#anyone else notice he’s been speaking more like the Shade lately?

[adrift-in-thyme]

Excuse me while I cry

Image credit @/linkeduniverse

[spasmsofthought]

the risk (is drowning) [jake seresin x f!reader]

This little 1k piece is 100% inspired by the song Risk by Gracie Abrams. What a masterpiece this song is.

Also a special dedication to all my anxious wallflower girlies (especially those in their mid-to-late twenties). You are seen and loved. You will be wanted. xoxo

Warnings: Some indirect allusions to anxiety/social anxiety.

Please like, comment, reblog. Let me know what you think! xo

on A03 here

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"It feels like the universe is pranking me."

The bar is loud and bright and crowded, even in the shadows of the back corner where you and your roommate Alexis are sitting on stools. A remixed pop song is playing from the speakers in the room - it sounds like something you heard in CVS three days ago while picking up your prescription strength Benadryl. Damn hives. You knew better than to let Jessica be the one to choose the takeaway order for lunch. She never remembered anybody's food allergies.

"I wonder," You continue speaking as you swirl the straw in your club soda, "if I'm on some alien reality version of punk'd. I feel like there's a camera trying to catch me over my shoulder. I keep waiting to hear a laugh track in the background."

Alexis just sighs from across you. Then she gives you the look that she's been giving you all evening - full of love but also half-reproach and half-amusement.

"I think you might've coordinated my outfit for nothing," You look down at the number you're wearing. It's something that's much different than you're usual look - not as casual and more flashy. It screams look at me with several exclamation points. You don't remember the last time you wore something to make someone else notice you - not intentionally. You don't really know for sure if it's helping you feel more confident or more like a poser.

"I wore mascara for no reason." You slump against the wall at your back. "He hasn't shown up. I don't even think he's going to be here tonight."

There's a minute of semi-silence where you take in the ambiance of the place. You notice that the music over the speakers has changed genres to a popular country song that has some people by the pool table swaying or singing along at the counter with beer bottles in their hands pretending that they're microphones.

"Speak of the devil," Alexis smirks at you and then points her chin towards the direction of the front door. She's not wrong.

There he is in all of his golden glory. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant, Naval aviator, Top Gun graduate.

He's never actually introduced himself to you; you've never met him. It's not that hard to get a beat on who he is though - he's all anyone ever talks about in this place. You notice you're staring and swivel your attention back to Alexis.

The amount of times you've daydreamed about his eyes or, God, his hands feels almost wrong due to the fact that you've never even spoken a word to the man.

He really is just your type: a blue-eyed all-American boy with a killer smile and all the confidence in the world. You can practically feel the rush of heat to your face and you bring your soda to your lips for a quick swallow.

It had been really challenging at first, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and intentionally choosing to spend time with crowds of people, even if it's really only Alexis you ever talk to. It's taken months to feel much more comfortable even hanging in the back corner of a bar like this.

Jake had been a regular before this became your weekend hangout spot with Alexis and ever since the first day you saw him you'd known that he wasn't the type of person to escape anybody's notice. Whether it's his natural charisma or a learned charm, you looked at him once and haven't stopped looking.

Your life has always felt more monotone - shades of black and white with spots of blue or green or yellow or pink here and there. Even from far away, you can tell that Jake Seresin's life is in full, vibrant technicolor. You keep wondering what that must be like.

"If there's any time to shoot your shot it'd be now, before the groupies surround him." Alexis advises you.

He's just making his way to the bar counter after calling out greetings or doing that weird bro handshake guys do with each other when they're acquaintances but don't know each other that well.

You don't know why you came tonight, why you confessed this to her in the first place. You don't know why your mind has been stuck on a Jake Seresin loop. Why this has been the one thing it hasn't let go of.

You're almost ready to bolt out of there, indecision weighing heavy on your shoulders. The indecision isn't even the worst part because you're friends with indecision. It's been there for you all your life.

It's the fact that you want to go up there and introduce yourself to him that's actually terrifying. You can't remember the last time you wanted something like this. Have you?

"If you don't get up and go over there yourself, I will make you."

Your mom used to tell you that the only way you started learning how to swim as a young girl was when she tossed you into the deep end of the pool with a swimming instructor and you had to learn first-hand, in the moment, how to paddle in water to keep from drowning.

"But he's so hot," You whisper, leaning across the table as your hands start to shake, "I'm no supermodel on a runway. I've never even had a boyfriend."

