#also there is like no breathing room in between scenes that desperately need one

[zhivaoverdrive]

Filling the Void Breast Expansion and Butt Expansion via Saline Expander Implants.

But you've seen the image, too late.

Each image from the poster wall is available in full on the extras gallery, some with their own small stories.

Have fun.

----- As I pushed open the door, my eyes widened in horror. Lani lay sprawled across her bed, her body resembling a collection of medicine balls that had been inflated one too many times. Her breasts hung from her chest like overfilled water balloons, threatening to burst at any moment. 

The soft light cast by the lamp on her nightstand danced across her skin, highlighting every vein and crease as if trying to accentuate the sheer magnitude of her transformation. The implants themselves seemed to be straining against Lani's skin, like four enormous balloons about to burst at any moment.

Lani's eyes snapped towards mine, wide with surprise and shame. She looked guilty, her face flushed like a person who'd just been caught cheating. Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for a way to make this situation disappear, but the evidence was undeniable. It was like trying to hide a skyscraper behind a curtain – impossible.

I took in the scene: her already-enormous frame now straining against the seams of reality; empty saline solution bottles littering the room like discarded confetti; and Lani's body... altered, distended by the relentless stream of liquid she'd forced into it. The four orbs of saline inside her seemed to be straining against their containment, as if desperate to escape were it not for Lani's stretched skin holding on with all its might.

"It's not that big of a deal," she said, her voice laced with justification. "I'm fine. Just... just this little bit more..."

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Lani, I know we agreed monthly would be the limit," I reminded her gently.  "But you know how close you came to... complications. And yet here you are again, doing it without supervision."

Lani looked at me pleadingly, her eyes welling up with tears. "Please," she whispered, the air thickening with shame and desperation.

The shame and desperation, struggled to come to terms with being caught. AGAIN.

On one hand, I was impressed by her willingness to take control of her body and push the boundaries of what society considers "OK".

But I was also worried about how far she was taking things. Like, expanders... that's some next-level stuff.

And not just that - Lani had taken her body modification game to a whole new level by having expanders in her butt as well.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of discomfort she must be going through with those things implanted in her backside. And yet...part of me couldn't help but admire her spirit.

I get that Lani wanted to change herself, but this was just crazy. "You're not even trying to hide what you're doing," I said, shaking my head in amazement. "You're trying to turn yourself into a human balloon or something!"

But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had spoken too bluntly.

"You're using expanders like they're some kind of...I don't know, saline-filled superpower or something!" I said, trying to lighten my tone.

"I just need this one more time," she said quietly, her voice filled with reverence.  "I promise I'll slow down after this. It's not like..."

She trailed off, looking down at the floor as if embarrassed by her own words. But that did not last long.

Lani gazed up at the posters on her wall. Her gaze lingered on the statuesque figures, their bodies seemingly defying gravity itself - their breasts rose up from their chests like mountains, butts jutted out far behind them.

"Look at them," Lani said quietly, her voice filled with awe and longing. "They're doing it... Just look at them - so many people adore them, that one's been on TV!"

As Lani admired these perfect forms of femininity, the competing idea inside of her believed she was still the waifish girl she'd been years ago stewed. Trapped between two conflicting realities unable to be reconciled.

"And honestly, what's another litre of saline when you're already..."

I didn't push her for more. Another unnecessary question. A different tack was in order.

"Lani, baby," I said carefully,

"You've never removed ANY saline before. I'm not even exactly sure if we can. What if this is a one-way process without going back to the doctor..."

Her eyes dropped, and she nodded slowly. "I know, but what's the worst that could happen? You'll still l-" "Ah," I interrupted her, trying to sound more reassuring than concerned. "The weight of... well, let me ask you this: how much saline are we talking about here?"

Lani looked down at her chest, a sheepish expression spreading across her face. "I've got 10 litres in each boob.."

My eyes widened in shock. Ten litres per implant? That was... that was a lot of saline. A lot more than last time.

"And?" I prompted, trying to keep my tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Lani faltered for a moment before she spoke up again. "And... um... well, I might have also exceeded 10 litres in each butt cheek."

My jaw dropped. She couldn't be serious. Could she?

"Lani," I said softly, trying to keep my tone gentle despite the shock and concern I was feeling. "You're telling me that you've got a total of 40,000cc saline forced in your body?"

Lani nodded sheepishly, her face flushing with embarrassment.

I glanced at Lani's ass and saw the telltale signs of strain: deep creases in her skin, fine lines tracing the contours of each implant, and an eerie sheen that hinted at stretchmarks. Her veins stood out like blue highways, pulsing with effort as they struggled to deliver oxygen to her skin.

"The weight of this much saline is crushing you," I said firmly. "You've already been struggling with everyday tasks for months now. You're going to continue to struggle even more as time goes on. Your body simply can't keep up."

Lani's gaze faltered as she tried to consider the consequences of her actions.

"What does the future hold?" I continued. "Don't even get me started on trying to cook dinner or do laundry. You're being short-sighted! What happens when you can't even get out of bed in the morning?"

The silence between us grew thick with unspoken understanding – a tacit agreement that more caution was needed, but also a recognition that we were both too afraid to seek help.

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You're right," she said quietly. "I'll need you".

[fail-fren]

Just finished episode 6 and 7 of ofmd s2 and man... I feel like after these two episodes, i sadly have to say I really don't like the writing of this season overall :(

[anniebeemine]

all apologies -s.r. x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut. oral sex (fem rec., masc rec.), unprotected sex (pls don't follow the example set by these knuckleheads), semi-voyeuristic (Spencer tells her to let everyone hear), penetrative sex

The atmosphere was tense as everyone gathered in the local police station, reviewing the details of the case. You and Spencer had been at odds since the beginning, his tone sharp when he talked to you on the jet four days ago. You tried not to let it bother you, but he was making it difficult. 

"Alright, everyone," Hotch began, spreading out the crime scene photos on the table. "We need to refine the profile. Our unsub has set four fires in the past two weeks, each one escalating in severity. We need to determine the pattern and his next move."

Spencer, standing near the whiteboard, started to speak. "Based on the escalation, it seems likely our unsub is becoming more confident. The fires are not only larger but also set in more populated areas. This suggests—"

"Or it suggests he's becoming more desperate," You interrupted, yourr tone sharper than intended. "He could be feeling the pressure from the increased police presence and is acting out of a need to make a statement before he gets caught."

Spencer shot you a glance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Desperation could lead to sloppiness. These fires are meticulously planned. The unsub knows exactly what he's doing, which indicates confidence, not desperation."

You crossed your arms, stepping closer to the table. "Confidence or not, the fact remains that he's escalating. We can't ignore the possibility that he's reacting to our presence here. He might be trying to outsmart us."

Hotch raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. "Let's not lose focus. We need to consider both angles. Reid, Y/L/N, you both have valid points. We need to integrate them into the profile."

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances. The tension between you and Spencer was palpable, and it wasn't just about the case. Emily shot Morgan a knowing look, and he shook his head slightly, signaling her to let it be for now.

Throughout the case, you and Spencer found yourselves increasingly entwined in a battle of egos, each determined to prove a point. Your once harmonious dynamic had devolved into a series of sharp exchanges and one-upmanship, with neither of you willing to back down. Your insistence on considering the unsub's potential desperation clashed vehemently with Spencer's confidence in the meticulous nature of the arsonist's plans. The tension escalated with every meeting, the professional rivalry overshadowing the collaborative spirit of the team. It wasn't just about the profile anymore; it was a personal struggle for validation and dominance, leaving your colleagues caught in the crossfire of their escalating conflict.

The time before the next fire was running out and you were feeling it. Hotch had all but been breathing down your neck for a finished profile. 

"I still think you're underestimating the unsub's desperation," you argued, your tone edged with frustration. "He's reacting to the increased pressure. The pattern is clear."

Spencer shook his head, his voice equally sharp. "And I think you're missing the point. The precision and escalation indicate confidence. Desperation would lead to mistakes, and this unsub isn't making any."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "You're so focused on your theories that you're not seeing the bigger picture. This isn't just about the fires; it's about his need to outsmart us."

Spencer stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. "And you're so intent on proving me wrong that you're ignoring the evidence right in front of us. This isn't a game, Y/N."

Before you could respond, Emily stepped into the room, her expression stern. "Enough, both of you. Everyone can hear you out there.” You both turned to look at her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. Emily continued, her tone firm. "This case is too important for your personal issues to get in the way. We need to work together, not against each other. Knock it off and focus."

You and Spencer exchanged a tense glance before looking away, both feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Emily sighed, her voice softening slightly. "We all want the same thing here: to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else. Let's remember that and get back on track."

Nodding reluctantly, Spencer took a step back. You excused yourself from the room, going to find Morgan. Instead you found Hotch. 

“Y/L/N, find Morgan and Reid.” 

Hotch assigned tasks, his focus razor-sharp. "Reid, Y/N, Morgan—you're going to check out the unsub's house. See if you can find anything that ties him to the fires."

You nodded, exchanging a brief glance with Spencer, both of you silently agreeing to put your differences aside for now. The drive to the unsub's house was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the case. Morgan tried to lighten the mood with some casual conversation, but neither you nor Spencer seemed in the mood to engage.

When you arrived at the house, it appeared unassuming, blending in with the rest of the neighborhood. The front door was left open, a track of mud leading in. You, Spencer, and Morgan approached cautiously, keeping an eye out for any signs of activity. Morgan took the lead, his hand hovering near his holstered weapon. Spencer and you followed closely behind, both of you scanning the surroundings with keen eyes. The three of you moved inside, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. The house was eerily silent, the air thick with the smell of gasoline.

Morgan motioned to the door to your left. You nodded, moving through the living room with Spencer by your side. The two of you carefully searched for any clues, your flashlights cutting through the darkness. As you entered the kitchen, you heard a faint noise coming from the garage.

You and Spencer exchanged a glance. "Let's check it out," you said softly.

Pushing open the door to the garage, you saw the unsub, James Turner, gathering materials—gasoline cans, rags, and matches. He hadn't noticed you yet, his focus entirely on his task. You signaled to Spencer, and the two of you moved in quietly, your guns drawn.

"FBI!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the confined space.

Turner spun around, surprise and panic flashing in his eyes. He hesitated for a split second before lunging toward the door. You reacted quickly, moving to intercept him, but Turner was faster. He elbowed you hard in the face, pain exploding in your lip as you stumbled backward.

"Y/N!" Spencer shouted, his voice filled with concern.

Morgan burst into the garage just in time to tackle Turner to the ground, pinning him with practiced ease. Spencer immediately rushed to your side, his eyes wide with worry.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to check your lip, which was already starting to swell.

You winced but nodded, brushing off his concern. "I'm fine, Spencer. Just a little sore." You allowed him to help you up, his hand warm and steady against yours. "Thanks for helping me up."

Spencer's touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded. "Of course."

Morgan secured Turner with handcuffs, glaring down at him. "You’re not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and threatening. "Nice try, though."

As you, Spencer, and Morgan escorted Turner out of the house, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a sense of accomplishment. You glanced at Spencer, his earlier frustration now replaced with genuine concern.

The case wrap up was always quick. Files had to be put together and left with the locals. You kept an ice pack to your lip as you finished your reports. You kept an ice pack to your lip as you finished your reports, the coolness providing some relief to the swelling. The station's fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a harsh glow on the paperwork scattered across the desks.

Hotch glanced at the clock and then at the team, fatigue etched into all their faces. "It's already midnight," he said, his tone pragmatic. "We won't be leaving until the morning. Let's head back to the hotel and get some rest."

Everyone nodded, grateful for the chance to unwind, if only for a few hours. You packed up your things, still holding the ice pack to your lip, and followed the team out to the cars. The drive back to the hotel was quiet, the exhaustion of the day's events settling over everyone like a heavy blanket.

Once back at the hotel, you made your way to the room you were sharing with Emily and JJ. As JJ stepped into the shower, Emily turned to you, her expression concerned. "Is everything okay between you and Spencer?" she asked gently.

You sighed, placing the ice pack on the bedside table. "Not really. I think it's probably time to apologize."

Emily nodded, offering a supportive smile. "That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes it just takes one step to start making things right."

Taking a deep breath, you made your way next door to where Reid and Morgan were sharing a room. You knocked softly, and Morgan opened the door, giving you a knowing look. "Hey, Y/N. Come on in."

You stepped inside, and Morgan gestured toward Spencer, who was sitting at the small table, looking up from his notes. "Want me to stay as a mediator?" Morgan offered, his tone light but serious.

Spencer shook his head. "It's fine, Morgan. We need to talk."

Morgan nodded, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you and Spencer alone. You took a seat across from him, feeling the tension from earlier beginning to thaw.

"Spencer," you began, your voice soft but steady. "I'm sorry. I let my ego get in the way, and it affected the team. It wasn't fair to you or anyone else."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes sincere. "I'm sorry too, Y/N. I was too focused on being right and not enough on working together. When you got hit today, I instantly felt guilty. I realized that if I hadn't been so stubborn, maybe things would have gone differently."

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "We both let our egos get in the way. But we're a team, and we need to trust each other. I value your input, Spencer. I always have."

Spencer's gaze softened, a hint of something more in his eyes. "I value yours too. More than you know."

As you stood up to leave, the air between you and Spencer felt charged with unspoken words and lingering tension. You moved toward the door, feeling a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. Just as you reached for the handle, Spencer stood up and crossed the room quickly, his hand gently catching your arm.

"Y/N, wait," he said softly.

You turned to face him, your heart racing slightly. Spencer's eyes were intense, a swirl of emotions reflected in their depths. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss. The softness of his lips contrasted with the jolt of surprise that shot through you, making you wince slightly as the pressure hit your bruised lip.

Spencer immediately pulled back, his eyes wide with concern. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to hurt you."

You shook your head, a small smile forming despite the tenderness in your lip. "It's fine, Spencer. Really."

Determined not to let the moment slip away, you closed the distance between you again, cupping his face with your hands as you leaned in for another kiss. This time, you were more careful, the kiss gentle and lingering, a silent acknowledgment of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Spencer's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. It was a kiss filled with unspoken apologies, newfound understanding, and the promise of something more. His fingers began to nudge your shirt out of the way. 

“Can I?” He broke away to ask permission, but you couldn’t stop your lips from descending upon his neck as he had to yours just a few minutes earlier.

You nodded, much too preoccupied with the taste of him for words and drew back for one moment when the fabric obscured your face, but caught his lips right after. It was a failing attempt to satisfy your growing hunger for him, and you became almost frenzied, teeth clicking against each other and sloppy enough that were you to go back and watch the moment, you’d have to look away in humiliation – it was not the most graceful kiss.

He slid his shirt off and pulled his own top over his head, dropping everything in the same pile on the floor, and matched your energy – his fingers searching for the clasp on your bra and undoing it without disconnecting the sloppy kiss, roughly pushing your pants and underwear down so that you could step out and kick them away. 

Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened as he led you over to the bed. You sat on the edge, leaning back. He took a moment just to admire you. You pull him forward by the waistband of his pajama pants. “Can I?” You asked. 

He nodded. You pulled his boxers and pants down. “Oh, wow.” 

Spencer smirked, ruffling a hand over your hair. “Impressed?” 

“Every time, lover boy,” you teased. 

You ran your tongue down the underside of his shaft, using your hand to compensate for what you missed. He kept eye contact, fingers burying themselves in your hair. You began to suck and bob your head up and down. The room filled with his moans and whimpers. Spencer grabbed your hair and thrust himself into you, making a pornographic sound as his cock hit the back of your throat.

“Sorry,” he breathed. 

You pulled away. “Do you want me to keep going?” 

Spencer took a moment to think about it. “Lay back.” 

You leaned back. Spencer pulled you closer to the edge of the bed by your knees. You giggled at the action. “Eager?” 

“Very.” 

He made a point to slick his fingers with your wetness before he circled your clit with his middle finger, easy and slowly, his lips parted as he looked down. You let out a whispered moan of his name as you tugged at his brown locks, his tongue swirling against your nerves enough to make your knees shake. He pulled one of your thighs over his shoulder as his tongue pressed into you, making you yelp at the contact. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Louder,” he mocked, a warm breath clouding over your heat.

Hearing his wet mouth against your wet pussy was such a nice sound. The sound alone could get you hot and heavy. He sucked at your clit gently, then harshly, then broke away from it fully just to lick back up again. Your legs got harder and harder to keep open, so he put his hands back on them again helping you out. You were moaning out his name along with curses. His mouth really does drive you insane. 

Your stomach tightened, your legs shook more violently. You were close to your climax, and of course Spencer noticed this. He momentarily detached from you to tease you one last time before your orgasm.

“Gonna make a mess?” You hear from between your legs. You can’t help but nod.

“Yes- yes fuck!” His mouth is back on you, causing you to moan loudly. You keep saying his name, and you would be wiggling around if it weren’t for his amazing grip. Your body does a full on tremble as you orgasm all on his mouth and chin. Your body relaxes, legs fall open naturally, arms stilled after releasing all that pent up energy from holding them back. You feel the bed dip as his arms come up to rest against the side of your body.

His hair falls around you both before your lips meet for a kiss. He nips at your lower lip as you open your mouth, tongues lay against each other and swirl, causing you to taste yourself. His left hand slides down to your waist, giving it a squeeze. His mouth moves down to your left side, kissing your throat. Your legs hook onto and around his back, bringing him closer.

“Is this the part where you fuck me?” You ask impatiently.

“Getting there” he says in your ear. He gets up off of you, helping your hips shimmy back further up the bed so half your body isn’t on the edge anymore. Your head is now back on the pillows and his full body can hover over you now. 

Spencer settles himself between your open legs. “You’re the cutest thing” he blurts, followed by that golden smile of his. He starts kissing at the swell of your breast, still smiling. He then pops your left nipple into his mouth, his hand on the opposite breast finds your other nipple. He pinches and squeezes it while his hot mouth is on the other. His sucking sounds and the pleasure he’s giving you makes your head go further into the pillows with a sigh. You want his dick in you already but instead his mouth finds his way to the other breast.

“I just want you to fuck me.” You whimper, sounding so desperate that you surprise your own ears.

“Really? How bad?” His head began to lift from off your chest. He eyed your face, reading the expression. “As you wish.” 

He pushes gently into you, watching as your eyes shut at the pressure of him entering. You nodded, biting your lip, trying to adjust to him. He felt amazing, too–entirely flush inside you, full and hard, already hitting your g-spot without even moving and ever so gently pressing against your clit. 

Spencer started to move back and forth gently, not even close to a full thrust, easing in and out of you just slightly. You were already clenched around him so tight that you figured he couldn’t do much anyway, but after a minute you were more acclimated and he was slicker, and he started to work up a momentum that made you start to gasp and moan quietly in front of him.

His hands were gripping your hips far harder than he was thrusting, but not long after you reached one hand down to rub your clit, Spencer reached up, bracing himself on the headboard. His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed– from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you.

“Oh,” he cooed condescendingly, “are you having trouble keeping quiet?” 

You could feel yourself already on the verge of another orgasm. Spencer whimpered, groaning loudly. 

“Spencer!” You cried, clamping a hand over your mouth. 

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Let them hear,” he grunted. 

You felt your blood rushing through your body and your heart beating rapidly again. You gripped his forearm. You let out nothing but expletives and his name, practically chanting. Spencer obviously found this amusing, his pace fast and hard. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, back arching as your legs trembled. The wave of pleasure crashed, evident by the way you clenched around him.

He echoed the word back into your ear. “I’m gonna-” 

“Do it,” you whined. You reached your hand up to lace your fingers through his hair, still trying to recover yourself, and he bucked into you a few more times before you felt him cum inside you, a rush of warm wet intermingling with yours.

His hips stilled apart from the occasional shudder that still rippled through him and vibrated against yours. He sat back, a satisfied look in his eyes as he admired the state he’d left you in. You propped yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Your eyes locked, and you both burst into laughter, the sound filling the room.

"We are so fired," you smiled, reaching forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "So much for keeping us a secret," he mumbled, lying down beside you. He looked up at the ceiling, his fingers brushing against yours.

You turned to face him, the intimacy of the moment lingering between you. "Does this mean our fight is over?" you asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in your voice.

Spencer turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression serious. "I think our fight was over the moment we realized how much we care about each other," he said softly, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"Thank God," you sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. "Otherwise, facing everyone in the morning would be even more awkward."

Spencer's eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned on him. "Oh no," he muttered, lying back down beside you. "We do have to face them in the morning, don't we?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden awareness. "Yes, we do. And trust me, they'll have a field day with this."

Spencer groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I didn't even think about that. They're never going to let us live this down."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with a playful grin. "Well, I guess we'll just have to face the music together. Besides, it's not like we can keep it a secret now."

