“Why're you giving me your blood, then?” 

“You'll die without it.” He pumped something, you now noticed, and realized it was what drew the blood from his veins and drained it into yours. 

Curious. “Were you a man of medicine?” 

He scoffed. “Still am.” He threw you a wary look, one brow raised. “How many more questions are you–” 

“Your name?” That was something you'd requested before, but always through a veil of uncertainty. You didn't like to ask much of him. He didn't ask much of you. But you didn't know him, yet he knew you. 

Your vampire frowned, unapproving. “What difference will it make?” 

“You asked me to fucking marry you,” you bit out. “And yet you keep so many secrets from me, still. I've given you more than I have, and you can't even–” 

“Miguel.” You both paused–him to gauge your reaction, and you out of shock. “Miguel O'hara.” 

The cracks in your chest mended, just slightly. Miguel O'hara. What a name that was. Formidable and wholly suiting the beast of a man you'd known and craved for far too many years. 

“Miguel O'hara,” you whispered, staring tiredly at the red thread connecting the two of you. The name felt good on your tongue. 

Nothing more was said, then. He must've still felt the tension in the air, or maybe the coil of apprehension in your body, for he worked on in silence, quietly saving your life for no reason. 

It was when he pulled free the needle that you found the will to break the silence on your own. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” It came out a pathetic whisper, sounding as broken as your mind felt. 

He paused before pulling the needle from his own arm. “Tell you what?” 

It was a good question. You didn't know what to ask him to elaborate on. You didn't know if you wanted him to elaborate on anything, actually, because it'd make it too real, too tangible. 

“Everything.” And when he stayed silent, you narrowed it down to just, “all of…you.” 

Miguel licked his thumb and stroked it soothingly against the pinprick of a wound while his brows furrowed and his lips twisted into something of a frown. “How could I?” You both watched the tiny dot of red cease weeping. “If you'd moved on and you knew, it could put everything at risk.” 

If I'd moved on. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable to know he felt that somewhere between his ribs and his heart. And for how long? How long had he not trusted you? Did he even trust you in that moment, knowing what and who he truly was? Or were you now doomed to this castle just as he was? 

“I'll let you rest,” Miguel said as he clasped his medical case shut and stood. “Lyla'll bring you food.” 

Thump, thump, thump, echoed his footsteps, those fine shoes muffled by old carpet; but the sharp clack, clack, clack in the hollow echoes of your memories, just before the truth revealed itself to you, swallowed up your thoughts.

“(Name),” Miguel said, and your eyes opened to find the tall, proud back of his silhouette stood at the door, one hand clutching the knob. “Don’t leave this room.” 

And he left you there, heart aching, mind melting, soul shattering. 

–

Solitude reminded you of what else happened. The lads you'd come here with, nothing more than acquaintances, were missing, or perhaps dead. It ate at your mind. Could you have done something different? Could you have convinced him to let them go?

More importantly, would Miguel let you leave? He claimed he wanted to marry you, but words were just words if not put to use with actions. Staying by his side would mean stomaching the fact he'd consume countless other people, wouldn't it? How were you expected to watch your partner(?), your groom-to-be(?), hold and pierce others the way he promised to you and only you?

But could you let him stay here alone, hunted and hated by believers, laughed at by the average skeptic? If you were not here, how many more would walk in on a dare, and meet a terrible end? They didn’t matter, no, but the legend of a vampire would turn more and more true, summoning devil-hunters to his doorstep, stake and flames in-hand.

The thoughts plagued you, filling your head with the terrible buzzing of bees. You couldn't fathom why you cared so much; most of your life you'd lived for your own sake, doing what needed to be done to get by, to have a better tomorrow. You hated other people. A few of them you'd personally buried six feet under, whether they were dead or lived still, and you never batted an eye. You had no patience for those who'd oppose you. 

You would have killed Osborn yourself if O’hara hadn't. And that was the truth. That'd been the truth the whole time, ever since you saw just how expensively he and the others lived; gold dripped from their tongues, silver ran through their veins, diamonds fell from their eyes. You wanted to claim a bit of that for yourself. 

And Miguel had shared his wealth with you, just in exchange for a bit of blood and your body for the night. Surely you could look past what he did to survive, even if it put your heart into a spiral. 

Lost in thought, you found your way to his chambers, freely disobeying his orders

He lounged in a clawfoot bath. Stuffy heat lulled you into a daze, something like a carefree summer evening wherein the sun took too long to vanish. Though when he noticed you approach, shedding clothes the entire way, the heat grew near unbearable.