"How have I never known that you're in your late twenties and never had a boyfriend?" Alexis gapes, one of her hands coming to cover your shaking ones.

"Never even been on a real date, actually." You grimace and lean away, pulling your hands out from under hers.

"I'm not going to force you," Alexis softens, "If you're really not ready, we can go and come back some other time."

You take a deep breath in, then a slow breath out. "What if he shoots me down?" What if I drown in rejection?

"Remember what you said when we took that philosophy course on morality in grad school and we were arguing about what it means for a person to have 'character'?" You frown at Alexis' words. Grad school, where you met her and became life-long friends, feels like a lifetime ago. "You said, 'It's your motivations and actions that make you who you are.' If you go over there and he's the one that rejects you, that is communicating something to you about who he is. His rejection is not about you."

You take a second breath and shrug, "That makes sense, I guess."

"There's a reason I'm your best friend y'know." Alexis flips her hair over her shoulder.

"I'm worth this," You nod your head adamantly, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. But your eyes don't meet nothing. It's only a quick glance, but there's a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Something that tells you that you won't be making a complete fool of yourself.

"Damn right you are," Alexis says.

You slowly stand up from your seat against the wall, shaking your hands out. You're going to let what you want override your indecision and anxiety, even if it's just for sixty seconds.

"Okay, okay, okay," You whisper to yourself. Taking a step and then turning back towards Alexis.

"You've got this," She reassures you. "Go, be brave."

Your turn around and walk forward, Jake Seresin in your sights. Maybe you in his, based on the second glance your garner. You turn your head one last time to give Alexis and anxious, unsure smile and then you walk the rest of the way to the bar counter by yourself. You don't look back.

[quichein-me-softly]

love letters w/ grillby

Grillby wasn’t a man of many words. For as long as you’d known him, he had always been the quiet, steady presence behind the bar. His flames flickered calmly, never betraying too much of what he might be thinking, and yet, there was something comforting about him—a warmth you couldn’t quite explain. You started frequenting his bar simply because it felt like a second home, and over time, your visits became less about the drinks and more about his company.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when things shifted for you, when his silent, careful attention became something you looked forward to more than anything else. Maybe it was the night you stayed until closing, and Grillby brought you an extra drink on the house—a silent offering as you sat by yourself, lost in thought. He didn’t ask any questions, didn’t pry. He just set the glass down in front of you, and with a small, almost imperceptible nod, let you know he was there if you needed someone.

Or maybe it was that quiet evening when the bar was nearly empty, and you found yourself watching him as he worked. He moved with such precision, his hands glowing softly as they polished glasses, and when you asked about his day, he glanced at you with a rare, amused flicker in his eyes. It was one of the first times you’d seen him smile—a subtle curve of the flames around his mouth, but it was there, and it made your heart skip a beat.

Grillby always had a way of making the mundane feel significant. Every small gesture, every quiet glance in your direction, felt like a conversation all on its own. You didn’t need grand declarations from him; you found comfort in the way he simply existed alongside you.

But lately, there had been something different in the air. You noticed Grillby lingering a little longer near you, his flames burning a shade warmer when you smiled at him. You often caught him watching you, his gaze soft but unreadable. It made your heart flutter in a way that confused and excited you, though you never pressed him about it.

It wasn’t in his nature to be forward with his feelings, and honestly, you weren’t sure if that’s what this was. You only knew that every time you left the bar, you carried a piece of his warmth with you.

From Grillby’s perspective, things had been changing for a while. He didn’t know when exactly he started looking forward to your visits more than those of anyone else. Maybe it was your quiet presence, or the way you treated the bar like it was more than just a place to drink. You’d sit at your usual spot, sometimes chatting with the regulars, sometimes reading a book, and occasionally just gazing out of the window. But always, always, you’d send him a smile—a small, genuine gesture that made his flames flicker just a bit brighter.

Grillby knew he wasn’t the most expressive. Words didn’t come easily to him, especially when it came to things like feelings. But in his own way, he had tried to show you how much your presence meant to him. He made sure your drink was always ready the moment you sat down, placed small, thoughtful snacks in front of you when you looked tired, and, though he wasn’t sure you noticed, he had taken to lingering near your end of the bar whenever things got quiet.