He peeked at you through his fingers, a small smile forming despite his initial horror. "You're right. And honestly, I don't care what they say."

You leaned over and kissed him softly, feeling a sense of calm and happiness. Spencer's lips responded to yours, the kiss deepening as his hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours sent a shiver of desire down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he captured your lips in a more fervent kiss. The intensity of the kiss grew, your bodies pressing together as the need for each other became undeniable. You could feel the heat between you building, the tension from earlier melting away as you lost yourselves in each other.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, while your fingers traced the muscles of his back, eliciting a low groan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, spurring you on as you deepened the kiss, your tongues dancing together in a passionate embrace.

 He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing.

You gazed up at him, your own desire mirrored in your eyes. "Then take me," you whispered back, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him down for another searing kiss.

Bonus: 

Morgan was the first to notice, his eyebrows shooting up as he caught the faint sounds. He tilted his head, trying to discern what he was hearing. "Hey, do you guys hear that?" He had only heard the thumping. It wasn’t until they silenced that they heard it loud and clear. Emily held her hand over her mouth as JJ stood in the middle of the room, toothbrush in hand and a mouth full of toothpaste. Morgan sat on the couch, staring at the floor. They had been in the middle of a rundown of their weekend plans. 

“Spencer!”

Another groan muffled through the wall. 

JJ, who had been making notes in her journal, paused and listened carefully. A moment later, her eyes widened, and she stifled a laugh. "Oh my God. Are they...?"

Emily shook her head. “They have been going at it all week.” 

JJ chuckled. “And I guess they’ll be going at it all night, too.” 

Morgan sighed, shaking his head. He pulled out the sleeper sofa, revealing a worn but comfortable looking mattress. Emily dialed the front desk for an extra pillow and blanket. The clerk arrived soon after with the bedding, offering with a knowing smile to inform the noisy neighbors of their volume. Morgan waved it off with a chuckle. The three friends continued talking softly amongst themselves as they settled in, periodically interrupted by muffled sounds from the room next door.

"I mean, good for them, but did they have to pick the room right next to ours?"

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Reid's full of surprises. I never would've pegged him for being so bold."

Emily smirked, her eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "Think we should knock on the wall and let them know we can hear them?"

JJ snorted, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. "That would be so mean, but part of me really wants to."

Morgan leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment. "Nah, let them have their fun. It's about time Reid loosened up a bit.” 

The trio settled back into their previous activities, the noise from next door gradually subsiding into quiet murmurs and the occasional muffled laugh. The room fell into a comfortable silence, each of them starting to feel the exhaustion of the day catching up. Just as they were beginning to drift off, the sounds from next door started up again. This time, it was unmistakable – soft gasps and the rhythmic creak of the bed.

Morgan groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me."

[domm1etae]

Possession

welcome to domm1etae's kinktober day 1 : SIZE KINK

hongjoong x f!reader

2.7k

when Y/N gets too close to a friend at a gathering, Hongjoong’s quiet jealousy simmers beneath the surface, leading to an intense confrontation as soon as they’re alone

nsfw tags under

m/f, top hongjoong, bottom reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, dominance, submission, size kink, possession, jealousy, dirty talk, power play, manhandling, orgasm control, claiming kink, breath play, control, pet names, kissing

Requests OPEN! - let me know through the ask button if you have any requests for this Kinktober

author's note: this was suggested by @arki-sha in my comments. here is the original prompt:

Possessive!Hongjoong + Size Kink I really think that HJ would really go feral if his partner is someone who is smaller than him like he would really use their size difference to his advantage since he can't use it that often to others since he is usually much shorter and smaller than his members.

navigation | kinktober masterlist

Y/N could tell something was off with Hongjoong the moment they arrived at the gathering. He was quiet, almost too quiet, which was unusual for him. She knew him well enough to sense when something was brewing beneath the surface. But Hongjoong wasn’t the type to cause a scene in front of others—he held his emotions close to his chest until they were alone.

The night went on, and Y/N found herself laughing along with one of their friends, a guy she’d known for years. He had a harmless charm about him, always cracking jokes and lightening the mood. She nudged him playfully when he made some ridiculous comment, not thinking twice about it—until she caught a glimpse of Hongjoong from across the room.

His eyes were on them, sharp and unblinking, his jaw set in a tight line. Y/N’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but she could feel the jealousy radiating off him in waves. Hongjoong was possessive by nature, especially when it came to her. He wasn’t controlling, but the idea of someone else getting too close to her—especially another man—always triggered something primal in him.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Y/N tried to engage Hongjoong in conversation, hoping to smooth things over, but he remained distant. His replies were short, and the tension between them grew thicker with each passing minute. She could see it in the way his eyes darkened every time the other guy spoke to her, the way his hand gripped his glass just a little too tight.

She knew he was holding back, but she also knew that once they were alone, he wouldn’t hold back anymore.

As soon as they said their goodbyes and got into the car, the silence was suffocating. Y/N glanced over at Hongjoong, trying to read his expression, but he was staring straight ahead, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Joong, are you okay?” she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, in a voice low and rough, he said, “Do I look okay?”

Y/N bit her lip, feeling a mix of guilt and apprehension. She hadn’t meant to make him jealous, but she also knew there was no point in trying to defend herself right now. Hongjoong’s possessiveness had taken over, and once that switch was flipped, there was only one way it would end.

The ride home felt like it stretched on forever, and the second they stepped through the front door, Hongjoong’s hand was on her wrist, pulling her towards him with a firm, almost desperate grip.

“We need to talk,” he growled, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and something darker, something possessive.

Y/N’s heart raced as she nodded, letting him lead her into the living room. His body was tense, his movements sharp, and she could feel the weight of his jealousy pressing down on her like a storm about to break.

“Do you have any idea what you were doing tonight?” Hongjoong’s voice was low, but there was an edge to it that made Y/N’s pulse quicken. He released her wrist and began pacing in front of her, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Laughing with him, touching him like that—do you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I wouldn’t care?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in her throat. She knew trying to explain herself would only make things worse. Instead, she swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice calm. “Joong, I didn’t mean anything by it. We were just talking.”

“Talking?” he spat the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stopped pacing and turned to face her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “You were practically all over him, Y/N. And he was eating it up, wasn’t he? Acting like he had a chance.”

Y/N shook her head, her voice soft but firm. “He’s just a friend. You know that.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, towering over her. “I don’t care,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want him or anyone else that close to you. You’re mine, Y/N. Only mine.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as he closed the distance between them, his hand sliding up to cup her face, his touch gentle but his grip firm enough to let her know he wasn’t playing around. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, his eyes dark and full of that possessive heat that always made her heart race.

She could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, a storm of jealousy and desire swirling just beneath the surface. Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing what was coming next, knowing that Hongjoong wasn’t just angry—he was possessive in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and exhilarated.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “to see someone else touching you? Even just for a second?”

Y/N couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, her pulse quickening under the intensity of his stare. “Joong…”

His fingers slid down her neck, wrapping lightly around her throat. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel small, completely at his mercy. “Do you know what I was thinking about the whole time?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “I was thinking about how I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this. How no one else can make you feel the way I do.”

Y/N’s knees felt weak as his hand tightened just a little, his grip commanding and possessive. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers, the intensity of his jealousy driving him to take control, to remind her who she belonged to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

His eyes darkened, and a slow, predatory smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, you will be.”

Before she could react, Hongjoong’s lips crashed against hers, the kiss hard and possessive, his hands moving to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. His fingers dug into her skin, not painful but insistent, as if he needed to feel every inch of her under his control.

Y/N melted into the kiss, her hands gripping his shoulders as his possessiveness fueled the fire between them. She could feel his jealousy in every movement, every rough touch, as if he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else being close to her.

Without breaking the kiss, Hongjoong pushed her backwards, guiding her towards the bedroom. His lips never left hers, his hands wandering over her body with a kind of urgency that made Y/N’s head spin. The second they reached the bed, he pulled away, leaving her breathless and dazed as he stood over her, his chest heaving.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “No one else gets to have you like this.”

Y/N could barely breathe as she watched him, her body trembling with anticipation. She knew what was coming, and the thought sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. Hongjoong wasn’t just going to make love to her—he was going to claim her, to remind her of her place in his arms.

He undressed quickly, his movements sharp and precise, and within moments, he was standing over her, fully bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in, the sight of his body making her pulse race. Hongjoong wasn’t the biggest man physically, but right now, with the intensity in his eyes and the way he loomed over her, he felt massive.

He crawled over her, his body pressing her into the mattress as he pinned her wrists above her head. “You’re so tiny beneath me,” he murmured, his voice full of dark satisfaction. “Perfectly made for me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt his hands roaming over her body, his touch rough and possessive. Every stroke of his fingers sent a thrill through her, reminding her of just how much control he had over her in this moment.

“Hongjoong,” she whimpered, her body arching towards his touch.

He smirked down at her, his eyes gleaming with that same possessive heat. “You crave this, don’t you?” he growled, his hand sliding between her thighs, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him. “You want to feel how much I want you.”

Y/N could only nod, her voice lost in a soft moan as he continued to tease her, driving her to the brink of madness with every touch. She loved the way he made her feel—small, vulnerable, and utterly claimed.

Hongjoong’s fingers ghosted over her skin, teasingly slow as he traced the curve of her waist, then down to her thighs. His eyes never left hers, dark with desire and something more primal, more intense. He relished this—loved seeing her smaller frame beneath him, her body completely at his mercy, helpless to whatever he decided to do next. Y/N’s breath was ragged, each teasing touch driving her closer to the edge, and he knew it. He was enjoying every second of it, watching her squirm under his control.

“Damn, you look irresistible like this,” he murmured, voice deep and rough, his thumb brushing the inside of her thigh, just shy of where she desperately wanted him. “I could lose myself in you, baby.”

Y/N whimpered, her hips shifting involuntarily as she tried to press herself closer to his hand, but he held her down firmly. The look on his face was all dominance, all control. She was his, and he was going to make sure she knew it—every inch of her.

Her mind was spinning, thoughts scattered as her body reacted to every brush of his fingertips. She had never felt so small, so overwhelmed by his presence, and yet it thrilled her to the core. The way Hongjoong looked at her, like she was the only thing in his world, filled her with an intoxicating mix of desire and submission. His jealousy had transformed into something powerful, something that made her feel utterly consumed by him.

“Joong, please…” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, pleading, but she couldn’t help it. She needed more—needed him to take her completely, to feel him inside her, filling her, claiming her.

His lips curled into a smirk at her desperation, and he leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. “You want me to give you everything, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “What if I want to make you wait a little longer?”

Y/N shuddered, her breath catching as his lips brushed her ear. “You know what you do to me,” she breathed, her body aching for him.

Hongjoong chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “Trust me, I know. And I can’t get enough of it. You’re the only one I want to see like this.” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering. “I want to remind you that no one else can touch you the way I do.”

Without warning, he pushed her legs apart, settling himself between them, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive force that made her gasp. He loved seeing her like this—vulnerable, exposed, completely under his control. His cock was hard, pressing against her entrance, and he took a moment to savor the look on her face, the way her body trembled with anticipation.

“I don’t want you looking at anyone else,” Hongjoong murmured, his lips brushing her neck, kissing, biting softly. “You’re mine, Y/N. Just mine.”

“I know,” she whimpered, her body arching into him, desperate for him to move. “I’m yours, Joong.”

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice sending a shiver down her spine. And with that, he thrust into her, hard and deep, stretching her in a way that made her gasp, her body tensing as he filled her completely.

Y/N’s head fell back against the pillow, her breath catching in her throat as Hongjoong settled himself fully inside her. The stretch was overwhelming, the feeling of him so deep that it made her toes curl. He didn’t give her time to adjust, though—his hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he started moving, slow at first, but each thrust deliberate, calculated.

“You feel that?” he growled, his eyes locked on hers, his voice low and rough. “That’s me reminding you how much you mean to me.”

Y/N could only moan in response, her body reacting instinctively to the way he took her, each thrust pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She felt so small beneath him, so helpless, and the way Hongjoong’s body pressed down on hers made her feel completely owned. He wasn’t just fucking her—he was claiming her, marking her as his.

With each movement, Hongjoong’s jealousy seemed to fuel his desire, his pace picking up, rougher, more insistent. He thrust deep into her, each motion filling her completely, the size difference between them only heightening the intensity. She couldn’t escape the way he filled her, couldn’t escape his hold, and that thought alone sent waves of heat through her.

“Joong—” Y/N gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he thrust harder, her mind a blur of pleasure and need.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, his pace relentless. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed, her voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “Only yours.”

A dark, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he heard the words he wanted. “That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. His hand slid down her body, teasingly slow, before it found its way between her legs. His fingers brushed against her clit, and Y/N cried out, her body arching into him as he started to rub slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The combination of his cock thrusting deep inside her and the pressure on her clit sent her spiraling. Her moans grew louder, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Hongjoong pushed her closer to the edge.

“You’re loving every second of this, aren’t you?” he muttered, his voice rough as he watched her fall apart beneath him. “You love how I make you feel—like you’re the only one in the world.”

Y/N couldn’t respond—she was too overwhelmed, her body trembling with pleasure as Hongjoong continued to thrust into her, his fingers working her clit with precision. She was so close, so close she could feel the tension building inside her, ready to snap at any moment.

“Come for me,” Hongjoong growled, his voice commanding as his pace quickened. “Come for me, baby. Show me how much you need me.”

That was all it took. With a loud, broken moan, Y/N’s body tensed, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her walls clenched around him, and Hongjoong cursed under his breath, his thrusts becoming erratic as her body milked him.

The sight of her coming undone beneath him, so small and helpless under his control, sent Hongjoong over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust into her one last time, burying himself as deep as he could as he spilled inside her, claiming her in every sense of the word.

For a moment, they stayed like that, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies pressed together as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away. Hongjoong’s hands loosened their grip on her hips, his touch becoming softer, more tender as he gently pulled out of her and collapsed beside her on the bed.

Y/N’s body was still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, her mind hazy with satisfaction. She turned her head to look at Hongjoong, and to her surprise, his eyes were soft now, the earlier fire of jealousy replaced by something gentler.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the possessiveness still there but tempered by affection. “Always.”

Y/N smiled, her body relaxing into the warmth of his embrace. “Always,” she echoed, feeling utterly content in his arms.

[yanderefarm]

I NEED ares oiled up in blood/j

Finding ares mid kill tho 🙏🙏🙏

finding ares mid kill

cw;; violence, blood, yandere tendencies, minor gore

technically we've already found ares mid kill or well mid disposal and the fallout of that. so i wrote this with the idea that darling is into the murder or used to it by now. also this is what made me finally take no blood/gore off my dont request list. i keep writing bloody gorey stuff so like I can't expect you not to ask for it

you two definitely killed her together and then had bloody messy sex right there even with ares injury. full yandere mode ares is a full freak he'd give you his dead eyed gaze with hearts in his eyes while he rides you. he doesn't care he's bleeding, infact he'd be so thrilled to cover you in his blood.

a familiar scene was playing out, you opened the door of your house and there was ares in the doorway covered in blood. his eyes were dark, almost lifeless and they hadn't seemed to register your presence yet. his shirt had been ripped open exposing his ample chest which had also been coated in blood. you didn't see the body, instead there was a trail of blood from the door through the house.

you realized suddenly that the person ares had been killing was trying to escape. you didn't have time to stop and make sure your wife was ok instead you bolted down the hall past him. you followed the blood trail in a panic, following it to the laundry room. it looked like the person was hiding behind the washer based on how it had been pushed out. you calmed your breathing and you could hear them desperately trying to hold in theirs. definitely behind the washer.

you grabbed the large bottle of detergent as your best makeshift weapon as you made your way to the washer slowly. you looked behind the machine... it was one of your coworkers. she immediately recognized you so she threw herself into your arms.

"your-your partner is try-trying to kill me!" she shouted, tears falling down her cheeks.

"what are you doing?" ares was standing like a husk in the doorway. he was definitely hurt based on the way he was clutching his side.

"you-you monster!" she screamed trying to hide herself behind you.

"not you." he sounded so distant like he wasn't completely with you right now. he dragged his body deeper into the room.

"honey..." your brows furrowed watching him stumble. "what's going on?"

"why are you hugging her? why are you-" he stumbled again this time grunting in pain. you watched as tears started to drip from his emotionless eyes.

you looked down at your coworker, her arms wrapped around your middle. the only notable wound on her was a large gash in her shoulder. your eyes wandered to the bottle of laundry detergent in your hand. that wasn't enough, you needed the knife still dangling in ares's hand.

"i don't know why she's hugging me." your face twisted to one of disgust. "she's making me sick."

before she could fully register your words you grabbed her by her shoulder. she screamed loudly. you shoved her to the middle of the room where she fell on her back at ares's feet. ares looked down at her before looking at you again.

"what did she tell you, honey?" you looked back at him earnestly, your worry written all over your face.

"... she said... you two had drinks. and there's a picture on her phone of her all over you. isn't that why you abandoned me? to run to your lover?" his voice was full of pain and he was swaying on his feet.

"yeah we all got drinks together after work, i told you about it. she threw herself at me then too." you let out a heavy sigh and stepped forward towards him.

you closed the distance between you two slowly until your foot met the girl still on the floor. you scrunched up your face in disgust. you pressed your foot against her leg and added your body weight until you heard the sickening snap of her leg breaking. she screamed even louder than before her body writhing in pain. the sound seemed to snap ares back to himself and he looked at you with glossy eyes.

"honey?" you asked offering a hand to him.

"y/n..." he blushed a little bit as he reached out the hand with the knife still in it to you. you dragged him over to your side, letting him use your body to help himself stand up.

"honey do you think you could guide me? I'll finish this up and then patch you up." you gave him a chaste kiss.

his eyes went dark again but this time there were hearts in his eyes. his face was red and he squirmed like he did when he was turned on and trying to hide it. "let's do it together ♥"

[reiderwriter]

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You🃏

Chapter 1 of That's What You Get

Next Chapter

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: After three weeks on a case in Vegas and a particularly draining phone call from your mother, you decide to take Reid up on his offer to show you the sights of Las Vegas. When you wake up the next morning, you realise one of those sights was a 24hour Wedding Parlor, and that you're now Mrs. Reid.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, loss of memory, marriage (yeah that needs a warning), mommy issues, mentions of emotional abuse, implied sex scene, use of handcuffs in a sexual way, they theorize a possible creampie but I will neither confirm nor deny at this point, talk of contraception, no actual smut though, you guys are gonna have to wait for that. 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: The first chapter is here! Sorry for drawing you in with a silly little premise and then giving you mommy issues, I swear that after this chapter it's not bought up all that much. If you enjoy this chapter, you can sign up to the series taglist here, check out my masterlist and if you want leave a request! :D have fun reading!! ✨

Las Vegas, city of sin and entertainment capital of the world. Population approximately 600,000, home to the most famous casinos in the world, and unluckily for you, your latest unsub.

You’d been in Vegas for three weeks trying to hunt down this specific murderer, but now the case was all wrapped up and you could finally breathe, the weight of the stress you’d been carrying for almost a month now dissolving as you finally finished up the paperwork in the local precinct.

“Thank god that’s over. I cannot wait to be in bed with a good book and an empty head,” you groaned as you met the eyes of Penelope Garcia, your favorite tech analyst in the entire world and absolutely the only one you knew. She’d ended up having to join you on this case because some of the crime scenes just happened to be casinos that weren’t so happy sharing their data, but also didn’t want to be lumped with the warrant from the FBI. She’d been working between their offices and the precinct, and looked just as haggard as you felt.

“Oh, I feel you sister, this free travel experience thing is nice, but I would like to be back at my own perfect little desk hovel ASAP, thank you very much.” The two of you shared a small laugh, and then began collecting your stuff.

“Come on now, baby girl, you’re telling me that you don’t want to hit up the strip while we’re here? See the sights a little?”

“Sweet cheeks, I have been working from the most harrowing of surveillance units all week on that very strip. I have already seen the sights and they were not pretty, and definitely not worth using up my precious vacation time for.”

“Unfortunately Garcia, I don’t think you’ll be needing to use any of that vacation time to stay here,” Hotch announced as he walked in, and every member of your team snapped to attention to hear what he had to say. “I just got off the phone with Quantico, there’s a storm cloud moving in directly in our flight path and we haven’t been cleared for take off. They’re extending our stay by another day.”

“Shit,” you let out a silent curse, and noticed that your other team members didn’t seem all that happy about it either. JJ quickly excused herself from the room to call Will, Garcia let out a faux sob and fell back into her chair, and Rossi had the look of abject Italian disappointment on his face that he usually only got when you talked about your love of pineapple on pizza.