Miguel's claws creaked against the enamel in anticipation when you stepped into the water. You watched him with the same delicate intrigue as prey investigating something that could be a threat as you found your place between his spread legs, getting close enough to feel the pounding of his undead heart. You'd only seen his body in dim candlelight or withering rays of the moon, never truly illuminated by the glow of floating chandeliers nor the collection of sconces arching from the wall.

Slowly, your fingertips dragged along muscle, warm and firm under your calloused touch. The scars littering your hands and knuckles shone so stark against his perfect complexion. He really did seem too perfect. It would have sparked jealousy in your gut if he didn't apparently belong to you, and you to him. No one else got to touch. No one else got to see. 

Now, you were built finely yourself, but the man before you was something entirely different. You didn't know if it was thanks to his supernatural existence, but his body was built in a near-animalistic way that screamed power and speed, not similar enough to a human. Though, looking back, you did always think his manners in bed were more beast than man. The growling, the clawing, the marks of claim on the nape of your neck, it all clicked and made sense in the whirlwind of your mind. 

“I think a werewolf would suit you better,” you admitted. “What with the claws and biting and general uncouth behaviour.” 

Miguel huffed. “You must be talking about yourself.” His voice rang low and quiet, too aware he might scare off his prized hare if he put too much into his words. “You're the one acting like a rabid animal.” 

“No, you.” 

“Don't think so.” 

“You're difficult.” 

“You're one to talk.” 

“How long have you been like this?” Your fingers combed through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. “A vampire. Or whatever you are.” 

“Lost track,” he said, sounding too honest. “I have records. Notes. From experiments. The dates on those are close to when it happened.” Experiments? Colour you intrigued.

“So you weren't exactly practicing white medicine?” You tilted your head in thought. “You were doing something more–” 

“It wasn't black magic,” Miguel scoffed. “It was science. Genetics. Studying how other organisms function, learning about them.” His expression darkened just the slightest bit. “Trying to…recreate them.” 

Your head spun a little trying to fill in the blanks. It wasn’t too hard, but it was hard to accept as reality. But if anyone were to unlock the damned secrets of immortality, of course it'd be this man. This cocky, genius, charming man. God really did have favourites, though they always did seem to disappoint him.

“I see. So you're telling me you're a genius who rebirthed vampires,” you summed up, letting your hands melt down his body, below the water's surface. “How is it you only get more and more impressive, Mr.O'hara?” 

A smug smirk bloomed across his lips. “It's just in my nature.” His head tilted back with a pleased sigh when your touch finally landed on that annoying thing prodding your thigh. “I have no choice but to succeed.” 

“Tch. Americans are so arrogant.” You hummed and leaned in, ghosting kisses along his vulnerable neck while your hand pleased him slowly, teasingly. His talons screeched against the tub again. “But maybe you have reason to be, hm? Given how accomplished you are.” 

A dark, scarlet haze like the sky of the blood moon illuminated Miguel's eyes in the few moments they slipped open to catch a glimpse of you. You wondered if he needed a reality check. Maybe he thought he was hallucinating, maybe he thought that you weren't really there despite being pressed up against him and murmuring useless quips into his skin. You'd be sure to leave an impression on him; your hand quickened, gripping tighter and pulling the way he directed you to far too many years ago, but his barbed hand caught your wrist. 

“Stop,” he gasped. His chest rose and fell with his light panting as he stared you down. Want radiated off of him like an animal starved. You knew what was rattling around in his mind before he even spoke. 

“You want to fuck me, is that it?” 

Miguel's breath hitched. 

–

You made him ravenous. You were the only thing he wanted to feast on, delicacies and sanguine temptations be damned. 

One of his large hands held your waist in a death grip while his other hand held your head down, forcing your incoherent ramblings into the soft, silken sheets as he rammed you from behind like a beast in heat. You took it well, too, not that you hadn't before–he always held back, appeared to you as human when he fucked you previously. But now that you knew the truth, now that you knew what lay hidden in the dark nooks of his bones’ marrow, he felt complete. And that meant he could completely lay claim to you, too. 

He matched the curve of your back with his chest when he leaned over you, burying his nose into your neck and shoulder to indulge in your scent. Your vampire's desire to breed slowed and steadied into deep, thoughtful rolls of his hips. Perhaps his mind had caught up with him and ushered him to slow down, to abandon some of that reckless excitement. 