“How’s about that drink now, baby girl?” Derek Morgan teased, but it was half-hearted and you knew it. You were all desperate for bed, and you could only imagine the mistakes you would make if you went drinking now after the month you’d all just survived.

The only member of the team who didn’t seem put out quite yet was Reid, but you chalked that up to the fact that this place was his hometown.

“If you guys do change your mind, I know a bar downtown where you’re 34% less likely to be propositioned, robbed or over-charged.” He smiled over at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle knowing the man was 100% serious.

“Dare I ask how you found that statistic, Reid?” Emily inquired from the other corner.

“One part actually reading the annual crime report, one part personal experience?” Reid replied, and you laughed again, unable to hold it back.

“Count me out, thank you,” you replied, and you could have sworn for a second you saw a flash of disappointment flash over his features, but you didn’t get the chance to question it, because a call was lighting up your phone screen.

You quickly excused yourself and moved to pick up the call from your mother.

“Mom, hey, what’s up?”

“What, I can’t check in on my daughter now for no reason?” you sighed and rubbed your temples, knowing exactly how this phone call was going to go, because it was how the last ten calls home had.

“Yes, mom, of course you can. How are you?”

“Terrible. Cindy’s daughter is getting married, and it’s all she’s talking about now. Can you believe it? The girl was absolutely wild when you were friends with her in high school and now she’s settling down with a lawyer of all people. Someone should warn that young man before he realises what he’s got himself into,” she scoffed on the other end of the line and you did your best to not get worked up. If you got angry it only made her more self-richeous.

“I know, Mom, Jessica sent me an invite, and I’m sure Trevor knows exactly what he’s getting into since they’ve been dating since high school.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that? You never tell me anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m in the middle of a case right now, can I call you back later?” You did your best to escape the conversation before it devolved into something you really didn’t want to talk about, like yourself, and more specifically your love life. But the gorgon had you frozen through the line and you weren’t about to make the mistake of hanging up on her.

“I’m sure your boss could spare you for five minutes, over-working you like he does. You haven’t had the time off to come and visit me since you got that fancy little job of yours, so you can do me this favor at least.”

“Sure, mom.” At times like this, you knew it was best to just let her talk and ride out the wave.

“And I’m sure you don’t even have time to date. Are you taking care of yourself, at least? Making sure you’re at least presentable, I hope? Its like I always say, you could meet your future husband in one of those precincts, you know. Get a big, strong man to take care of you.”

You had to resist the urge to throw your phone. You’d explained to your mother time and time again that you were perfectly content being the big, strong man for yourself, but there was absolutely no getting through to her. You received one of these phone calls everytime one of her friends or coworkers kids announced an engagement, got pregnant or bought a house, three things that she was desperate for you to do, as well. As soon as you saw the instagram post from Jessica you’d been counting down the days, almost thankful for your mothers lack of online presence.

“A crime scene isn’t exactly the most charming of meet cutes, Mom.”

“Well, then what about Virginia? There are some fine men working at the FBI surely. What about that one coworker of yours, what was his name?” Your heart-race increased for a moment, praying she wasn’t about to put a thought in your head that you wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Derek Morgan, was it? Now, that’s a fine young man.” This time you couldn’t stop the startled cry that came from your mouth. Sure, Morgan was an incredibly attractive man, but he’d joked around with you like a brother ever since you’d taken down your first unsub with the team. Your team was your family and your support system on the road, and they had your back on the case, so really, had your mother said anything, you’d have responded with incredulous guffawing. Hotch was like your dad, Rossi a fun Great-Uncle or something. You saw the sister’s you’d never had in JJ and Emily and of course Garcia was your best friend and you shared so many likes and dislikes that you regularly joked about being long-lost twins separated at birth. And Reid was Reid.

“Just give dating some thought, would you at least? The clock is ticking for you, you know.”

“Mom, I’m not even thirty yet. I’m in no rush.”

“That's what your Aunt Linda said, and look at her.” Your Aunt Linda was a perfectly content single woman in her late forties who had a high paying executive job, in NYC of all places, so yeah, you were in no rush at all.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, Hotch is calling me into the office to talk about some case files. I’ll speak to you later?”

“God, it’s like you don’t even want to talk to your mother for even five minutes. Go on, then, go do your big fancy job. Call me soon.”

“Yeah, Mom, I will.” And with that you finally hung up. Running a hand through your hair you paused for a breath for a second, closing your eyes and letting your hand just grip your hair for a second before releasing your breath for a second.

In the grand scheme of things, you knew that your mom wasn’t all that much to complain about. You and Emily had bonded over your respective mommy issues early in your time on the team, and you knew a lot of the other team members were either lacking some family member or the other, so you were just thankful that she was still around to annoy you, but god did she make it difficult sometimes.

Realising that any second, you’d have one profiler or the other come find you and ask you (with the best of intentions) what was wrong, you plastered a smile on your face and walked back into the office. You didn’t exactly want to relive that call anytime soon.

“Back so soon, Y/N? I thought that was your mom,” Morgan questioned you when you stepped back in.

“Yeah it was. One of my friends from highschool is getting married and you know how she loves to gossip.” You’d learnt early in the profession that you were in that the best way to hide something was to tell the truth about it for as long as you could, and then change the subject.

“Hey, Reid, you still up for a drink at that bar?” You looked hopefully at the man in the corner, and prayed noone would bring up your absolute change in attitude. “I was thinking a glass of wine or two after a successfully closed case couldn’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah, sure. You wanna head back to the hotel first and change, or do you want to go from here? Hotch said we’re free now until 2pm tomorrow.” You could see a questioning look from Morgan to your left, but you kept your vision focused on Reid, quietly thankful for the rest of the teams disinterest.

“Give me five to drop off my badge and gun in my room and freshen up a bit and we can be on our way. If this bar is bad though, Reid, you know I’m never letting you hear the end of it, right?”

“I ran the statistics, there’s only a 14% chance you’ll dislike it.”

“You know what’s scary is, I can’t even tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

–x–

Sarcasm or no, you had to admit, the bar he’d taken you to was pretty nice. It was a low-lit bar only a twenty minute taxi ride from your hotel and whilst it wasn’t exactly on the strip, it wasn’t so far out to be inconvenient. The best part about it was that it was lined with bookshelves, and each booth was blocked off by another, making it feel more like a library than a watering hole. You almost forgot you were in Vegas when you stepped in.

“Yeah, this is definitely a Spencer Reid place,” you said as you took the final swig of your wine, the glass you’d ordered on arrival having gone down easier than you’d expected.

“How so?” Spencer said as he returned to your table, carrying the replacement drinks he’d gone to order with him.

“Come on, Spencer. I’ve never seen the inside of your apartment but I’m sure it’s just this place with less furniture and more books.”

“Y/L/N, are you profiling me right now? Because that sounds pretty close to profiling?” Spencer teased and you rolled your eyes at him, grabbing your next drink from him and giving it a stir - the wine was good but at the price per glass you’d decided maybe cocktails were the thing for tonight.

“Besides, you did mention wanting to curl up with a book tonight, so I thought this bar was probably a good fit for you too.”

“Whose profiling who now, Doctor?” It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he took a sip of his drink. You knew he didn’t drink that often, but he seemed pretty open to the idea tonight, and you were absolutely glad for the company.

“Okay, I won’t profile if you don’t, but do you mind me asking you a question, Y/N?”

“Fire away,” you were playing with the stirrer in your cocktail, waiting for him to ask the question but he’d hesitated for a moment before speaking again, causing you to look up directly into his eyes.

“What’s going on with you and your mom? I don’t mean to pry and I didn’t overhear any of your call earlier or anything, but when you came in again you were all tense and you had that strained smile on your face. Then you suddenly changed your mind and decided we should get drinks so, I’m just guessing here, but you could probably do with talking about it, right?”

You let out a groan and let your head hang a bit. Yeah, you were starting to regret taking that role in the team of profilers. But at least Reid was sincere, and you knew his intentions were good. Of all the members of the team, you’d probably have described him as the safest. It was strange to think, considering all the comfort you found in your other friends, but there was just something so reassuring about Reid’s presence, the way most people overlooked him at first, how he could easily fall into his work and how you could see the cogs moving in his head as he made one genius leap to another that just made you think that everything was going to be okay if he was there.

So because it was him, you decided to talk.

“She’s just…She’s just a little much sometimes, you know?” He smiled back a knowing smile, but didn’t try to add anything and encouraged you to keep going.

“She’s been really persistent recently in bothering me about hitting some of lifes big milestones - marriage, kids, you know? And it always leaves me in a panic because though I’m pretty sure I want those things just yet, I don’t want the pressure of having them yet.” You swallowed the bile in your thoat and continued

“Everytime she says something, I feel bad that I don’t have them. And the way she talks about them its like they’re some kind of… of personal failure, that I’m not trying hard enough to catch a man or something, and I just wonder what if she’s right?” You start slow but you feel yourself gaining pace as you begin rambling, by the end you’re left wondering if Reid even caught any of that.

“I’m perfectly content living alone, but what if I’m secretly not, and I end up forty and alone and can’t even get a guy to look at me.”

“I can pretty confidently say that that’s not going to happen, Y/N.” Reid replied when you finally grabbed your drink ready to take another sip.

“How come?”

“You won’t have to put any effort into catching a man, Y/N.” Reid replied.

“You’re saying that because you’re my friend and you care about me Reid, of course you think that.”

“No, I’m saying that as an FBI Profiler that’s noticed the barman, the man on a date in the corner and the group of guys smoking outside the door eye you up since we’ve been here. And considering we’ve been doing paperwork all day, and the only change in your appearance since 8am this morning was the fresh coat of chapstick you put on while we were in the taxi, I’d think you hadn’t really put that much thought into what you look like right now.”

“You’re exaggerating,” and you really believe that, until you turn to look at the guy on the date and see him avert his gaze from you quickly, and you realise there might be something in what he’s saying.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t mean that I need or want to hear those things from my mother.”

“Y/N, take it from me, mother’s can be complicated.”

“God, I feel so stupid talking to you about something so trivial with my mom, I shouldn’t be doing that, we’re here to have fun.”

“Y/N, its okay. I can do the mommy issues talks, I’m perfectly qualified, but…” he trails off and grabs his drink for another sip and you find yourself hanging off his words begging for him to bring you more comfort and spoken caresses.

“But what, Reid?” you finally ask, as you realise he’s dragging this out on purpose to tease you a little.

“But how about a distraction instead? Have you ever been in a Las Vegas casino with a man that is banned from gambling in most of them?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little as he asked that and you giggled again, grateful for the reprieve from the serious talk.

“That doesn’t sound all that fun, Spencer.”

“Oh yeah, it’s not, but we could always use those vouchers we got as a token of appreciation earlier in the bars and drink some pretty fancy alcohol?”

“Spencer Reid, you are finally speaking my language.”

“I’m still speaking English Y/N, but if you wanted me to switch to russian or some other language, I could accommodate that depending on your linguistic preference.”

“It was a joke, Spence, now let’s get out of here.”

With that, he stood and dramatically offered you his hand like a gentleman, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow when you took it and guiding you swiftly out of the sweet bar. You were with Spencer, your safe friend, close work colleague and probably the least likely member of the BAU Team to get into trouble in a bar in Vegas. What’s the worst that could happen? You thought, as you took a final step out into the humid night air of Las Vegas.

–X–

The first thing you noticed in the morning was the pounding in your head, and it was pretty much the only thing you noticed for quite some time. When you managed to finally unglue your eyes, the second thing you noticed that this definitely wasn’t your room. The third thing you noticed was the gaping hole in your memories that explained how you possibly could’ve ended up wherever it was that you were. Or really any memories from the night before at all.

Letting out a quick groan you sit up in bed and take stock of your surroundings. Although the layout is different, you quickly recognise the interior matches the hotel you’ve been staying at, so you’re thankful that you’re at least somewhere relatively safe, and most likely in familiar company. The room looks to be neat on the whole, but there’s obvious signs of a drunken escapade strewn everwhere - two champagne flutes and a drained bottle, the contents of your purse spilt onto the chair in the corner, some random balloons in the corner you must have picked up somewhere in a drunken stupor, your clothes discarded in a trail to the bed.

That last one wakes you up a little bit more, and almost embarrassingly, you look down at yourself and see your lack of clothing, pulling the covers of the quilt closer to you as you feel yourself flush.

Fuck.

There’s a shifting in the bed next to you, and you look down in horror to see exactly which member of your team got you so plastered last night. You try to move to see who it is, but theres a tightness around your wrist and you’re pulled right back down into bed. You look down at your arm, and that’s when you realise you’re really screwed.

There, around your wrist and restraining you against the bed, is a set of handcuffs. FBI standard. The insinuation flames your face as you whip around to see which close friend and coworker you maybe - possibly - hooked up with last night, too embarrassed to look at your hand any more.

Luckily, your mystery man shifts again, and you catch sight of the nest of brown curls right before he turns over to see you, so when you finally meet the eye of Doctor Spencer Reid, you don’t scream in surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doi-” he cuts himself off as he lets his eyes trail down your body, quickly noticing your state of undress and pulling himself up into a seated position. He is similarly disrobed and it takes all of your strength to pull your gaze away from his bare chest to look literally anywhere else, your face practically flaming now.

“Spencer, would you mind helping me out over here?” you manage to squeak out quickly, as he does his best to avoid your eyes. “I seem to be a little stuck?”

That draws his attention back to you, and he finally notices the strange position of your arms and the handcuffs keeping you pinned to that spot in the bed.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry, fuck,” he quickly pulls on the pants he discarded by his side of the bed and scrambles over to you, tripping over once in his haste.

“Do you know where the key is?” you ask as he arrives at your side again, your free hand clutching the sheets over your breasts like your life depended on it.

“If that’s my pair they should be in the safe in the nightstand with my creds, give me a second to look.” After a second, he reaches the aforementioned safe box, pulling it open. He roots around inside it for a few seconds and then he spots something ad you watch the blood drain from his face.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you spit out quickly, tongue still heavy, and lips probably still swollen, from the night before, so you trip over the words a little. He pulls out the keys from the draw, and you let out a sigh of relief, but you’re still tense as he reaches back inside the draw and pulls out something else.

“Y/N, there wouldn’t happen to be a ring on that hand would there?” Spencer still isn’t looking at you, still staring intently at whatever else is in his hands. You try to angle your head to look, but between the restraints and the fact that Reid had turned his back to you couldn’t quite see what it was.

“What? No, I don’t wear a ring on this hand-” you cut yourself off abruptly as you look down and see it. There on the fourth finger of your left hand, the one that is still chained to the bed by your partners handcuffs, is a ring. There’s a ring on your ring finger. You just woke up in Las Vegas with no memory, in your coworkers room, naked, with a ring on your ring finger.

Your heart drops to your ass as you snap your head back around to Spencer, who finally works up the courage to look you in the eye.

“I think you should look at this” he stutters out and finally presents you with the other item he pulled out of the draw. Your jaw drops open and the pounding in your head turns into a continuous buzzing as you see yourself presented with a marriage liscence. Pinned to the corner with a paperclip is a polaroid picture, and you recognise yourself and your clothes from the night before, with the addition of a veil and bouquet, your arms slung around Reid’s neck as he pulls you in for what you can assume was a pretty passionate kiss.

“Y/N I think we got married last night.”

For a second you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. This was not happening, not to you, not right now. How stupidly drunk could you have gotten to have actually gone and married someone you weren’t even dating. And considering your current lack of clothing, it was dawning on you that you had probably done a little bit more than what was in that photo.

“Spencer unlock these handcuffs right now, so help me God,” you breathed deep and screwed your eyes shut, hoping that wihtout the distraction of the glaring lights you’d be able to remember some of what you’d done last night, but nothing came to you.

Reid, for what it was worth, got you unlocked quickly. You winced slightly as you pulled your arm away from the position it’d been in for however many hours.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have undone those last night, I don’t know why I didn’t, I’m usually pretty good at remembering stuff like that.” Reid rambled, running a hand through his hair and pacing slightly at your side of the bed. You pushed yourself up and watched him for a minute, just looking at this man who was now, probably, your husband.

Your husband.

You shook the thought from your head and cut his rambling off quickly.

“You put me in these?” you asked, just desperate for any clarification on any of the events of the last 24 hours, not fully grasping the implications of what you were asking until Reid was looking down at you with a flushed face and a mouth gaping like a fish, struggling to find the words to say.

“This is my hotel room. Those are my handcuffs… I kind of just assumed…” he trailed off the thought and you were right with him, the embarrassment heating your face just as much as it had his. You found it hard to meet his eyes the, and dropped yours to your lap.

“So you don’t remember, either?” You almost sighed in relief at that. If even a genius with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory was in this state after a night of drinking, then you really couldn’t be blamed for getting so drunk you married your coworker and most likely had some pretty kinky sex with him, remembering absolutely nothing on top of that at all.

“Do you need me to grab you something to wear?” he asked as he looked down at you, letting his gaze trail probably a little bit too low for a little bit too long. You grew heated under his stare, as your body reacted, and you realised how easy it must have been to fall underneath him last night if this was how you were feeling from just one look.

But you pulled yourself out of those thoughts quickly, and it seemed that so did he, as he began grabbing clothes from the floor and handing them to you, turning away as you started getting yourself into a semi-decent state.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you heard Reid mumble to himself as he made his way around the side of the bed, and in your concern for him, you called out.

“Anything specific those curses were for, Spence? Because I know this isn’t exactly the most ideal situation, but four Spencer Reid swears in a row is a cause for concern.” You tried to joke, hoping to relieve some of the anxiety of your predicament.

“I can’t find…” he started and then dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. “Y/N, I think we didn’t use protection.” You could see him panicking now, and for a second you thought of joining him too, but you crossed the room and grabbed his arms.

“Spencer, look at me, it’s fine. If we did end up… doing that, I’m on birth control, and we probably have time to grab something extra just to make sure, right?” he looked down at you then and after a moments hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so stupid for suggesting we go to that casino bar last night, I don’t know what I was thinking. You even said last night that this wasn’t what you wanted for yourself, right now, god I’m an idiot, you don’t deserve this.” He buried his face in your neck and held you tight, and you pulled yours up to his back, rubbing circles into his skin slowly.

“Spencer, listen to me. I can think of noone I would have rather had a shotgun Vegas marriage with, okay? This isn’t your fault, we were both drunk, and I’m sure a Reid who was thinking straight could give me some kind of statistic about inhibitions dropping with a certain amount of alcohol.”

“A study in the United Kingdom found that there was an increase of risky sexual behavior in young people who had participated in binge drinking, including unprotected sex with a new partner and the use of emergency contraceptives and I’m not sure why I’m still talking when that was probably rhetorical, right?” You smiled at his panic, finding him just as endearing as ever, even in this predicament.

“What I’m saying, Spencer, is that we’re going to be okay. This isn’t the first time someone has gotten married in Vegas on a whim. Hell, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened to someone on our team. In a sense, this was a very traditional wedding.”

He groaned into your neck again and you laughed up at him. Sure, you were panicked still, but just having him in your arms there sharing his honest feelings with you instead of bottling it up and leaving you to deal with it on your own in your head too was doing you a world of good, and you found the words you used to reassure him soothing you, too, in turn.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. One, find the nearest pharmacy. Two, find whatever Elvis-inspired love shack wrote that marriage license and figure out if it’s actually legally binding. Three, avoid all of our coworkers until 2pm. How does that sound?”

Reid pulled himself out of your neck then, and you were almost sad at the loss of that warmth near you.

“It sounds like I made the smartest choice of a wife I was ever going to make,” he smiled down at you.

“Oh you got jokes now, Doc? I see.”

“Thought I should let you know all my deep dark secrets now we’re married.” You shared a laugh, and standing there amongst the debris of the night before, despite all the mistakes, you knew you were safe, and that the two of you would always be safe together.

🏷️ @sailortongue @bethanyhaas01 @reidscaffeine @high-functioning-cosplayer @average-sunflower @multifandom-on-the-side @anniewhalelover @prentissesredtanktop @abbyshmaby @academiareid @hugyourlungs @w-windy @babybluecakes @SwaggySagieWagie@reidandhotchsgirl @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @Zaapsite @daddy-dotcom @bluecandycake

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college. 

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way. 

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars. 

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time. 

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.” 

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson. 

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe. 

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind. 

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.” 

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest. 

Her hands—

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin.  Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep. 

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains. 

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued.  The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before. 

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags. 

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off. 

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear. 

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world. 

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.” 

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right. 

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.” 

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.” 

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout. 

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you.  He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too. 

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?” 

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious. 

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape. 

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do. 

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt. 

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?” 

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him. 

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” 

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away. 

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. 

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse. 

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it. 

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak. 

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in. 

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat. 

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist. 

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart. 

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: While shooting a movie with the infamous Wanda Maximoff, you start to fall for her. The lines between reality and acting blur together as you enter into a publicity stunt relationship, and you try to save your heart from breaking.

content warnings: angst, fake relationship, but a happy ending! Also TW for religious trauma, specifically homophobia within the Mormon church.

word count: 6.8k+

masterlist

Original Request

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Reality

The first time you lay eyes on Wanda Maximoff, you knew your life would never be the same. Her green eyes pierced through the chaotic atmosphere of the audition room, a group of people you assumed were her team surrounding her as she walked into the larger room off to the side, where the actual auditions were being held. 

You watched her go until her silky auburn hair faded from view, the door shutting firmly behind her, and sucked in a large breath. It felt like the air was simultaneously lighter without her heady presence, and thicker at her absence. You made up your mind then and there to try your very best at this audition. 

Deep down, you knew that the privilege of knowing Wanda Maximoff would be the insurmountable victory of your life, and you steeled yourself. 

“Damn,” Someone said, and you frowned as the room erupted in nervous laughter. Looking around, some people seemed starstruck, while others looked absolutely terrified. You understood why, nobody had told you that one of the most famous actresses in the country would be showing up at the final round of auditions today, but you could understand the reasons behind their secrecy. 

Mentally running over the lines you knew you’d forget the second you were in the presence of the most exquisite woman you’d ever seen, you manually slowed your heartbeat, breathing in slowly while you calmed your nerves. 

You couldn’t fuck this up. 

Someone called your name, and you stood, the movement feeling almost robotic. Blinking a few times, and shaking off the stubborn nerves that raced through your already sleep-deprived body, you smiled slightly at the people around you. They all offered small, encouraging smiles, but you could see the hunger behind their eyes. The need to succeed, to be better than everyone else in the room. The need to win. 

Shivering again, you reminded yourself that although it was a competition, it didn’t matter if you didn’t get the role. As long as you tried your best, that was enough. Then you remembered the woman waiting on the other side of the door, and a fierce wave of something rushed through you. 

Walking into the room, you kept your back straight, hoping to at least act like you were confident. That crumbled the moment you locked eyes with Wanda, the green of her irises imprinting themselves into your mind as you formed an awkward smile. 

“Alright,” A mousy-looking man clapped his hands, the illustrious eyes that had sought yours now focused solely on him. You never wanted to kill a man as desperately as you did now. Instead, you turned your head, shaking the cobwebs of gay panic from your mind as you forced yourself to focus. 

“We’re going to start with page twelve, scene two. A seat has been provided,” The man gestured towards the front of the room, and you glanced over. A single booth, about six feet long, was sitting innocently in a spotlight. It reminded you of your childhood, images of hot sticky Sundays clawing their way to the surface as you swallowed harshly. 

Missing the glance Wanda sent your way, her brows furrowing slightly at the distant look in your eyes, you jerkily made your way toward the seat. 

The words of a forgotten Sunday worship wormed their way towards your ears, murmuring things like ‘sinner’, ‘abomination’, and ‘unworthy’. The words suffocated you, visions of a church meeting hall flashing before you as you sat down on the familiar seat. 

Your fingers grazed the fabric, and you realized that they must have acquired an actual seat from some random Mormon church, and you fought the bile that rose. 

“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself,” A soft voice filtered through your thoughts, clearing your mind instantly. 

Looking up, your face flushing, you could only stare silently as Wanda sat beside you. Embarrassment welled up, knowing that the woman had probably witnessed you get lost in the past, but she gave no indication that she’d seen anything, holding out her hand. 

“I’m Wanda,” She said, a genuine smile brightening her face. Her eyes searched yours, seemingly imploring you to take her hand, and you did. 

You were happy that you didn’t stutter as you gave her your name, surprised when Wanda repeated it back to you, the syllables forming into something beautiful when she spoke. 

“Be honest,” She leaned in, eyes sparkling with your hand still firmly grasped in hers. “How nervous are you?”

The faint scent of vanilla encircled you, a haze threatening to pull your focus away, but you remained steadfast. Not wanting to miss a single moment you had with the captivating enigma that was Wanda Maximoff. 

“I accidentally bought myself two coffees this morning,” You confided, smiling slightly at Wanda’s confused expression. “I had forgotten I’d ordered the first one, so I waited in line again to order my latte, only to realize halfway through the second cup that I’d been so anxious I practically blacked out while ordering the first time around.” 

Whatever reaction you’d been expecting, the tinkling laughter that erupted from the woman seated mere inches beside you was better than anything you could’ve imagined. Her eyes crinkled, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, and you fought to urge to lower it, wanting to see her full face while she was in the throes of happiness. 

“Alright ladies,” A voice rang out, shocking you out of the comfortable lull you’d found yourself in. “Are we ready to begin?”

The mousy man was now seated at a long table, three people seated on either side of him, their eyes locked on you and Wanda. You swallowed harshly, suddenly remembering that this was an audition, and you reluctantly removed your hand from Wanda’s. 

Glancing over, Wanda nodded, her eyes still locked on yours. They were warm, as if to say, ‘Don’t rush, take your time,’ and you smiled. 

You could totally do this.

—

“When did you know?” Wanda’s voice is frail, and you bite your lip. 

“Know what?”

“That you’re…” She trailed off, her eyes distant, a lost look in them. They met yours, green eyes pleading with you to say the words she couldn’t.

“That I’m gay?” You make sure to make your tone extra sarcastic, sending a quick smile her way, and nudging your shoulder gently against hers. You leave it there, finding comfort in the warmth that shoots through your body at the minimal contact. 

She lets out a breath of air, inhaling shakily as she quickly glances away from you. “Yes… that.”

“It’s not a dirty word, you know,” You say, tilting your head slightly, hoping to catch her eye. She refuses, fingers picking at the seat between you as her eyes remain locked somewhere in the distance. 

Fighting the urge to sigh, you let your own eyes glaze over, a faraway look appearing in them as you breathe in deeply. It’s a weary sound, and you close your eyes briefly as you exhale, preparing your answer. 

“I think I’ve always known,” You begin, resting a hand on the seat, your pinky centimeters from hers. Green eyes lock onto it, her breaths shortening further, her silence stretching on. 

“The first time I realized that I was…” You search for the word, shaking your head slightly, “Different,” The word tastes like ash in your mouth, and you can’t help the slight wobble in your voice. 

Clearing your throat, you continue, “I was in second grade, and for some reason, I really wanted the approval of my new teacher,” You glance awkwardly over towards Wanda, smirking, “I’ve always liked older women.”

Wanda’s fingers inch closer to yours, the tension palpable. You look away, needing to get the next words out, but knowing you wouldn’t be able to if you were staring into those all-knowing green eyes of hers. 

“I went home that night, and I prayed,” The words get stuck in your throat, and you realize with rising horror that actual tears are making their way into your eyes. You push onwards, Wanda’s hand inching closer to yours. 

“I prayed that I would wake up the next morning and be able to like boys the same way that I liked girls. I prayed and asked God why he would do this to me, why he would make me like this if he hated it so much.” Your voice breaks, a tear escaping down your cheek. “And it didn’t work.”

At those words, the dam finally breaks, and your shoulders heave with silent sobs as Wanda’s hand finally encircles your own. You can feel her other hand hesitantly rising, moving towards your shoulder before stopping, unsure if she should touch you or not. 

Eventually, after a pathetic-sounding sniffle escapes you, her other hand wraps around your shoulders, bringing you in. You bury your head into her shoulder, fingers gripping tightly onto the back of her shirt as the lines between acting and reality blur together into one giant, jumbled mess. 

“And, scene!” A voice calls out, and you force the tears back, manually slowing your breathing to gain some semblance of control over yourself. You tell yourself that you’re imagining the hesitant way that Wanda pulls away from you and blink in surprise when her hand remains on your back, gently rubbing soothing circles as you breathe deeply. 

“That was…” The man can’t seem to get the words out, his eyes shining. “Phenomenal.” 

His voice is breathy, filled with awe, and you can’t help the surprised look that takes over your face. Really, all it took was a minor mental breakdown and your acting was phenomenal? You should try that more often. 

The rest of the members at the table seem to agree, and the mousy-looking man makes his way toward you and Wanda, a wide smile on his face. 

“Congratulations!” He all but exclaims, and you feel disconnected from your body as he continues, “You’re hired!”

The man goes on to explain that Wanda will be playing the other main character, the Bishop’s wife, while you play the lead role in the movie. You know the character well, you’ve played her both in real life and now in auditions, but you can’t quite believe the words that are spewing rapidly from the man’s mouth. 

You play a 19-year-old girl, living with her elderly Grandmother after her parents had kicked her out for coming out as a lesbian. Your character only attends church with her resolutely Mormon Grandmother because she is scared to lose the only person in her life who will still give her a home. The man explains that your character falls in love with the new Bishop’s young wife, having just moved from Utah to your state, as Wanda’s character navigates her new realization of her sexuality while also falling in love with your character. 

It’s a beautiful story, one you’d read over and over again before deciding to audition. The themes of religious trauma, grief, and romance all swirled into one complicated story, but one detail, in particular, stood out in your disconnected brain. 

Fuck. 

Wanda’s character is the romantic interest of your character. 

What are you supposed to do now?

—

The director, a brunette woman with a seemingly permanent calming aura, had instructed you and Wanda to get to know each other better during the two months before shooting. She’d said something about how actors who were friends in real life had better chemistry on screen, but you’d blacked out after the word ‘chemistry’ had fallen from her lips. 

Wanda had laughed, seeing the slight flush appear on your face, her hands gentle as she guided you towards her car, “Seeing as we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well for the next few months, why don’t we start with a tour of my home?”

She’d persuaded you further with the promise of a home-cooked meal, and you simply couldn’t refuse. You were a recent college graduate, living in a shitty studio apartment you could barely afford, surviving off of the bare essentials. A tour of an actual house with an actual meal sounded like a pretty sweet deal to you. 

Plus, Wanda would be there, so everything would be perfect. 

The next two months were wonderful, the text messages between you two were constant and the weekends reserved solely for getting to know each other better. You quickly learned that Wanda absolutely loved cooking, but she adored gardening. 

The two of you had started doing puzzles together, one particularly colorful one catching your eye as you went shopping with Wanda, and she’d insisted on buying it for you. So, it became a tradition. Every Saturday, excluding the ones when Wanda had prior plans seeing as she was a famous actress with events to attend, the two of you would share a bottle or two of wine and assemble a puzzle while conversation flowed like water between you. 

The only thing you dreaded during these two months was Sundays. The director had asked you two to attend a Mormon church, stating it as research for the upcoming movie. You didn’t have the heart to explain why the mere thought of stepping foot inside a church again sent uncomfortable, conflicting tendrils of grief and self-loathing crawling up your spine, so you simply agreed. 

Wanda knew. She somehow always knew when something was wrong. She’d helped you pick out an outfit, a modest dress with comfortable shoes, and in return, you’d helped her find a dress in her massive closet that actually fit the impossible Mormon standards. 

You were silent during the car ride to the church, your eyes locked on the landscape moving quickly outside your window. Wanda didn’t have to ask if you were alright, she saw the distant look in your eyes and knew that you were trapped in memories, unable to escape. 

A soft hand enveloped yours, fingers tight around your hands as you felt vanilla pierce the heavy weight of the scenes playing behind your eyes. Your brain cleared briefly, overwhelming gratitude welling up inside you at the gentle show of support, and your fingers squeezed back. 

After that, you felt more present. Even when you walked through the doors, a false smile glued to your lips as you led the way towards a seat covered in that same scratchy fabric from the audition room, you didn’t sink beneath the waves of past memories threatening to drown you. 

The fabric didn’t seem quite as scratchy now with Wanda beside you, her pinky mere inches from yours. You remembered the audition room, the memory overlapping with the past ones that strained to reach the surface of your thoughts. The new memory suffocated the old, your breaths coming easier while Wanda’s steady presence overcame your senses. 

Someone began speaking at the podium, your body jolting as you realized it was a prayer. Wanda’s eyes were sharp, taking in everything, assessing everything. You showed her how to fold her arms, bowing your head slightly. The last thing you wanted was to stand out. 

If you stood out from the rest, you would never be fully accepted. You couldn’t go through that again. 

Wanda seemed to see the desperation in your eyes and copied your movements. Her green eyes didn’t close, watching you as your eyes stared blankly at the booth in front of you. 

“Dear Heavenly Father, we thank thee…” You couldn’t hear the rest of the prayer, the familiar phrase ringing around your head until the cacophony of noise threatened to overwhelm you. 

A pinky touched yours, Wanda’s body resting fully against you as you sat side-by-side in a little booth. The man was still speaking, your ears numb to his words, your senses locked into only one person. 

Wanda. 

Her finger wrapped around yours, an awkward version of a pinky promise, an act so juvenile yet innocent and pure. This memory overlapped with your past, multiple prayers you’d heard about ‘giving strength to those who stray’, and ‘loving everyone no matter what their sins may be’, being smothered by the simple touch of a pinky. 

You longed for more. 

The rest of the meeting passed quickly, your hands interlocked in the seat between you, hidden beneath the folds of your skirts. You were numb to the words spoken at the podium, having learned to block them out a long time ago. You let yourself remember, an unexplainable grief rising within you as you remembered what it felt like to truly believe in something, before the same people you’d once felt seemingly unconditional love from, turned on you with knowing eyes and quiet whispers. 

All because you liked a girl. 

Silent tears fell, your sniffles quiet from years of practice. Wanda’s fingers tightened, her eyes warm but not overwhelming. You let the memories wash over you, reliving them and then releasing them, letting comforting waves of vanilla envelop and smother them like a warm blanket. You finally smiled, right near the end of the meeting, your eyes no longer dull.

Wanda held your hand the entire time. 

—

The rest of the cast was amazing, friendly faces surrounded you, and laughter never ending as you mingled before the first table read. There was an assortment of finger sandwiches on a table near the back of the room, and you didn’t stray far from it. 

It’s not that you were hiding, per se, but rather surveying the room while you tried to control a slight panic rising within you. Yeah, scratch that, you were totally hiding. 

“Hey,” Your eyes raise from the sandwich you’d been inspecting, meeting a familiar shade of green. You can’t help the comfortable smile that erupts on your face as Wanda makes her way over to you. 

“Not a fan of mingling, I take it?”

“I just,” You gesture helplessly, noticing the lingering looks from some of the cast, probably wondering why Wanda was standing near you. “I don’t know anyone. And I feel really awkward.”

Wanda’s fingers interlock with yours, pulling your reluctant frame away from the table. “Well,” She reasons, walking towards a group of people, “Let’s introduce you then.”

—

You’re quite proud of yourself, having not stuttered over a single line of yours during the first table read. You could tell that some of your castmates were surprised that you were playing the lead character, as you weren’t a well-known name in the industry. 

The cast was stacked with A-list actors, Wanda being one of them. In all honesty, you were terrified, but Wanda’s chair was next to yours, and her pinky never strayed far from your own, so it wasn’t all that bad. 

Positioning her body until it was slightly facing yours, Wanda leaned in after the director announced a short break, the rest of the cast standing up to mingle, their voices chattering about the script. 

“You did exceptionally well.” The words were whispered in your ear, meant for you and you alone. Something warm burned in your chest, and you smiled proudly as you tilted your face toward Wanda. 

Your breath caught, her lips inches from yours. She didn’t make any moves to lean back, and you fought the urge to count her freckles as her soft breaths hit your face. 

“A glowing review,” You managed, a smirk making its way onto your face at Wanda’s smile. “I’m flattered.”

Wanda laughed, finally leaning back as she did so, and you let out a sharp exhale. One of her hands gripped your forearm as she chuckled, one hand covering her mouth as she did so. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” You said, blinking at the suddenness of your words. 

Wanda tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. She doesn’t have to speak, her silent question stretching out in the silence between you two. 

“I just mean, you cover your face when you laugh,” You gesture towards her, ducking your head as your mouth keeps talking. “You shouldn’t, you’re beautiful when you laugh.”

The statement feels awkward coming from your lips, the compliment suddenly sounding too flirty, too personal, just too much. But then, Wanda’s smiling again, her eyes sparkling as she practically beams at you, and your words don’t feel unnatural anymore. 

“Well, I…” She doesn’t continue, her eyes searching yours as her eyes continue to sparkle at you.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Wanda Maximoff was rendered speechless,” The joke spills out, the silence threatening to turn uncomfortable as you stare at each other. You place a hand over your heart mockingly, “I’m truly honored to witness this momentous occasion.” 

Wanda laughs, and this time her hands stay away from her face, your eyes eagerly taking in her expression. You were right, she is beautiful when she laughs. 

“Alright, sweet talker,” She stands, still smiling widely at you as she pulls you from your seat. “Let's go mingle with our new friends.”

You socialize, words falling easily from your lips as you get to know the rest of your cast. Plenty of people congratulate you on landing the role, some offering encouraging words and others offering tips. You enjoy it all, auburn hair and sparkling eyes never leaving your sight for too long. 

It’s not as awkward as before, not with Wanda by your side.

—

“Your agents are geniuses,” Angela, the woman playing your on-screen grandmother jokes, relaxing against the booth. Your fingers play with the scratchy fabric, standing behind the seat with Wanda leaning next to you. 

You’ve been shooting the movie for a few weeks now, and this is one of the longer days. You’re shooting on the set of a reconstructed Mormon church, and you have to admit that the set designers did their research. The main hall is eerily similar to the one you remember growing up in. 

There’s a multitude of extras milling about, the day long and exhausting for everyone, since the scenes you're shooting take place in a packed church meeting. You’ve finally gotten a break, and Wanda has come over to talk with you, as she usually did. 

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, and Angela laughs. It's a throaty sound, and your lips turn up of their own accord as she braces herself against the seat. 

Someone shouts about the lighting, and you’re momentarily distracted while Angela wipes her eyes slightly. She waves off the young makeup artist, dabbing at the concealer beneath her eyes. 

The extras give you and Wanda a wide berth, and you’re unsure if they were instructed to do so, or if they were just intimidated by the lead actresses of the movie. Either way, you’re grateful for the space. 

“Don’t worry,” Angela says, leaning in and drawing your attention back to her. “You don’t have to play dumb with me, everyone knows that you two are dating as a publicity stunt.”

You and Wanda glance at each other briefly, shock evident on both your faces as Angela continues, “It’s a genius idea, truly. It's great for promoting the movie, and it gets people wondering if your on-screen chemistry is as good as your real-life chemistry.”

Real-life chemistry? What the fuck? 

Wanda must be thinking the same thing, because her eyes are slightly wide as she stares at you. Then, they change slightly, a calculating look in them as a multitude of makeup artists swoop in, surrounding the two of you as they prepare you for the upcoming scene. 

You catch Angela’s eye, and she pretends to zip her lips shut. Offering a wobbly smile, you walk almost robotically towards the front of the room as the director calls for places, your mind racing. Wanda brushes past you, her hand grazing your waist as she moves to sit behind the podium, where you’ll be standing for the next scene. 

Taking a deep breath, you push all thoughts of Wanda and fake relationships and chemistry out of your mind. There will be plenty of time to panic later, now, you have to focus on the next scene and try not to mess up badly. 

It’s utter chaos when they have to reset a scene with as many people as there are in the room, and you really want this day to be over with. Besides, there’s a bottle of vodka and an evening of overthinking waiting for you. 

—

Your publicist, a woman named Annie, smiles encouragingly at you while you sit in shock. 

“I mean, just think about it,” Another woman speaks, and you turn your wide eyes towards her. “It’s the perfect opportunity to sell this movie to the public, and the two of you are already good friends.”

At that, Wanda glances over at you. 

You blink. It’s slightly unfair how regal she looks, sitting elegantly in her chair in this small, suffocating room. Your brain is already slightly frazzled from a long day of shooting, and you struggle to process the request of Wanda’s publicist. 

“Let me make sure I’m understanding correctly,” Wanda interjects, sensing that you’re off-kilter at the moment. Her voice soothes you, and you remind yourself to breathe as she continues, “You want us to pretend to be in a relationship, as a publicity stunt?”

Well, when she puts it that way, it doesn’t seem so difficult. But then again, you’d agree with anything Wanda says, so maybe you’re biased. 

“Exactly,” Annie says, Wanda’s publicist nodding. “This movie is already projected to hit the box office, and with this, there will be even more demographics watching. This pretend relationship will help build anticipation for the movie, especially since the whole internet ships you two already.”