Miguel heard the slightest mumble of his name on your lips and leaned down further to touch his own to your cheekbone. One arm looped underneath your throat in a benign chokehold of sorts, while his other hand threaded through your hair–if he wasn't fucking you like an animal before, this makeshift mating lock he had on you sealed the deal. 

“You feel good,” Miguel murmured, voice tickling the shell of your ear. 

“Hah. I, ah, always feel good,” you tried to quip back, but your expression betrayed the fraying threads of whatever self-control you still desperately clung to. “You’re, uh…unhinged, hey?” Miguel scoffed. “Like a…a wild beast.” 

“Oh?” A purr hummed through his chest, piercing your body and rattling through your own lungs in seismic pulses. “A wild beast? Flattering.”

“Really, darling, you don't have to be such a sarcastic asshole when you're–” a hard snap of his hips sent you spiraling for a moment, “--in my ass.” 

“Maybe you should watch your mouth,” he suggested. 

“Maybe you could watch it for me,” you countered. 

The warmth of his laugh sent chills scattering across your skin. He pulled out of you and turned you over, dragging your hips back against him before his powerful body engulfed yours again. Miguel liked this more. He liked the feeling of your hands grabbing and clawing at him, the way your thighs attached to his waist, how you bit your bottom lip while your eyes screwed shut from the overwhelming feeling of your partner destroying you.

And of course, his lips could meet yours like this. The sweet tang of copper and berries, a taste so familiar and so you, was shared between tongues, kept secret in the crevices of teeth. It amazed Miguel how much one little kiss could push him over the edge and make the bed creak and groan with you as he loved on you and made sure to send the message straight to your core. 

Your hands fisted in his hair when you came undone. That lovely voice of yours poured into Miguel's eager mouth, and you tightened, pulling him to the edge and pushing him over with the might of a wild stampede. Claws nipped your skin, fangs pierced deeper, yet his rutting hit deepest, and burned you alive with unbearable, liquid heat.

–

“Why me?” You asked into the stillness of the room. 

Calm silence answered you for a long moment. The sun bloomed beyond the thick curtains, you noticed in your wait, and you wondered if you would ever miss the sight. England never truly had bright, sunny days from what you recalled; stretches of smokey, grey overcast clouded the skies and your memories more often than not. Could your vampire walk amongst the living like this?

Miguel sighed, leaning into the hand carding through his hair. “Figured you’d understand.” 

“I’d understand what?”

“Killing to survive.” 

“How long have you known?” You wondered, unsurprised. 

“Blood tells stories,” he whispered. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered a moment before crimson eyes peered open the slightest bit. “Your story’s long. Complicated. You’re too young for it.” 

A smile twitched onto your face. You adjusted in the bed, getting more comfortable on your side in those pooling, satin sheets. “So you thought I’d be an easy target for sex, then? Desperate and young as I was.”

He found your eyes, his gaze earnest and bleeding. “I–you–fine, at first it was like you said. Maybe. But after enough time, I decided you weren’t like the rest. You’re as supernatural as I am.”

“Supernaturally handsome? I agree.”

“Stop.”

“You didn’t think I’d be afraid of you.”

“I’d hoped as much.” 

“And you still didn’t tell me.” Your fingertips danced along the arch of his cheekbone, leaving pleasant sparks against his skin in their wake, unbeknownst to you. “Were you scared?”

“I’d rather have you as a man for whatever time we had together than to lose you to a beast,” he explained, cryptic as one would expect an old legend to be. “I’ve lost too much already because of…this. Because of me. I didn’t want to lose more.” Miguel’s dark brows furrowed. “If you ended up fearing me to, I–”

You silenced him with a hand over his mouth. “Enough. I understand.” You palm smoothed back up to cup his face. “You needn’t be afraid of me–well, being afraid, I suppose. I’ll stay.” You took a deep breath and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “This bed’s too comfortable to give up, after all.”

His breath fanned against your skin as he chuckled, tired and perhaps tinted with disbelief. “Well, you can stay here as long as you want.”

“Brilliant. Would you even let me drink your blood?”

The rumble of a growl, or perhaps a purr, rolled through his chest into yours. You searched his eyes, wondering, hoping, and found mere slices of ruby peeking out from behind eclipsing pupils. 

“We’ll see.”