Now that was a new piece of information, and by the look on Wanda’s face, she was also hearing this for the first time.

“Do they really,” Wanda’s voice is slightly faint, her posture slumping slightly as she leans back in her chair. She seems to process, her eyes unfocusing slightly, so you ask a question of your own.

“Which demographics are we talking about, exactly?”

Annie smiles, sharing a look with Wanda’s publicist. “The younger generation for sure, since you’re already starting to trend on popular social media apps, as well as the LBGTQ+ community. They’re always looking for a new queer couple to ship.”

You try not to bristle, wanting to remind Annie that you’re a part of that community, but before you can get the words out, Wanda interjects. 

“Can we think about it?” Her words are soft, and when you glance over towards her, the green of her eyes doesn’t lock on yours like usual. Instead, they’re focused on her publicist, with a slightly firm look in them.

The woman concedes, and Wanda stands quickly. Before you’re able to get to your own feet, feeling slightly shaky as you do so, she’s already out the door.

—

After a few days of awkwardness, which you absolutely hate, you and Wanda agree that the publicity stunt is a smart move. 

It’s awkward at first, especially since you’re overthinking every interaction you have with her. You shy away from her touch, suddenly questioning if she’s touching you for the publicity stunt or because she actually wants to. 

After a couple of days of this, you’re in your trailer, watching some stupid reality show to try and get your mind off of the uncomfortable day you’d had on set when three light knocks sound at your door. 

“I know you’re in there, I can hear the TV.” Wanda’s voice sounds through the door, and you curse. It’s not that you were avoiding her… that’s a lie. You were totally avoiding her, and your acting in scenes with her had taken a hit because of it. 

“Just let me in, we need to talk,” There’s a pause, then, “Please?”

You can’t say no to that.

Turning the TV off, you make your way to the door and open it to reveal a very tired-looking Wanda. Her auburn hair seems slightly duller than usual, the sparkle in her green eyes no longer there. 

“Um,” Wanda pushes past you, sitting on your couch as you shut the door behind her. “What did you want to talk about?”

The question feels awkward, and you know that you’re avoiding the proverbial elephant in the room. Wanda gives you a look, and you sigh. 

Sitting down on the couch next to her, you leave plenty of space between your body and hers, and you try not to think about the way her pinky twitches at the distance. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” Wanda asks, and you blink. You hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward, but it seemed that she had no more patience for hesitancy. 

“I’m just,” You trail off, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure where reality ends and this fake relationship begins. And I’m not sure about what’s real and what’s not.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything for a long while, but the silence doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Instead, it feels heavy and filled with a multitude of unspoken feelings that you wish you had the bravery to share.

“So this,” Wanda reaches out her hand slowly, as if not to spook you. It stops, halfway between your body and hers, resting innocently on your couch. Her pinky stretches out further, and you let your hand slide along the cushion until your pinkies interlock. 

You don’t imagine the relieved sigh that escapes Wanda’s lips.

“You’re not sure if this is real or not?” The question rings around your head, and you shake your head because no, you can’t tell.

“Let me tell you how I see it,” Wanda says, her voice soft. You look up, meeting those pretty green eyes for the first time all day. She smiles, and they crinkle at the edges. You’ve missed seeing that. 

“When we’re alone, or on set, everything is real,” Her voice is firm, laced with honesty. “When we’re in public, it’s still real, just dramatized for the camera. Does that make sense?”

You nod, the pieces finally clicking together in your brain. You don’t say anything, and you don’t have to. All you do is squeeze Wanda’s fingers tighter and move closer to her on the couch. 

Turning the TV back on, you rest against her, your head resting on her shoulder. When you glance up at her, the green in her eyes sparkles back at you. Something settles deep within you, and Wanda rests her cheek against the top of your head.

—

You stare blankly at the script in front of you. The pages flutter slightly as a gentle breeze sweeps through the actor’s tent. Sounds of chatter flow around you, but you remain unresponsive, the words on the page swimming off and distorting as you try not to panic. 

A sinking feeling makes its way into your chest, the reality of the scene you’re about to shoot finally setting in. 

You have to kiss Wanda Maximoff. 

Sure, it’s an on-screen kiss, it’s not like it means anything. Right?

But there’s a small part of you that longs for it to be real. Some stupid part of you that you try to get rid of that wishes it meant something to her. Because it sure as hell means something to you. 

But it won’t mean anything to her. It’s a fake kiss. One meant for the screen. You build your walls, surrounding your heart with impenetrable stone as a calm iciness envelops you. 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

—

Her lips are inches from yours, and you can’t stop looking at them. They’re plump, and slightly glistening from a light coating of lip gloss. There’s a red undertone, and you find yourself yearning to discover what she tastes like. 

You hesitate. 

“Cut.” The director calls, and you blink, stepping away from Wanda. 

“Remember,” The director begins, and you focus all your attention on her, ignoring the concerned look Wanda is sending your way. “Your character wants this, she’s not hesitating. She’s been yearning for this for weeks now, and I need you to show that through the screen. I want to feel the tension, the desperation.”

She pins you with a look, a sort of knowing glint in her eye. “Understood?”

“Yep, got it.” You offer a smile, the fakeness of it making you cringe. Your makeup artists swoop in, touching up the smallest details possible, while you avoid eye contact with Wanda. 

“Hey,” Wanda’s voice is soft, and you glance at her. Her eyes are locked on yours, and you somehow can’t bring yourself to look away. She looks almost… sad.

“Are you alright?” 

You mentally scoff, your walls crumbling slightly as the green of her eyes threatens to overtake you. “Yeah.”

The clipped tone of your voice rebuilds your walls, the stone solidifying once again. You turn away, walking towards the beginning spot of this scene, not seeing the confusion that overtakes Wanda’s expression. 

A wave of sadness crashes through her, all the times that you’ve been pulling away from her running through her mind as she makes her way towards her own spot. She attempts to meet your eyes again, but you refuse. 

She knows that this scene won't be successfully shot today. 

“And, action.” 

You look up, your character snapping into place quickly, your eyes dark and full of longing. Wanda is startled by the sudden change but snaps into her own character quickly as you walk slowly toward her. 

“Don’t say things like that,” Your voice is low, your emotions swirling in the forefront of your mind. 

“Things like what?”

“Things that sound a lot like love confessions,” You hear your voice break and want to cringe. It fits perfectly for your character, but you’re unused to sounding so weak. 

“Why not?”

Your body is pressed against Wanda’s, her chest grazing yours with each shallow breath she takes. You almost believe that it’s real, just for a moment. You desperately wish it was. 

Wanda’s eyes search yours, and you’re reminded that she’s playing a character. A character that’s falling madly in love with you, unconcerned about the repercussions. A character that couldn’t be further from reality. 

You hesitate again, your body refusing to move your lips closer as your mind wars with itself. 

Wanda sighs, and the director calls out again. You barely hear what she’s saying, your body practically propelling itself away from Wanda, focusing on rebuilding its walls as her hand twitches toward you. 

“It’s alright, “ the director is saying, and you force yourself to focus on her. She’s smiling gently at you, her voice kind, “Everyone has off days, we’ll try again tomorrow. It's been a long week.”

Nodding jerkily at her, you wave off your team, choosing to return to your trailer instead of following them. You’ll deliver your costume later, or have someone come pick it up. But right now, you need to be alone. 

Walking quickly, you practically sigh in relief when you reach your trailer. You’re quick to unlock it, pressing the door open urgently and twisting slightly to close it. 

A hand stops you, delicate fingers wrapping around the door as you look up in shock. You hadn’t realized anyone was following you, but looking into those iridescent green eyes, you understand. 

Wanda says your name, her voice holding a pleading edge to it, and you can’t bring yourself to deny her. 

You open the door wider, silently giving her permission to enter. She brushes past you, fingers twitching but not touching you. She seems to want to touch you, and you try and push down the part of you that wants her to. 

“Why are you…” She hesitates, not knowing what to say. 

Raising your eyebrows, you resign yourself to having this conversation. You knew it was coming, but you find yourself inadequately prepared for it. Standing awkwardly in the middle of your small trailer, you simply stare at Wanda. 

“Why is it so difficult to kiss me?” Wanda’s eyes are sad, and you want to cry. You hadn’t meant to make her fucking sad, and now she looks like a kicked puppy.

The tears that spring into your eyes are unexpected, and you blink furiously as they begin to spill down your cheeks. Wanda steps towards you, but you evade her, opening the door and gesturing for her to leave. You refuse to cry in front of her, not when your heart is seconds away from tearing in two. 

“When I kiss you I want it to be real, I want it to mean something, Wanda.”

The door shuts firmly behind her, and you miss the understanding and longing that appears in her eyes. Wanda turns away, a single tear escaping her. 

Of course it would mean something to her. It would mean everything. 

—

It’s raining, and you want to cry and laugh at the same time. 

Wanda had left you a voicemail. You’d stared at your screen while watching her contact picture pop up as she called you. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to hear her voice, so you let it ring. 

What you hadn’t expected was the voicemail. 

“I just… fuck, I don’t know what I want to say but it would mean something to me. I promise. I- you. I hate this. I hate this distance, I hate that I can’t help you and I hate that I’m falling in love with you.”

The message had ended pretty quickly after that confession. You’d heard a few muttered curse words, and then a dial tone that rang in your ear long after you lowered the phone.

You didn’t know what to do, so you grabbed a rain jacket and started walking. Hoping it will clear your head. Your feet had other plans it seemed, as you found yourself walking up the driveway of Wanda’s home. 

It surprised you, as she lived at least fifteen minutes away by car. You barely remembered the walk there, having been trapped in your own mind as your body brought you towards the only thing you could think of. The person who had consumed your every waking thought, and invaded your dreams.

How fucking typical and cinematic it was, walking up her driveway in the pouring rain. You could see a few lights on, and you begin to prepare a speech. Something super lame and mushy about how much you like… fuck that. How much you love her. 

Fuck. You loved her. 

Of course you did. You’d gotten to know and love the woman behind the famous persona she’d created. The soft, caring woman who loved gardening and puzzles, who hummed along to songs as she cooked, and who looked at you with impossibly soft eyes. 

You knock, and your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest. 

Green eyes meet yours, and you recoil. They’re cold and dull, so unlike the usual sparkle that you’re used to, and you feel your walls build higher even as you plead with yourself to lower them. 

Turning, you feel your feet start to walk away, your mind replaying that dead look in her eyes. Your heart fortifies itself, trying not to break as you make your way down the driveway. Tears blur your vision, your ears ringing with embarrassment as you try to remember the way back to your trailer. 

“Wait, just… fuck. Wait.” A firm hand grips your forearm, and you spin in surprise. 

There’s fire behind those green eyes, and you stand still. Wanda’s auburn hair is drenched, rain pelting down on the two of you, running down her perfect face as she blinks at you. 

“I…” She can’t seem to get the words out, her eyes boring into yours. 

Time stands still, the tension thick as you allow yourself to glance at her lips. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, threatening to escape. You let them. 

“I love you.”

Wanda speaks at the same time, her words slightly faster than yours. Green eyes widen in surprise, and you feel a wave of immense relief sweep through you. 

Rain continues to pour around you, but you barely notice. Within seconds, Wanda’s hands are cupping your face, your own grabbing desperately at her waist as your bodies draw together like magnets. Her lips find yours, and you feel something click into place as your lips slide together effortlessly. 

It feels like coming home after a long day, the months of pining and uncertainty coming to a head as you melt at the feel of her lips against yours. Your shoulders relax, tension seeping out of you as you chuckle. 

Pulling back, you stare at her, watching her eyes crinkle as she mirrors the wide smile on your face. She’s perfect, and you whisper one single thing before your lips find hers again, rain soaking the two of you as you embrace. 

“This is real, I promise.”

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta

[valkyriexo]

You're Drunk | Changbin

ᑉ³pairing; Changbin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic , Comfort, angst with a happy ending

ᑉ³warnings; Alcohol, Arguments, sorrow

ᑉ³Authors Note; a little different that the other ones in this collection. Thank you for all the love :)

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

"I can't believe you're seriously considering this," Changbin says, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration as he looks at the job offer in your hand.

You can feel his disapproval like a weight on your shoulders, but you can't ignore the excitement bubbling inside you.

"I know it's a big decision, Changbin, but this job could be the opportunity I've been waiting for," you reply, your voice full of hope.

"But what about us? What about our relationship?" Changbin counters, his tone pleading as he searches your eyes for reassurance.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the decision bearing down on you. "I don't want to give up on my dreams. Can't you see that?" you reply.

Changbin's face contorts with hurt and frustration, his voice wavering as he speaks. "Well, it sure seems like you don't care about me," he says, his tone laced with bitterness. "You're willing to throw away everything we have just for some job on the other side of the world."

Tears well up in your eyes as his words hit you like a punch to the gut. "That's not fair, Changbin," you protest, your voice cracking with emotion. "I care about you more than anything. But I also need to think about my future."

Changbin's brows furrow in frustration, his voice tinged with desperation. "But I can provide for you," he says, his tone pleading as he searches your eyes for reassurance. "You don't need to take this job. We can make things work here."

You feel a pang of guilt as you meet his gaze, knowing that his words come from a place of love and concern. "It's not about the money Binnie," you reply, your voice gentle but firm. " I appreciate it. I really do. But I need to work too. I want to have something for myself, I need to have something for myself."

Changbin's expression darkens, hurt flashing in his eyes. "So what, you're saying I'm not enough for you? That I can't provide for you?" he says, his voice rising with each word.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all," you protest, the tears welling up in your eyes. "You provide so much for me, Changbin, but this is something I need to do for myself. Can't you understand that?"

Changbin's shoulders slump in defeat. "I understand," he replies quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I understand it clearly," he says, grabbing his things and beginning to leave.

"Binnie," you start, your voice trembling with emotion, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

"I need some time to think," he says, his voice distant as he turns away, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence that follows.

It was a memory, clear and defined, of a scene that had unfolded just a few days ago. Each detail remained vivid in your mind, as though etched there permanently, refusing to fade with time.

You were alone in the dimly lit apartment, and you found yourself transported back to that moment. The weight of the decision still heavy on your heart, the echoes of your voices reverberating in the quietude of the room. You could almost feel the tension in the air, the raw emotions palpable as if they were still swirling around you.

As you sat there, lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you couldn't help but replay the scene over and over again. Each time, the words exchanged between you and Changbin felt sharper, the emotions more intense, as if the memory itself was trying to etch its significance deeper into your consciousness.

With each sip of your drink, you tried to drown out the pain, to numb the ache that resonated within you. But no amount of alcohol could erase the memory, nor could it silence the inner turmoil that ate at your soul.

Days passed in a blur of anguish and solitude. Your apartment became a sanctuary for your sorrow, the only constant in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you. You retreated further into yourself, the outside world fading into insignificance as you grappled with your inner demons.

You hardly had the energy to tend to your basic needs. Your phone lay forgotten and uncharged, its silent screen a stark reminder of the darkness in your life. Meals became an afterthought, mere distractions from the relentless ache in your heart.

Most of your days were spent in tears, the weight of your emotions too heavy to bear alone.

You found yourself curled up on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. Every corner of your mind is consumed by thoughts of Changbin, his hurt expression haunting your every thought. You replay the argument over and over in your mind, dissecting every word, every nuance, searching for a way to make things right. But no matter how hard you try, the same conclusion stares back at you, cold and unforgiving: 

You and Changbin were drifting further and further apart.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you consider all your options, weighing the pros and cons with painstaking detail. But no matter how hard you try, you can't shake the sinking feeling that no matter what path you choose, it will lead to heartbreak.

With a heavy heart, you bury your face in your hands, the weight of your decision crushing you from all sides. The thought of losing Changbin, of being without him, is almost too much to bear.

As you continue to drink, the tears continue to flow, mixing with the bitter taste of alcohol on your lips. Each sip brings a temporary reprieve from the pain, but as the alcohol dulls your senses, the weight of your sorrow only seems to grow heavier.

Your vision blurs as the room spins around you, the sounds of your own sobs echoing in your ears. You try to steady yourself, to cling to some semblance of control, but the weight of your emotions is too much to bear.

With a heavy heart and weary limbs, you sink further into the cushions, the warmth of the alcohol washing over you like a heavy blanket. Your eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you in a rush.

As the tears continue to fall, you find yourself drifting, slipping further and further into the comforting embrace of sleep. The weight of your sorrow lifts, if only for a moment, as unconsciousness claims you, pulling you into a dreamless slumber.

In the quiet of the room, the only sound is the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing, a stark contrast to the chaos of your thoughts just moments before. 

But in the midst of your slumber, a persistent sound breaks through the silence, pulling you reluctantly back to reality. At first, it's just a faint noise, a distant echo in the depths of your dreams. But as it grows louder, more insistent, you're jolted awake by the realization that someone is knocking at your door.

Your head throbs with the remnants of your earlier drinking, the room spinning as you struggle to sit up. With a groan, you push yourself off the couch, stumbling towards the door with unsteady steps.

Outside, Changbin's voice cuts through the fog of your mind, his words urgent and frantic as he calls out your name. "Hey, are you in there? Open up, Y/N," he says, his voice tinged with worry.

You fumble with the lock, your hands shaking as you struggle to grasp the key. With a click, the door swings open, revealing Changbin's anxious face staring back at you.

He rushes forward, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. "Thank God you're okay. I've been calling and knocking for days," he says, his voice trembling with relief. "What happened? You haven't answered my calls or texts"

But beneath the relief in his voice lies a simmering undercurrent of frustration and concern. "Where have you been, Y/N?" he asks, his tone tinged with reproach. "I've been worried sick. I didn't know if you were hurt, or... or worse."

You flinch away, a surge of anger coursing through your veins. His sudden appearance only serves to reignite the flames of frustration and hurt that had been smoldering within you.

You take a step back, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you glare at him. "Oh, how thoughtful of you to grace me with your presence again," you say, your tone laced with bitterness. "Are you here to torture me some more, or have you finally come to your senses?"

Changbin recoils slightly, his eyes widening in surprise at the venom in your words. "No, Y/N that's not why I'm here," he protests, his voice tinged with desperation. "I came back to apologize, to make things right."

You scoff, the sound bitter on your lips. "Apologize? Is that supposed to make everything better?" You retort, your anger bubbling to the surface. "You left me alone, Changbin. You walked out without a second thought."

"Y/N, I... I'm sorry," he begins, his words cautious, as if walking on eggshells. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

You scoff, your anger refusing to abate, fuelled by the raw hurt festering deep within you. "I don't want your apology, Changbin," you snap, with bitterness in your tone. "You don't get to waltz back in here and expect everything to be okay. You hurt me."

Changbin's expression crumples with remorse, his desperation evident in every line of his face. "Y/N, please," he pleads, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, but I want to make it right. Please give me a chance to make things right between us."

"Why? Why should I?" you counter, your voice tinged with bitterness and hurt.

Changbin's eyes plead with you, his anguish laid bare for you to see. "Because I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You scoff at his words, the pain in your heart too raw to be assuaged by mere declarations of love. "Oh? Is that supposed to erase everything?" you retort, your voice laced with disbelief. "You let your fears and insecurities drive you away, Changbin. You left me when I needed you the most."

Changbin's shoulders slump with the weight of your accusations, his gaze dropping to the floor in shame. "I know," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm sorry. I let my own demons cloud my judgment, and I hurt you in the process. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, Y/N, give me a chance to prove it to you."

His words hang heavy in the air, a fragile plea for forgiveness amidst the wreckage of your relationship.

"I know I can't take back what I said, or the way I left," Changbin admits, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. "But I want you to know that I never meant to make you feel like your dreams didn't matter. They do, Y/N , and I was wrong to make you feel otherwise."

Tears well up in your eyes at his apology, the sincerity in his voice piercing through the wall of hurt and anger that surrounds you. Despite your efforts to remain stoic, your face betrays the conflict within you, the emotions waging a silent battle beneath the surface.

"I understand if you need time," he continues. "But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I promise to do better, to be there for you, to support you in pursuing your dreams, no matter where they may lead."

Your vision blurs as tears stream down your cheeks, mingling with the remnants of anger and hurt that still linger within you.

"I... I want to forgive you, Changbin," you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice wavering with emotion. "But it's just so hard..."

Your words trail off as you stumble slightly, your balance compromised by the lingering effects of the alcohol from the night before. Changbin's eyes widen in concern as he reaches out to steady you, his touch gentle against your trembling form.

"Are you okay, Y/N ?" he asks, his voice filled with worry as he takes in your disheveled appearance and the telltale signs of a hangover.

You shake your head, the room spinning around you as you struggle to remain upright. "I'm fine," you say, your words slurred with the remnants of sleep and alcohol. "Just... a little dizzy, that's all..."

You feel his arms around you, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill of the night air. Despite your anger, a part of you can't help but lean into his embrace, seeking comfort in his familiar presence.

Changbin's grip tightens around you, his concern palpable. "You're not fine, Y/N," he says, his voice soft but firm. "You're drunk, and you need help."

"I'm fine," you mumble, your words slurring together as you try to steady yourself against him.

But he isn't convinced, his brows furrowing with concern as he studies you intently. And then, realization dawns on his face as he pieces it all together.

"Did you... did you drink because of me?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow.

You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the weight of shame and regret settling heavily on your shoulders. "I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely audible as you struggle to find the right words. "Maybe... maybe I did..."

Changbin's expression softens, his eyes filled with compassion as he wraps you in a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I never meant to drive you to this. I never meant to hurt you like this."

His words cut through the haze in your mind, and for a moment, you feel a flash of resentment. But as you struggle to keep your balance, you realize he's right.

You're not fine, not even close.

Changbin gently lifts you into his arms, cradling you like precious cargo as he carries you to the couch. With careful movements, he sets you down, ensuring you're comfortable before he disappears into the kitchen.

You watch him go, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you. Despite the lingering tension, you can't help but appreciate Changbin's efforts to take care of you.

Minutes pass, and Changbin returns with a glass of water and a plate of sliced fruits. He places them on the coffee table before sitting beside you, his gaze filled with concern.

"Here, drink this," he says, handing you the glass of water. "It'll help with the dehydration."

You take a sip, grateful for the coolness of the water as it soothes your parched throat. Changbin watches you closely, his brow furrowed with worry. With a soft sigh, he reaches for the plate of sliced fruits, carefully selecting a piece and holding it out to you.

You hesitate for a moment, but the earnestness in Changbin's eyes urges you to comply. You take the fruit from him, feeling the sweetness of it on your tongue as you chew slowly, savoring each bite.

Changbin watches you intently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he observes your reluctant compliance. He looks relieved, as if seeing you eat brings him a sense of comfort and reassurance.

Once you've finished the fruit, Changbin disappears into the kitchen once more, returning with a small packet of liquid IV and a fresh glass of water.

"Bottoms up." He says handing it to you.

"I don't need you to baby me," you snap, the words sharper than you intended.

Changbin recoils slightly, his expression a mix of hurt and concern. "I-I'm sorry," he stammers. "I just... I just want to make sure you're okay."

You sigh, the weight of your words settling heavily on your shoulders. "I know," you say softly, your tone gentler this time. "And I appreciate it, I really do. But I'm not helpless, Changbin. I can take care of myself."

Changbin's gaze softens, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I know you can, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "But that doesn't mean I can't take care of you too. I love you, and seeing you like this... it hurts me too." With gentle care, he offers you another piece of fruit.

You sigh softly, and without a word, you reach out and take the fruit from him.

As you finish the last of the fruit, you notice a shift in your body. The warmth from the alcohol is slowly dissipating, leaving you feeling cold and shivery. Changbin notices your discomfort immediately, his brows furrowing with concern.

"Are you feeling cold?" he asks softly, his voice filled with worry.

You nod weakly, the tremors becoming more pronounced as the alcohol wears off. Changbin springs into action, disappearing into the bedroom to retrieve some blankets. He returns moments later, a stack of soft blankets in his arms.

"Here, let me help you get warm," he says gently, draping the blankets over you with careful hands.

As he tucks the blankets around you, you feel a sudden urge to be closer to him. His warmth is inviting, comforting, and you find yourself reaching out to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Binnie," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, "can you stay with me?"

Changbin's eyes soften at your request, a tender smile gracing his lips. Without hesitation, he settles beside you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace.

"Of course, Y/N," he replies, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "I'll stay with you as long as you need me."

"I'm sorry, Changbin," you whisper, your voice laced with remorse. "I didn't mean to push you away. I know you're just trying to help."

Changbin's smile softens, his gaze filled with understanding. "I know, Y/N," he says, his voice gentle. "And I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to make you feel helpless. I just want to take care of you because I love you."

You lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. In that moment, you realize how much you truly love him, how much he means to you.

As you snuggle closer to Changbin, resting your head against his chest, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It's a comforting sound, a reminder of his presence and the love that surrounds you.

But as you listen to the gentle thud of his heart, you feel it begin to quicken, a subtle shift in tempo that doesn't go unnoticed. Changbin's arms around you tighten slightly, as if he's trying to hold you closer, to shield you from the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, "I'm sorry for everything. I was wrong to argue with you about the job. You should take it. It's an incredible opportunity, and I shouldn't have stood in your way."

You lift your head from his chest, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "Changbin, it's okay," you say gently, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "I understand why you were worried, but you were just looking out for me."

Changbin's expression softens at your words, but there's still a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I know, but I shouldn't have been so selfish," he admits, his voice tinged with regret. "You deserve to chase your dreams, Y/N, even if it means being apart from me."

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "I want what's best for you. And if this job is truly the opportunity you've been waiting for, then you should take it."

You lift your head from his chest, meeting his gaze with a furrowed brow. "But what about us, Bin?" you ask softly, your voice filled with apprehension. "What about our relationship?"

Changbin's expression softens, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "I want to be with you, Y/N," he says earnestly, his voice filled with conviction. "But I also want you to pursue your dreams. You shouldn't have to choose between us."

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, the weight of his sacrifice settling heavily on your shoulders. "I don't want to lose you, Binnie," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Changbin's fingers trace gentle circles on your back, his touch a soothing balm to your conflicted soul. "You won't lose me, Y/N," he assures you.

For a moment, there's silence between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a promise. And then, without warning, Changbin pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he never wants to let you go.

"I love you, Y/N," he murmurs against your hair, his voice filled with love and gratitude. "I love you more than anything in this world."

And as you melt into his embrace, surrounded by the warmth of his love, you realize that this is where you belong - in Changbin's arms, with his heart beating in time with yours.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[americanwh0rerstory]

jack off [Tate Langdon]

summery: Y/N isn’t around so tate jacks off thinking about them

content warning: Masturbation, use of Y/N, f!reader, cumming on a photograph, poorly described masturbation in an attempt for me to learn how to write

A/N: just a quick scenario, not the greatest but it’s something

NSFW MDNI: CONSUMPTION IS OWN FAULT

“f-fuck” he groans, his grip tightening around his shaft as he pumps his hand up and down it repeatedly, occasionally looking at how his foreskin rolls over his tip with every up stroke. he lay on your bed with his legs spread, dick standing at attention, and his shirt hitched up slightly exposing his midriff. Soft whines and gasps escaped from between his slightly parted lips when he sped up, his breath coming in quick and desperate pants from the increase in speed

“Y/N, don’t stop” he whines, his voice needy and desperate like it always was when he was around you, he craved your touch yet that was the downside of being dead: he had to wait for you to be ready, to have free time. he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind momentarily though and began daydreaming about your hands wrapping around his cock, how your tongue looks giving small kitten licks to his slit when beads of precum formed, how your boobs bounced with every exaggerated movement, the soft skin on your thighs… fuck he needed you

his daydreams got him bucking into his hand even faster and with more desperation if that was even possible. his hand moving at lightning speed, rubbing vigorously up and down his shaft. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, please Y/N” he whined, chanting your name like it was a ritual to summon you but much to his dismay it didn’t. he just kept daydreaming whilst sliding his hand over his cock before he noticed the photo on your nightstand

he retrieved the photo with his free hand, it was a photo of you and your friends. it wasn’t a lot but it was good enough for him. he stared at the photo, only at you though, his movements faster now that he had a visual representation of you. he imagined undressing you, removing you from the clothes in the photo, kissing down your torso, tasting your nectar…

“Y/N- fuck-“ he moans loudly, his body trembling as his orgasm rippled through him. he watched as his cum spilled over the photo, coating your smiling face in a glossy sheen of tate.

once he caught his breath, he replaced the photo and pulled his shirt off. he knew you liked to wear his clothes so he left his shirt folded on your bed for you, and also as a sign that he had been in there whilst you was out. he left the shirt on your pillow and the cum-covered photo on your nightstand before leaving the room, going back to waiting for you

A/N: how the fuck does one write cumming scenes. how am i meant to describe how it feels. i think this is the only downside to my smut

[speirslore]

band of brothers: types of kisses hc

(a/n: sorry this is so long… i tried to include a lot of easy company... but if your fav isn't here, please just send an ask and i'll add them!)

send an ask if you would like to be on my taglist! :) (taglist: @ronsparky)

[dick winters]

cautious kisses

dick does not like pda only because he's extremely private and wants your relationship to be for the two of you only... no matter how nosy nix is

but there still are occasional kisses to your cheek when he’s more relaxed in front of other officers

he's tender and careful too; dick is always cupping your face, a thumb brushing across your cheek or brushing hair away from your face

dick is always very gentle and a little unsure at times

especially at the beginning of your relationship, he feels incredibly inexperienced, or at the very least, out of practice

he’s very okay with you taking the lead when kissing because he doesn't want to do anything wrong

dick is tentative and private but very into it... it's a good thing he has an insane amount self discipline because otherwise he would be kissing you 24/7

[lewis nixon]

speaking of self discipline… lew does have it but he also chooses to ignore it most of the time, if he wants to kiss you then he's going to kiss you

so many morning kisses

honestly just anytime in bed because lew plays fast and loose with 'morning' and sleep cycles

absolutely never wants to get up, has to be coaxed with a lot of kisses and cuddling, it is a huge ordeal

he always kisses with some degree of mess, a little uncontrolled, perhaps a little desperate

a lot of sudden kisses too like you think you're safe and then boom he’s all of the sudden in the room, pulling you towards him

will take advantage of any opportunity no matter how small... does he have any shame? (no, not really)

lew does shockingly get a little shy sometimes about pda though

“i don’t want to rub it in their faces…" he'll insist, "y'know... what they don’t have”

sureeee... the blush on his cheeks says otherwise though

[carwood lipton]

carwood's speciality is definitely comforting kisses

lip is always paying attention to you and what you need and how you feel and that extends to physical affection

always wants you to feel okay, better than okay, great

and if a kiss can make you feel better then he’s more than willing to oblige

affection between the two of you is every casual and common, always kissing, holding hands, some sort of physical touch

constantly smiling in between kisses

he’s just that happy and loves you so much

but the comforting kisses & affection goes both ways

kissing the stress and worry away from his face and tracing his scar with your thumb before kissing it gently, your noses almost touching after you pull away to catch your breath, the two of you wearing twin smiles

and whenever you say goodbye or reunite, you both try not to make a scene, but it's always a little bit of a scene tbh... like having to be without carwood's kisses for a week is basically criminal

all the other men think it's extremely cute though, don't worry

[ron speirs]

stolen kisses (haha)

even his kisses are stolen!

he will always come out of nowhere and will always find time for a smooch

every time you think surely ron isn't in this area, he's supposed to be somewhere else, he's not in this building... you are proven wrong

is incredibly good at carving out time to see you... and finding private places for the two of you

like he's definitely scoped a few places out before he goes to find you

one time you were in his office kissing and someone knocked on the door and he huffs and pouts because he has to break away from you, even if it's only for a second- he's not happy about it

ron barks out, “not now," before returning to you will a warm, soft smile

heavy on kisses instead of words

ron is very physical...whenever you finally pull away from a kiss... you can always see things/emotions in his eyes that you know he's not ready to say yet and finds difficult to articulate

[don malarkey]

soooo many shy kisses

okay yes, don is kind of unhinged (stealing a motorcycle, drinking methanol, etc) but not with relationships... like flirting?? kissing??

he's still incredibly enthusiastic about your relationship... very much so

but he gets really shy around you, especially with kissing

turns beet red so easily, like you love kissing him and pulling away to see him blushing all the way up to the tips of his ears <3

it's just so fun and he's having a great time... and don cannot hide his emotions or what he’s thinking so whatever he's thinking always comes out when you're kissing

"god, you're beautiful. you should bring this dress to paris when we go next weekend. oh- y'know what, skip still owes me that $40 i lent him. i really need that for next week's pass so-"

"don," you interrupt gently, brushing a hand across his jaw

he'll blush and smile sheepishly, "right, i'm shutting up, back to kissing..."

he's shy yet so excited and wants to do everything right, willing to learn and wants to learn, and just wants his inner emotions and love for you translate with physical affection

and it definitely does! don is extremely endearing and you love him for it

[joe toye]

joe's kisses are always very intense

his eye contact, his touch, his raspy voice… everything is intense in the best way possible

his hands already feel like fire, so warm against your own skin

he loves just laying next to you in bed, just observing you and taking it all in

his passion definitely goes along with the intensity

he's also extremely private about affection with you, just because it means so much to him

tends to get vulnerable and emotional very easily

and really likes pillow talk and just listening to your voice, your stories, and your perspective

he likes your reassurance too, your love, he's never felt anything like this before

so whenever he can manage to have free time alone with you, he's always savoring it

joe could kiss you for hours, he truly loves taking it all in, going slow, and savoring the time you have together

[george luz]

late night kisses are a staple for the two of you

george gets so excited being with you he doesn't want to sleep

the biggest sleepover vibes

like you both very seriously decide to go to bed but then george says something funny or does his dike impression and then you both start laughing and talking again

and kissing again, sometimes the impressions are so good you have to reward him

you guys have a lot of late nights because of this

also do kisses for warmth and sharing body heat count?

huddling in a foxhole together, in the thick of it together, like yes they don't have much food, supplies, or ammo but george is not going to let them take kisses away from him too

oh my god, laughing in between kisses

sometimes he really can’t take himself that seriously

george is like don and gets very excited

he just feels so lucky to have you and has to kiss you accordingly

kissing you and just being with you can make him a little emotional… a happy little high

cigarettes have nothing on you and your kisses!

[babe heffron]

babe is kind of like a baby deer, he's a little clumsy and sometimes unsure but he's definitely got the spirit

he is confident but he does tend to second guess himself when it comes to you, he just doesn't want to mess anything up.

like what if he uses too much tongue or he headbutts you on accident... he's just overthinking it

and sometimes you just have to grab his arm and pull him toward you and kiss him yourself

when you're alone, babe lovesss laying on your chest letting you run your fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead... but don't tell anyone

jk he doesn't care if anyone knows (and they absolutely do know)

and the guys can't even tease him that hard about it, that's much everyone loves babe... they're just happy for him tbh

babe definitely gets a little needy sometimes like where’s his daily kiss allotment :(

and he can get clingy... will 100% wrap his arms around, you pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder just because he hasn't seen you that much today

[eugene roe]

tired kisses are a doc roe staple

poor eugene, he's exhausted and jaded... a lot of the time… and the rest of the company gives the two of you space as often as they can because they know how much your presence helps him

tired kisses as in he is putting in effort but his lips don't move as fast or as needy

he's more languid and calm, and it's very enticing

forehead kisses too omg

he lovesss when you kiss his forehead; pull him against your body, your chest, your arms and he feels safe and secure

he likes kissing the top of your head too, his nose in the crown of your hair while murmuring something in french

you catch various words in french that after spending so much time with gene you can understand now

like mon ange, mon amour, ma moitié (my better half? sobbing)

your presence is so grounding for him and makes him feel more normal, like he's not constantly surrounded by death and pain

you make him feel like he doesn't have to be constantly on edge, like he can take his helmet off and not be on alert, like he hasn't totally lost himself in his job... your kisses are so grounding for him

[buck compton]

a lot of reassuring kisses

like sometimes he just has to kiss the worry off of your face

and vice versa, towards the end of the war it's not even just kisses but your presence and touch alone become extremely reassuring for him

but also... buck can be so cocky sometimes, he loves showing you off

you secretly (not so secretly) love it... like sorry it's hot

like once when the two of you were at a pub in england... he's gambling, he's drinking, he's smoking, and ofc he's kissing you!

what else is he supposed to do when he wins at darts or cards... come on

the guys hype him up and just hide their jealousy because you and buck very often seem like relationship goals

he's always touching you, like usually has a firm grip around your waist

always laughing together, everything you do together automatically seems so intimate

like in a room with the other guys... they do feel like they're intruding

just because you and buck are in the corner laughing and talking together, the love and intimacy feels like it takes over the entire room

it's just so passionate and obvious he's head over heels and that definitely comes across in his kisses

[joe liebgott]

joe's kisses strike me as tender but demanding and needy at the same time

he's a taker.... but also a giver so it evens out

some very, very eager kisses

like pushing you up against a wall, hand sliding up your thigh and mouth working down your neck...

joe is a great multitasker!

accidentally bites your lip once, it wasn't that hard or anything but he went bright red and was apologizing profusely, but also was like, "did you like it though..."

(you did but...)

bottom line is joe's just a tiny bit feral around you at all times honestly

you never know when he’s going to pull you into his lap and kiss you and you both loveeee when you sit on his lap

the men are very used to it by now

he also likes living on the edge, like who cares if the patrol's supposed to be back any minute now and could walk in at any time?

messy kisses like his mouth is just everywhere basically, he wastes absolutely no time

he is so noisy: whines, groans, moans, laughs, you get everything with joe

also loves when you tug and pull on his hair while kissing, he specifically requests it

but joe can also get incredibly soft and sweet and tender but that's strictly for your eyes only... he has a reputation to uphold ofc

he totally blows you kisses whenever one of you leaves the room... it starts ironically but now he really does enjoy doing it

[david webster]

oh david is just so romantic

like definitely over the top romantic... it's so serious to him

he's read enough (a lot) romance novels and craves that book and movie worthy relationship and love

his life IS a victorian romance novel and he will act accordingly

everyone else thinks it's incredibly cheesy but you think it’s really cute

it means so much passion whenever he's talking about you, talking to you, kissing you, etc

he's always trying to think of the right words to say and you’re like “david, just kiss me please”

ofc he obliges and he is very good at it

his touch is just always so tender, you can feel the passion and love through his kisses

he's a little hesitant sometimes, starts off slow but it's extremely easy to get him worked up and make him lose some of that self control that he works so hard to maintain and portray

[floyd talbert]

confident kisses

yeah... yeah, what more is there to say

floyd just has a way (from a lot of practice) with his mouth

he's also very attentive and is always surveying how you're reacting and feeling, always wants to make you feel good and lovesss watching your reactions

he loves when you make noises of surprise or pleasure, he always ends up grinning into your kiss, he just thinks it's sooo cute

however i do think the more serious your relationship gets and the more feelings that are attached, the more likely he gets nervous... just a little bit

but that's more with relationship things

the kissing he has down pat for sure

takes the lead, cups your cheek, always knows what to do with his hands and the perfect the angle to tilt his head

will sometimes stop super close to your lips and just grin, teasing kisses

floyd loves having all of your attention to himself, when you loop your arms around his neck, when your lips are on his face, when you're talking quietly only for him to hear, when you're the only one that actually calls him floyd, ugh he just melts

[shifty powers]

shifty is the absolute king of gentle kisses

like so so shy

especially at the beginning of your relationship, you definitely have to kiss him first and initiate everything

he's so scared of reading the moment wrong and messing everything up

which you always reassure him that he won't

he has literally the entire company hyping him up, they've been waiting for y'all to get together for basically years now

but once he's more comfortable, he's always wrapping his arms around you, smiling, and kissing you freely

he struggles to articulate all love and emotions he's feeling but you still love listening to him talk about it

he just blurts out "i love you so much" one day after kissing, when you're laying in bed in austria

and he immediately looks terrified, not that he regrets what he said because he most certainly means it, but he doesn't know what you're going to say

but it's only a few seconds before you grin and throw your arms around him, "i love you too," you mutter before kissing him, a little more intense, and with a little more fervor than your usual kisses

[bill guarnere]

his nick name of wild bill definitely applies to his kissing style

absolutely wild

sometimes borderline unhinged

especially if he's been drinking or partying

but also... if it's the two of you alone, having a mellow morning or night, bill does get soft

the other guys aren't even surprised by that, they know he has a soft and gentle side to him, they can see it whenever you're with him

bill is sporting a basically permanent smile while watching you

trying to burn the visual of you into his brain so he can keep it forever

his kisses are encapsulating and very distracting

he hates seeing you upset or stressed and he uses kisses and physical affection to help

loves holding you and being the big spoon

and you love it too

it's soooo comforting

and it's never easy to not be constantly reminded that you're in the middle of a war, about to jump into france, etc, but with him, his firm arms around you, it's a little easier to forget

[chuck grant]

chuck strikes me as very confident, kind of like tab

he just wants to appreciate you!

and shower you with love

he will never run out of ways and words to compliment you

he's been admiring you from afar for sooo long, now that your in his arms it feels incredibly surreal

his kisses are always firm and secure

and chuck really likes when you take the lead and take what you want from him

being away from you always stirs something extremely confident and desperate in him

really enjoys holding your hand

always having physical contact with you, that's a necessity

ooo... he loves having a hand on your thigh

especially if he can sneak it under the table during dinner or a meeting

just his hand sliding up and down, gripping and then releasing, and then looking at his innocent yet knowing smile...

that definitely leads to some intense kisses, your hands running through his hair, hand cupping his jawline, you leading the show

he lovesss getting a reaction from you

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur stories, and i was wondering if you could do a one-shot where ellie won't admit it, but she LOVES being a sub and just listening to you 🫣

SUB!TOP!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! sub!top!ellie, oblivious!reader, making out, a liiiitttleee of thigh reading, js smut

writers note: im a sucker for dom!ellie but my first req was sub!ellie and now it just has a separate place in my brain.. yeah, i need both. switch!ellie lover i guess💪💪 also this ones sub!top!ellie because im soooo in love w her like awshhzhsv

you always saw ellie as the firm, rough and confident one. as the 'don't tell me what to do' one. and definitely the straight-forward one. you wouldn't even think it's the complete otherwise, especially not while grinding on her lap. your lips were connected for a few minutes now, and everytime you pulled away to catch your breath a line of saliva built a bridge between you. you were needy, ellie desperate and the whole situation really messy. quite a combo.

"ellie..." you whined after freeing your tongue.

she pulled you back into her, holding onto the back of your neck. "what is it, doll?"

"mhh-" a week sound escaped your mouth, as you struggled to calm down and not act as if you just ran a marathon (because you didn't, of course, but that's how you felt). "touch me..."

you didn't realize she kept her hands only on your head because she was shy. you never thought she could be shy at all. your request, though, awakened something in her. she hungrily slid her slim fingers beneath your shirt, where they rubbed soothing shapes into your skin.

"like that?" she laughed, or at least you guessed she did, because the sensations made it hard for you to tell.

your answer was a one word, but a keyword. "more."

with that, her hands unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere on the ground. she turned you around, making you lean your back on her chest. your shirt covered the scene - her playing with your hard nipples, that didn't feel so sensitive until now. her hair fell on your face, slightly covering it, as she bowed her head to kiss your neck. your pussy sent a needy impulse through the rest of your body, signaling you this is what you needed, before the pulsating changed it's message to a 'not enough'. ellie seemed to notice it, and one of her hands untied the knot of your cute pyjama-shorts. the elastic at your hips widened to make room for her hand, and it carefully slipped underneath the waistband, though stayed on top of your underwear. she followed the wet path with her middle finger, arriving to it's source. she didn't put any pressure onto your body, leaving you unsatisfied.

"please- please, do it." you nodded, fighting the urge to press her hand towards you.

she was more than happy to do it, her hand avoiding now also your panties and making contact with your bare body. you shuddered at the coldness she brought with her, but things quickly got heated.

your head found support in her shoulder, resting on it, as her pointing finger rubbed your clit and the next two lazily waited at your entrance, collecting everything that came out of it.

"do you want me to do it?" she asked. it wasn't the taunting, teasing, playful tone. it was a concerned, shy and hesitating one. one you weren't used to hear from her.

you frowned, wiping your wet, drooled mouth with the palm of your hand. "are you... really asking me that?" you wanted to add '...or am i dreaming?' but that was too much for you now, and your throat refused to work.

"i only want to do things you want me to do." she whispered, sounding almost ashamed about admitting that.

she continued the trail of sappy little kissed on your neck, somewhere where the vocal cords are, and you thought that's the main reason they're not working.

you couldn't hide your surprise but stayed quiet, though not really by choice. she thanked god you couldn't feel her own wet spot, which was probably bigger than yours and still growing each time you asked her to do something for you. even if your commands weren't out of your dominance, even if you had no idea how they turn her on, she only waited for you to ask for more, or less, anything would satisfy her, as long as she can satisfy you.

[tottentz]

HE'S COMPLICATED, HE'S IRRATIONAL ── alhaitam ◟1.2k w.c ◟sfw, hurt + comfort.

"so, tell us the secret, why him?" 

alhaitam freezes, hand on the handle halfway to open the door. they're talking about him again.

he doesn't understand many of the words, but he knows the tone. talking more in breath than sound, trying to sound quieter than they really are. the same fake concern they take on the moment they turn away from your table, like you aren't still in the room.

but he doesn't care, except maybe, for you. 

you smile, a little too wide, and tilt your head. uselessly. doesn't matter either way. "him who?," you repeat in a high pitch.

"alhaitam, duh." your coworker has a tendency to talk a little too much when she's lonely and just a little bit tipsy. and given the way that things seem to be going, she's very lonely and probably drinking a little more than she should. and it's your job to be likeable and trustworthy.

"because i love him." you bit out, and you weren't sure whether a smile or a wince tugged at the corner of your mouth, wondering why you were having some sort of revelation.

"but, i mean, why?" she also calmly contradicted, though discussing an entirely different topic than the one you were stuck on, without a tremor in her voice. "'isn't he a little, uh..."

"complicated?" another of your friends ( friends? ) say.

the words are mostly unfamiliar, but alhaitam thinks you know the meaning by the way you grudgingly kick at the tiles under your feet, chewing the inside of your mouth as if musing her previous claim.

"oh" it is all you say, and alhaitam feels the acid crawl up his throat and die in his mouth. then there was anger, mostly directed at himself, hatred so obsessive it seeped into his skin, a punch to his gut of desperation, and last but not least honest, helpless. "is that so?"

alhaitam knows he is not good at expressing his affection.

and then you think of alhaitam draped over the edge of the couch when you walk in, his nose smothered deep in a book. he only notices you when you plop before him and don't say anything; he doesn't have to. he already knows you had a long day when you crawl between his legs and wraps around his waist, clinging, waiting.

 you think of alhaitam reading aloud then. even if he doesn't know what's going on half the time, he lets you hear his voice. his free fingers finding your nape, your skin dance; tingles in the wake of goosebumps, you feel his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who fly to the tempo of his palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery

and things stay like this. he reads. you listen for each syllable as they glide off his tongue, lulling your muscles to unravel, your lashes to flutter shut.

"yeah, i have never seen him either, does he at least have time for you?"

alhaitam always wakes much too early for your liking, but he always humours you when you pull him back into an even warmer chest each time he scoots away. your voice mumbling just five more minutes. and he stays.

even when the day is long and you can only see him before going to sleep, you rambled. spilling whatever random scene were to display beneath your eyelids, conveying a multitude of senseless thoughts with a voice low of pitch and groggily muddled with a recognizable desire to fall into the hands of sleep, and he always listens.

doesn't matter if the curls of his dark lashes fluttered to a close, daring him to befall subject to the will of his physical need, but whenever you would stir within his arms, trembling and cutely shrinking in response, he would promptly press you flush to his nude chest and allow the slow thump of his heart to alleviate any previous distress that had startled you from your state of dozing, ceasing your teeter towards unconsciousness.

and when you fall asleep on the couch, he bundles you up in his arms, carries you to bed. you can't see it, but he’s smiling, feeling proud, feeling warm. it nearly bursts when he sets you down, folds you beneath the covers, tucks you in like always. then he crouches down to your level, and he kisses the shallow dip your temple gives. and he can't he it, but you smile too.

"sure you are okay? he just doesn't seem like the kind of, you know, to be able to love somebody."

you freeze, and alhaitam feels like everything suddenly stops.

alhatiman? the same alhaitam who cannot help himself when it comes to you? the man whose stare descends with a determined will, falling over every rounding and arched feature your facial adorns; he has to etch any blemishes and discoloration into memory. every asset is an additional detail solely unique to your character. alhaitam, who is compelled, driven, to stall for a moment more and appreciate the mere sight of you.

whose kisses are commonly renown as esteemed rarities and seldom acquaint with your supple skin. alhaitam, whose faint brushing of his lips remains long after he has finished as a bitter tinge of coffee sour on his tongue. the weight of his doughy lips coat yours in a sugarless tart.

alhaitmamwho struggles when conveying his harbored ardor, submitting to the intensity of heat that blossomed from the kindled fire of his heart; who yearns for an affinity but is terrified of the eternal menaces that endanger you and himself alike, scared to lose the last entity with possession of his fancy.

you know the way alhaitam paints his uneasy expression over with feigned confidence. his shoulders are square, but his stomach is a festering tsunami, rough waves lapping at his insides and battering his abdomen until nausea settled somewhere deep; who is ceaselessly tranced and subject to enchantment is perpetually perceived as infatuated; bewitched. unwavering gape fixated and motionless, his adherence is akin to devout. subject to time, he is spellbound; consumed with imagery that fuels his crave for a singular desire: you.

"oh, and when he—"

"because that's my choice" you interrupt her, your mind is running a mile a minute, but the smile hung from your lips doesn't falter. you stride as if already victorious, poised; daunt. "i love him with all that, because of all that."

you twist instinctively to look at him at the door. and your face – archons, the sight of you– it's like unfettered sunlight, like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like a hot shower after a long, long day.

"anyways, i have to go now," you head for the door, and you can hear a startled squeal in the distance. "nice meeting, thank you for inviting me." and you can see the pale faces of your coworkers when they notice alhaitam waiting for you.

he just nods his head in greeting, before following you.

"you are quiet, penny for your thoughts?." you ask.

he opens his mouth, floundering for words, any words, to fill the blooming silence between you. instead he just stands there, hand around your hand. just stands there. holding onto you.

"it's nothing. let's go home" he reiterates his abiding purpose with a heavy hand cupping your cheek. he has you, he affirms, right here. alhaitam has no desire to abandon his home in your arms. he faithfully persists as a knight at your side.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[arias-archive]

can u write a one bed scene between Grayson and Lyra which takes place right after the scene where they kiss in tgg

a/n: Hiiii! Yes ofc! I’m so SO SO sorry it took so long but I wanted to make sure I got this as perfect as I could for all the anticipation it built :) (there was also another anon who asked for a graysonlyra fic so I hope this is okay!). I really hope I didn’t let anyone down and once again, thank u for waiting and supporting <3

this is set right after the graysonlyra kiss in tgg!

warnings: swearing, panic attck, kissing, slight tgg spoilers?

description: 12 hours until the next game and what a coincidence the asshole got locked out of his room

tig masterlist | masterlist

catch me if you can (a graysonlyra fic)

Lyra thought about the danger of touch. She thought about all the reasons she had not to do this. But as Grayson lowered his lips, Lyra rose up on her toes, tilted her head backward, moving like a dancer, needing this—and him.

Her long-held memory of that kiss gave way to this kiss. And this kiss was everything.

His tongue coaxed her lips to part, slipping inside, sinfully exploring every inch, ravishing her in a way she never had been before.

He wasn’t a gentle kisser, but he wasn’t rough either. This kiss was greedy and passionate and everything she needed. Her lips tingled with the memory of their first kiss, but that was practically a peck compared to this.

She knew this was foolish, kissing Grayson Davenport Hawthorne when she had every reason to hate him. She wanted to forget about that for a moment, letting the kiss deepen while her thoughts ebbed away- with nothing but him plaguing her mind.

As she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, she really didn’t want to stop. She felt like she was burning from the inside out and all she wanted was to burn with him.

They stood there, desperately fused together with the burning orange sunrise illuminating them. He held onto her waist, her chest pressed up against his in a way that made her want to get impossibly closer. He pulled away for a breath and her mouth instinctively followed him, pressing against his lips again.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, fused to each other but it was her who pulled away first, face flushed and breathless. But It was the sound of a couple of breaking branches that jolted her out of her fantasy.

She was still standing in the frame of his arms when they pulled apart, his fingers digging into the smallest part of her waist as if she could vanish at any moment. She whipped her head around, brown locks whipping her face as she searched for what could’ve possibly disturbed them. She saw nothing though.

Nothing except the charred ruins of the great mansion that one stood here, a skeletal frame bordering them. Nothing except the burnt remains of the papers containing her father's names scattering the ground.

She was surrounded by papers bearing her father’s name, someone had given her a ticket and it wasn’t the Hawthorne’s and Odette-

The realisation of what she’d been trying to actively avoid slammed into her like a truck.

And then the kiss just felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her lips burned with the intensity of it all, desperate to fall back into him but she couldn’t. She felt sick. She jumped back. Still high on the adrenaline from that kiss, she turned and ran.

Okay, maybe worse than just ran. She practically sprinted from the ruins, running towards the House, leaving the silver-eyed boy alone in the trees.

She heard him shout her name, she heard him sprint after her but she still ran. She was still reeling from everything that had taken place from last night to now. She was in shock that she ran away from the kiss without saying anything to him. What the hell was wrong with her?

She ran until everything hurt, and she was gasping for air. And then she ran some more. Her feet pounded against the dirt in time with her racing heart. But running was all she knew how to do at the moment. She needed to get away, from everything. She needed to think. To process everything and what would happen next.

She shouldn’t have kissed Grayson to push away those thoughts. And she shouldn’t have ran away after that. That was stupid. She didn’t want to use Grayson like that. Her heart ached at the thought of the asshole becoming a distraction for her. Something to use to solve the mystery of her father.

She might admit she cared about Grayson Davenport Hawthorne.

She was still dressed in her beautiful masquerade ball dress, the frothy waves of her skirt swishing around her as she kicked up stones and twigs and leaves in her wake. These were the wrong shoes to run in, she thought, as she felt her feet throbbing painfully.

She was so close to the House, just had to push past the overwhelming desire to stop and breath, when she felt strong arms wrap around her, her feet dangling off the ground.

“What the fuck?’ She exploded incredulously, glaring down at the freaking asshole who was holding her captive. She thrashed her body against his hold like a fish out of water. She already felt exhausted from sprinting all that way, and she really needed a drink of water but she couldn’t stop wriggling in his hold. Who did he think he was?

“Why did you run?” Grayson huffed, grappling for calm. He had a vice-like grip around her body and she couldn’t help but be reminded of the chandelier task, her body arcing into his instinctively-

Nope. She wasn’t going there right now.

She stared at him in disbelief, tightening the unsteady grip she had around his shoulders to balance herself. “What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole?”

“You’re the one who ran after we kissed!” He defended astutely, “Did I do something-”

“Put me down,” she interrupted him sharply, aiming a swift kick towards whatever body part she could reach with her beautiful ballet flats.

He lowered her down gently, before she could actually connect her foot with its intended target, letting her stumble back a few steps. He stood there, waiting for an answer to his question. He didn’t repeat it though, just let her answer when she was ready.

She bent over double, hands on her knees as she grappled for air and trying to make sense of her own emotions.

He didn’t do anything wrong. She really liked that kiss and she really did want his help in finding out the truth about her father. But it was his family, his grandmother, that had something to do with this. She couldn’t do this, she just couldn’t.

“No, you didn’t do anything,” Lyra finally replied, her gaze baring into the ground. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his stony eyes. Afraid the see the judgement there.

“Then why did you run, Lyra?” His tone was calm, like he already knew everything but was waiting for confirmation. She hated that he always sounded so self-assured. She hated that she was so uncertain again.

Like she was remembering that birthday all over again.

Her entire world had been thrown off-kilter again, sending her mind battling for possibilities to make sense of this twisted joke. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled quietly, eyes stuck to the ground in embarrassment. “This isn’t about the kiss. I just needed to think-“ She paused, unsure of how to explain why she actually ran when she wasn’t sure herself.

“If this is about your father,” Grayson said with unshakeable promise, “I vow I will help you find out what happened, Lyra. You have my word.”

Even just the mention of her father from somebody else’s mouth stung like acid. She nodded, her eyes still glued to the dirt floor as she straightened herself up.

Her unease still clung to her, her father’s names rattling around her head like gunfire. The coppery tang of gunpowder and blood coated her senses, preventing her from sucking in air.

Her vision blurred, her ears ringing like the aftermath of gunfire. She thought the situation could’ve gotten better now that she had the help of Grayson. She had someone on her team.

But she’d lived so long being the only person on her team that she couldn’t rely on someone else to help her. She didn’t know how.

Her sense of vision and hearing were impaired, her sense of smell clogged up by blood. But she hadn’t lost her control on touch. She leant into Grayson, digging her face into his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around her back and the back of her knees, lifting her up softly. She couldn’t hear the reassurances he was murmuring into her ear, but she could feel his comforting presence around her- reminding her that he was on her team from the start. Even though she didn’t want it.

She must’ve spaced out because next thing she knew, she was in her temporary room, fingers digging into the sheets beneath her, sobbing into Grayson Hawthorne.

Her sobs were ugly, ragged and breathless. She was just mumbling incoherent nonsense until Grayson shushed her.

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her and Lyra’s temper flared. Why did he think he could just silence her?

Her furious gaze snapped to his, glaring into the endless abyss of gray. His lips twitched as if he knew that would get her attention. That just made her angrier.

“You will stay here with me,” he murmured, her brain remembering the words from the panic attack she had earlier on. When he had first seen her vulnerable. “Right here. Right now, Lyra.”

She liked the way he said her name. The way it rolled off his tongue with precision and charm and surety. The way the syllables bounced off his tongue, as if he savoured the very words.

She focused on that, on him, on where she was. Here and now

“When I was 13,” he started, his gaze locked onto her panicked eyes, a calmness that she didn’t possess right now. “My brothers hid glitter on top of my bathroom fan, then proceeded to cover the entire bathroom in glue.”

She snorted, lips twitching in amusing at the thought of a clueless Grayson wandering inside her bathroom and being met with a sparkly surprise.

He lifted her palm to his chest, pressing it against his steadily beating heart. It was calm and orderly, just like Grayson. So she tried to match her breathing to its pace, syncing up the him.

“I turned on the fan,” he continued, rubbing his warm hands against her arms, grounding here to the here and now. “Obviously glitter exploded everywhere and stuck to everything.” He still sounded so bitter about it that she actually burst out laughing, in midst of her tears.

Grayson’s lips tilted upwards after listening to her laugh, unable to stop the quiet chuckles eliciting from his own mouth. Lyra focused in on his lips, they were fuller than they should be, and sinfully beautiful. The memory of his lips pressed against hers tingled painfully, aching for more.

Grayson tried his best to control his amusement as he schooled his features back into a bored expression. “That isn’t funny,” he huffed with an eye roll. “There’s still glitter in my bathroom.” 

She shook her head, her breaths slowing down, matching with his own calming pace. She pulled away from him, turning her face away as she dried her wet face. She was slightly embarrassed now. 

But before she could ever let that embarrassment fester, his fingers found the bottom of her chin, tilting it up towards his face. “Don’t do that,” he murmured with a small shake of his head. “I’m on your team, Lyra.”

“Do what?” She asked after she cleared her itchy throat, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

“Put those walls back up.” There it was again. The way he said her name. Like it was a prayer, whispered over and over again. She liked hearing her name come out his mouth.  

She managed to drag her gaze away, eyeing the barely furnished room. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and just sleep for a bit, but she couldn’t. Not until she properly apologised.

She wasn’t good at apologising though. Especially not to assholes like him. The words caught in her throat, refusing to push past her lips. 

So she changed the subject with a breezy tone. “I liked the first story you told me,” she considered with a small scrunch of her nose. “The one about the cello and the kitten and the long sword.”

“And a crossbow,” he added. His hands never left her arms, soothing her even if she didn’t want to talk about it yet. 

“You have to tell me how that happened-“

“I will not.” He replied firmly. 

“Oh come on,”

They bickered and chatted for ages, Lyra slumped against Grayson’s shoulder as he just chatted on about whatever she wanted to hear next. His voice was grounding. It pushed away the sticky blood and the metallic tang of gunpowder and the burnt remains of those notes. 

Eventually, Grayson stood up, pulling two keys out of his pocket. “I should leave now,” he said, dusting imaginary dust off his vintage suit, tugging at the sleeves.

He handed one key to her, her own room key which he must’ve taken from the trays back downstairs. She held it firmly, letting the cool metal of the intricate designs press patterns into her skin. 

She wouldn’t beg him to stay, despite her wishes. It wasn’t in her nature to plead. She was fine now, better than fine. She was ready.

She nodded at his words, opening her mouth to apologise before he left but the words stuck to the roof of her mouth, heavy and weighted. He waited for her to speak but she couldn’t. She waved him off with a small smile, flopping back onto the bed. 

He turned to leave, casting one last glance at the dark haired girl before gently shutting the door behind him. She strained her ears to listen to his retreating footsteps until they faded completely.

She didn’t know how long she lay on the bed, simply staring at the ceiling contemplating everything until she heard a firm knock at her room. 

She furrowed her dark brows, sitting up with a yawn, hair cascading down her back. She needed sleep desperately.

“Who is it?” She called, stifling her yawn with her hand. 

“Grayson,” the smooth voice replied back, so quiet yet so loud all at once. “Can I come in?”

She nodded before realising he couldn’t actually see her so she called out, “Yeah. Is everything okay?”

The door was pushed open as Grayson re-entered the room, walking with authority and power wherever he went. He shut the door behind her, arms crossed over his chest. 

She raised a questioning brow, signalling for him to talk about why he was here. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. “It appears that our lovely game makers have locked me out of my room,” he said coolly, his jaw ticking in annoyance.

“Oh,” Lyra replied with pursed lips, biting the inside of her cheek. Only now did she notice he was keyless. 

She didn’t know what to say to him just standing there, basically asking for help even if he would never outright demand it. His way of relinquishing some control, she supposed. Dare she say even trust her a bit?

He had helped her, throughout the whole night and going forward. Hell, she was sobbing in his arms not too long ago. So before she could even stop the words from coming out her mouth, she said, “You can stay in here,” before hastily adding, “if you want.”

He assessed her and then the room, nodding once. “Only if you are sure.” His voice was monotone, but she felt the undertone of hesitation there too. It was almost comical to her.

She looked around the room, taking in the sparsely furnished room. There wasn’t a chair, or a couch, or even a rug for him to sit down on.

Only the bed. Where she too was planning to lay. But she couldn’t tell him to get out now. Not after kindly offering her room up. 

So she wordlessly shuffled to one side of the luxurious bed, pulling off her ballet flats and disposing them beside the bed. She lay down, still clad in her beautiful ball gown, waiting for him to do the same.

He paused, as if waiting for something. A moment later,, he bent down to take off his own shoes and lined them up neatly at the foot of the bed. He robotically lay down on the other side of the bed, facing the ceiling, stiff as a board. As if he were laying on a bed of nails.

She rolled her eyes and couldn’t resist teasing him. He looked like a grumpy cat. “Everything okay, Hawthorne?”

“Splendid,” came his bored reply, his eyes meticulously tracing the ceiling. 

“You look like you’re going to fall off the bed,” she stated, propping herself up into an elbow, nudging his shoulder with her other hand. “Move closer.”

He was quiet for so long Lyra wasn’t even sure he was going to reply but then he moved. Only slightly. The barest centimetre. 

Lyra rolled her eyes again, poking his shoulder harder. “Never slept in a bed with someone before?” 

His scowl only intensified, only adding to her own enjoyment. But he moved closer, albeit only slightly. She kept up her taunting and teasing until he was only a few inches away from her own position on the bed.

She lay back down properly, rolling over her other side to get comfy. Her eyes fluttered with exhaustion and she was eager for sleep to take her. 

Just as she was about to drift off, she felt an arm drape over her midsection, clutching her closer to the warm chest pressed against her back. Her cheeks heated at the proximity. She could feel his heart racing, even through the layers. 

She stayed like a statue at first, unsure of what to do or how to react. But she meant what she thought earlier. She did like Grayson. And she wanted someone on her team. To be in her corner. 

So before she lost the nerve, she flipped around in his embrace and pressed a long, hard kiss to his lips, her tongue coaxing entrance to his mouth. 

Sparks ignited from the contact, their bodies creating an unholy inferno daring to be burned out. He pulled her even closer, deepening the kiss fully. 

Her fingers threaded through his blonde locks as his caressed her face, thumb rubbing her cheek softly. 

This kiss wasn’t like the first, or even second kiss. This one was better. As if they had never kissed before yet had kissed a hundred times before.

 It felt like two people dancing, moving simultaneously to the music only they could hear. It felt like a battle, each treading more deeper into greed.

This time it was her who pulled away for air first, his mouth following hers only to be stopped by her finger held against his lips, effectively stopping him.

She could see the protest flash through his eyes so she forced the words out her lips. So she could properly apologise, not the half-hearted explanation she gave earlier.

“I’m sorry for running, Grayson,” she whispered softly, her lips dewy with saliva. Her eyes bore into his eyes with sincerity, using her other hand to push hair away from his face. “It wasn’t about the kiss at all-“

He pushed her finger down impatiently, cutting off her apology with another kiss before pulling away. “You run, I run, Lyra.” 

She grinned, wrapping an arm around his body as she let her eyes flutter shut. And for the first time in a very long while, she had felt safer than she had ever felt.

“Catch me if you can, asshole.”

[mustainegf]

Soooo i read the step dad james fic and i had an idea

James is your dads best friend and you are staying at his place for some time and he catches you touching yourself while watching some video of him on the tv and then he fucks you and teases you about the whole situation

(I'm sorry if this long I got a bit carried away 😅)

Yesss I loved writing that one so much, and this one too!!

WARNINGS: slight daddy kink, age gap, degradation, sex toys, oral m receiving, creampie

Sure it was wrong. He's my dads friend for fuck sakes! But... he's also James Hetfield...

My hole aches as I push the dildo inside, imagining that it's him.

I can picture him forcing me to bend over, his balls slapping my pussy as he plunges all the way inside me.

I whimper and squeeze my eyes shut. It would never happen. How could it? It's just a fantasy.

That's why I'm so into him in the first place.

He's untouchable. Unobtainable. And somehow that makes it even hotter. I push the dildo all the way in and bite my lip at the thought of what it would be like if it was really him fucking me.

The image of him in this video has been haunting me ever since I saw it. He's standing on stage, shirtless and sweaty. His muscles flex and ripple as he plays the guitar.

"James.. Daddy, yes..." I whine. I felt no remorse for calling him that, it only made me hornier.

I freeze as I hear the door creak open, my heart pounding in my chest. My eyes fly open, and I’m met with the sight of James Hetfield leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips.

His short silver hair glistens in the soft light filtering through the window, and his piercing blue eyes seem to gleam with desire as he takes in the scene before him.

“Well, well, well, what’s this hm?” he says, his voice low and teasing, sending shivers down my spine.

I blush furiously, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze. “James, I-I can explain…” I stammer, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He chuckles, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. The tattoos that adorn his muscular arms and chest stand out against his slightly tanned skin. “No need to explain, babygirl,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “I think I understand perfectly.”

My heart races as he approaches, his presence filling the room with an intoxicating mix of danger and desire.

Without a word, James reaches out and grabs the dildo, pulling it from my grasp with a playful smirk.

He examines it for a moment before tossing it aside, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You don’t need this,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You need me, Don’t you?”

Before I can protest, he’s on me, pushing me back onto the bed with a strength that leaves me breathless.

I gasp, feeling a surge of arousal course through me at his touch.

“Such a dirty little slut,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “Using toys to satisfy yourself like some kind of desperate whore.”

I moan, unable to deny the truth of his words. I am desperate for him, craving his touch more than anything in the world.

James wastes no time, he strips himself before positioning himself between my legs and sliding his cock inside me with one swift motion.

I cry out, feeling myself stretch to accommodate him, the sensation both painful and pleasurable.

His cock is thick and hard, filling me completely and stretching me in ways I’ve never experienced before.

He begins to move, thrusting into me with a force that is unapologetic. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure beating through me, and I cling to him desperately, lost in a haze of ecstasy.

His tattoos seem to come alive as he moves, the intricate designs shifting and writhing with each powerful thrust.

“That’s it, baby,” James murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all. You’re such a good little slut for me.”

I whimper, unable to form coherent words as he pounds into me relentlessly.

His cock feels like pure bliss inside me, driving me to the brink of insanity with each deep thrust.

I can feel every ridge and vein, every inch of him filling me completely as he takes me harder and deeper than I’ve ever been before.

“Daddy! Harder!” I beg through moans.

I arch my back, meeting his movements with a fervor that matches his own. My pussy is clenching him so hard, he knows I’m close to cumming.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “I want to feel you cum around me.”

With a cry of pure ecstasy, I let go, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.

James follows soon after, his own release flooding my insides.

We collapse together, spent and sated, our bodies tangled in a sweaty, sticky mess. James isn’t finished with me yet.

With a firm grip on my hips, he flips me over onto my hands and knees, positioning me exactly how he wants me.

I gasp as his hand comes down hard on my ass, sending a jolt of pleasure and pain coursing through me.

“Such a naughty little slut,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

I whimper, feeling a rush of lust run through me at his words. I’m putty in his hands, completely at his mercy as he takes control.

With a sharp intake of breath, James slides back inside me, filling me completely once again.

I moan, feeling him stretch me even further as he thrusts into me with a force that leaves me close to blacking out.

He fucks me harder, deeper, his cock pounding into me.

I can feel every inch of him inside me, stretching me in all the right ways as he uses me as he pleases.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” James groans, his voice thick with lust. “So tight, so wet. I could fuck you like this forever, little thing.”

I whimper, unable to form coherent words.

“Look at how well you grip me, so perfect.”

James takes me harder and deeper than ever before.

It’s not long before I’m cumming again, spasming around him, my insides are aching with his abuse.

I can feel him pulsing inside me, his hot cum filling me completely as he empties himself deep within my core.

It’s an intense, mindblowing sensation, and I cry out as I feel myself being filled with him.

As James sits me up, his commanding presence sends a tremor of fear coursing through me.

I obediently take his cock in my hand, feeling the weight of it in my palm as I lean forward, my mouth hovering just inches away from his throbbing length.

“Open up, baby,” he commands, his voice low and husky with desire. “I want you to taste yourself on daddy’s cock.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I part my lips, eagerly taking him into my mouth.

The taste of our combined juices is unlike anything, and I moan softly around him as I begin to suckle over his sensitive skin.

James watches me intently, his eyes smoldering with lust as I eagerly clean him off, every stroke and flick of my tongue making him groan and twitch. He sighs softly, his fingers tangling in my hair as he guides me, urging me to take him deeper.

I comply eagerly, taking him as deep into my mouth as I can, reveling in the feeling of him filling my throat completely.

Finally, with a low groan of satisfaction, James pulls me away from him, his cock glistening with my saliva as he gazes down at me with adoration and desire.

“You’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he leans in to kiss me deeply. “So fucking good, I should’ve fucked you a long time ago.”

[sunflowersteves]

when you're gone || j.m.

pairing || joel miller x f!reader

summary || Jackson, Wyoming was supposed to be a calm and quiet town. Joel wasn't so sure when he wakes up alone after another unbearable nightmare.

author's note || without @themarcusmoreno, this fic would not have been made so I thank ash a thousand times for enabling me into writing soft joel comfort with some filth!! and tbh, i think i have an addition to soft!joel so i hope you all enjoy (especially after that episode). also yes, i may have gotten the title from the cranberries song!!

warnings || nightmares, ptsd, apocalypse ptsd, pure disgusting fluff, hurt/comfort, joel needs a break so i'm giving him one, soft!joel, SMUT, oral sex, blowjob, praise kink, [18+ only!!]

masterlist

In Wyoming, it was a quiet and peaceful night. The crickets chirped, and the cold icy wind blew against the logged cabins. Everyone in Jackson was under the cloudy haze of a tranquil slumber, and so were the trees as they gently swayed underneath the stars. 

In a quaint cabin, Joel was mumbling in his sleep. A dark shadow cast over him from the troubles of his active mind. His eyebrows furrowed in despair, and his cheeks were hot from the pain that shot through his chest. He could picture her. He could picture you. He could picture Ellie. A sharp cry and scream thwarted against his eardrums, and he panicked. 

His eyes snapped open in an instant, and his chest heaved at the alarm that spread across his chest and down to the pits of his stomach. He looked around the room—his eyes frantic. An old chair, a bookshelf, and a pile of clothes. 

A nightmare. Just a nightmare. 

He turned to look over at the silhouette of your form under the covers, but his heart froze once more as you weren’t even there. 

You were gone. 

It struck deep inside him—empty and sullen—as the questions started to roll over one another. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you alive?

He didn’t waste any time by putting some pants over his boxers or taking his flannel. He just needed to run. The strong pads of his feet hit the floorboards, and he sauntered down the stairs. He had to find you. 

He needed to find you. 

The pure, hard feeling of desperation rose in his throat. His hands were shaking by his sides as he whipped around the archway that leads into the living room. His eyes scanned every crevice of the room—starting from the tall bookshelves and guitar stand that sat in the back corner. Then, he saw it. He saw the movement of a hand flipping over a page in a book. 

You.

He let out a big puff of air, the relief washing him over like a cold splash of water to his face. You were safe. You were okay. He could feel the panic rush out of his chest, and pure adoration sunk in between his heart and his lungs. Just you.

He watched, quietly, at the soft rise and fall of your chest. The hand that wasn’t holding the book in your lap was tapping gently on the edge of the sofa.

A lukewarm cup of tea, the one you most likely forgot from the riveting pages, sat on the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes rapidly scanned each individual page, and your lips pursed into a small smile. 

He could tell you were reading a Jane Austen novel. You always had the same expression when you were reading Pride & Prejudice, Emma, or Persuasion. Your left brow would always twitch when you got to a familiar scene that you had read a million times before. 

He suddenly could feel the warm breath of a calm mind take over his body. He felt like he could relax now. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re alive. 

As if you feel his soft stare, your eyes turn to his—your smile even larger than before. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, handsome?”

He doesn’t say anything. His mouth doesn’t even form a smile. He wasn’t sure he could. While his body relished in the feeling of relief, the whiplash of feelings that swirled around in his head was starting to get to him. 

“Joel?”

Your eyes turned cloudy with concern, and now his heart sank just a little. He didn’t want to make you feel worried. The last thing he wanted to do was open a deep wound in your chest like the one that settled in his. 

He quietly sat down next to you, arms pulling in your shoulders, so your back lay rested against his chest. You sat the book down on the coffee table right before making home into his arms.

He breathed in deep, familiar senses of your own musk and the spices you had been picking earlier that day. Rosemary, bay leaves, and parsley were your favorite plants in the garden that Ellie had asked you to build. 

You sat there for just a moment, knowing that he needed to take his time. Joel was never a man of words. He was silent and calculating, watching everyone and anything around him.

You were one of his soft spots over the years—you and Ellie—but his hardened heart still prevented him from allowing his deepest affections to shine through. So, when his thoughts came barrelling down on top of him, he needed the time to articulate them. You would always patiently wait for him, each and every time. 

“Had another nightmare.” He paused, noticing the small intake of your breath. He could tell that you felt bad for waking up in the middle of the night and not being there for him. “Woke up alone.” 

He chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to say, “woke up, and you weren’t there.” In truth, you weren’t, but he knew you had insomnia. He knew that he wasn’t the only one suffering under this roof from the dangerous, violent, and pure aching pain that the world had caused. 

“Joel—Baby—” God, you were too good for him. You were a badass throughout all of the years of fighting and violence, yet your heart shined brighter than ever, just for him and Ellie. 

He whispered just under his breath, “I had the same nightmare. I know you’re there. I know Ellie’s there. I know Sarah’s there—” He shakes his head. “—But I can never find you. Any of you.”

He can picture the frown that forms on your pretty, plump lips. It wasn’t your fault. You know that. You couldn’t have known, but the burning guilt in your chest wants to say otherwise. Your hand grabs onto his own, which is splayed across your abdomen, and you squeeze—making sure that he knew you were here. 

“I’ll never go anywhere, Joel. Not without you.”

A deep, crackling affection sprouted in his chest at your affirmation. He could almost smile—bright and pearly white. His worn heart thumped loudly against his chest, surely pumping loudly against your shoulder blade. 

“I know, darlin’. My brain is just funny sometimes.” His lips crack just a little at the snort he was able to pull from your nose. 

“Hell of a way to put it, Miller.”

After a couple of beats of silence, you bite your lip—contemplating whether you should act on what your brain was currently concocting. You knew that Joel wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night, and by default, you wouldn’t, either.

You could tell he was still lost in the faraway lands of his mind. His eyes were glossy and dazed. You knew he was, in no doubt, trying to unsee the darkest parts of his nightmares.

You decide to say fuck it, and you attempt to untangle Joel’s arms from yours. You hear a disapproving grunt from the man behind you, followed by another confused sound when you started to leave the couch.

“Darlin’, where are you—” His question dies on his tongue, though, all while you sink down onto your knees. His eyes are blown wide—dark pupils dilating under the soft glow of the eucalyptus candle you started to burn earlier. 

You give your best innocent smile. By the way his lips open just a smidge, you knew your idea was a good one. “Wanna take care of you, Joel.”

You bite your lip, sinking your teeth into the plump skin, and he curses under his breath. “Will you let me take care of you, handsome?” Your palms flatten across his splayed-out thighs, and you rub back and forth. He could feel his boxers become tighter as you wait for his answer. “Hmm?”

His body involuntarily leans back so he could sink further and further into the couch. His body acts, once again, before his mind can even comprehend the pure lust and desire he has for you. His hips jump forward to allow your soft hands to shuffle his boxers down and pool around his legs. 

Finally, he says, “please.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You grab a hold of his half-hard member, and he groans at the sight of you practically drooling for his cock. Your eyes are glistening with such lust, and he sees that speckled look of love that fills them.

His own eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as you press a couple of sweet kisses on his inner thigh—causing him to jerk. You pump his cock a few times, jaw slacking at the pre-cum that is already dribbling against his tip.

“Darlin’.” He gasps.

He watches as you wrap your soft lips around his head. He can feel his cock twitch and become harder—pleasure throbbing against his bulging veins. “F-Fuck, just like that. Yes.”

You flatten your tongue along his ruddy tip and then swirl in between his crying slit. “Fuckin’ mouth on you, I—” He lets out small puffs of air, teeth biting his lower lip in pleasurable agony. If it weren't for his fat cock in your mouth, you definitely would have smiled at the praise. He moans, almost as if he could feel it. 

"Joel—baby—so needy."

Joel was pretty sure he could die happy, right with your lips on his cock because when you rasp that out, there was a bead of your saliva and his pre-cum connected to your lips.

His knees twitch in between you, not being able to help it. He drags his hand to the nape of your neck and squeezes the base of it. “Takin’ care of me so fuckin’ well. My pretty girl—suckin’ my cock.” His words slur together with each syllable of his honeyed Texas accent.

The soft cries and whimpers that leave his mouth are really addicting—your hand squeezes against the base of his thigh from wanting more. 

"You taste so good, Joel. 'm—I love you. I love your cock."

You bop your head even lower—esophagus spasming at the pure thickness of Joel. No matter how many times your sweet cunt or stretched mouth took him, you were never used to his swollen size. 

You hum against him as you feel the sticky substance of pre-cum leak from his tip and onto your tongue—salty and earthy. His hips sputter slightly upward, lips cursing up a storm. “Oh-fuck-fuck. C-Can’t–ugh–can’t take much longer, sweet girl.” 

His body almost shutters from the drool he feels slowly drip down to his balls. Your mouth is warm and balmy, slick tongue working excellently against his hardened shaft. He gasps out your name, mixed in with one of his pet names for you. 

He lets himself become lost between the soft pillows of you and your expert tongue that brings him to the brink of pleasure. He lets the stiff trauma that makes his shoulders and muscle tense slowly wash off of him. “Love when you suck my cock, yeah, f-fuck—my pretty girl takin’ care of my fuckin’ cock.”

His mouth hangs open as you hollow your cheeks and suck on his ruddy tip before shoving your throat back down to the base of his cock. He wasn’t sure how he was sane at this moment—watching the saliva drop from his cock down to his balls—as he was throbbing with pleasure. 

His head drops back onto the couch, and he moans and whimpers out your name. It stays on his tongue—repeating over and over as if it was the only thing that ever mattered in the world. He feels his tummy squeeze, thighs tensing and pulsating as he feels that familiar coil tighten. “Oh, baby—darlin’—my girl—”

You suck in, swirling your tongue just over his slit once more, and he gruffs out a gasp. "Fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you—" Thick beads of cum spew to the back of your throat—causing you to gag. His cum rolls over as his cock twitches and spurts in your mouth. 

You swallow every drop that Joel gives you—gulping it down on his shaft. He was already sensitive, cock already softening, but the whimper that left his mouth seemed one of ecstasy.

You relent, though. Your jaw was a little sore, and you had a feeling Joel was going to want to return the favor. You unhinge your mouth from him with a small ‘pop’ and pat his knee in affection. 

“Feel better, handsome?”

“Loads.” He snorts. “Literally.”

You roll your eyes, getting up from the floor and taking your usual seat on his thighs. “Hilarious, Miller. Real funny.” You were happy, though. You were able to give him the distraction he deserves.

His smile never settles as he pulls you into him. A weight had lifted onto his chest at the true realization that you’re here.

You’re with him.

You’ve alive.

You’re here. 

Joel knew that the nightmare would haunt him for a long time, but for now, you are all he needs.