He’d never felt like this before. Sure, he cared about his customers, but this was different. Every time you walked through the door, his flames burned just a bit warmer, and when you laughed at something one of the regulars said, he found himself watching you, absorbing the sound like it was something precious.

But he’d never said anything. Couldn’t, really. Grillby wasn’t the kind of person to speak about his feelings so openly, and for a long time, he convinced himself that his small gestures were enough. But as time passed, and as he watched you night after night, he realized those little things weren’t enough anymore. You deserved more than that. You deserved to know.

The night he left the letter was one of the quieter evenings. The bar had cleared out early, leaving you and Grillby alone, as it often did. You were in your usual spot, sipping your drink and glancing around the room, lost in thought. Grillby, as always, was cleaning up, but tonight, he felt a nervousness he hadn’t experienced before. The letter had been sitting under the bar for days, written and rewritten several times, until he felt it said what he couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he expected from leaving it there. Maybe you wouldn’t read it right away. Maybe you’d be confused or worse—uninterested. The idea of that rejection made his flames flicker unsteadily, but he needed to take the chance. You meant more to him than he could ever say out loud, and he had been carrying this for too long.

He saw the moment you noticed the letter, saw your brow furrow as you picked it up and opened it, your eyes scanning the words. His flames burned low with anticipation, his hands suddenly idle as he watched, waiting for any sign of your reaction. It was agonizing—the not knowing, the silence that stretched on.

Dearest [Y/N],

I have long known that words are not my strongest form of expression. My hands, my work, and the fire within me have always been more suited to showing how I feel than to saying it. Yet, there are things that even my quiet gestures cannot fully convey.

From the moment you first stepped into my bar, there was something about you that drew me in. It was not immediate, but rather, like the steady glow of embers that grows into something warmer, something brighter. With each of your visits, I found myself watching you—not just as a patron, but as someone who brought a light of your own into this place. I began to look forward to your company in a way I had never anticipated, and that feeling only deepened as time passed.

I realize now that the small things I have done—ensuring your drink is always ready, offering you quiet company during late nights—have been my way of trying to show you what I could not bring myself to say. But these actions, as sincere as they are, can only speak so much.

The truth, [Y/N], is that I care for you deeply. You have become more than just a welcome presence here; you have become someone I find myself thinking of, even when the bar is empty and the fire burns low. I have felt this way for some time, and though I am not accustomed to sharing such thoughts, I could no longer keep them to myself.

I understand if you do not feel the same. Please know that I would never wish to burden you with unspoken expectations. Should you choose not to respond, nothing between us has to change. You will always be welcome here, as you have been from the start. But if, by chance, you share even a fraction of what I feel, I would be honored to know.

Regardless of your answer, my gratitude remains for the warmth you have brought into this place—and into my life.

Yours, Grillby

From where you stood, you could feel the heat of his gaze on you, but you took your time reading the letter, trying to absorb every word. Your heart raced as you reached the part where he confessed, the simple but heartfelt words etched into your mind. Grillby… had been feeling this way for a while. It was clear in how carefully he’d written the letter, how much thought he had put into each line.

When you finally looked up, your chest felt warm, like the glow from his flames had wrapped around your heart. He was watching you with a steady gaze, his usually stoic face holding just the faintest hint of vulnerability.

You stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you two, and walked toward him. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but there was an unspoken tension in the air. You didn’t need him to explain; the letter had said everything.

“I feel the same way,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling flames. The words were simple, but in them, you offered everything.

Grillby’s flames flared slightly at your admission, his relief and joy palpable in the warm air around you. He didn’t need to speak; his eyes told you all you needed to know. He cared for you deeply, and this moment—this quiet, tender moment—was the start of something more.

There was no rush for more words. You both understood each other in the silence that followed. Grillby reached across the bar, his fingers brushing against yours in a soft, tentative gesture, his flames glowing softly in the dim light of the bar.

And in that simple touch, you felt all the tenderness, all the care, that he had struggled to express.

[merp-blerp]

Gaylor/Kaylor and Oz: Parallels and Theories 🌼🌈❇️

CW: Light Spoilers for L. Frank Baum's Oz book series (books 1-15) and major spoilers for Return to Oz (1985). And this post is very late-stage-Kaylor-specific, so if that's not up your alley, that's chill.

There is now a Vol. 2 with new additions and info! I recommend reading this part first.

Overblown Analysis Under the Cut ↓

As a huge Oz nerd, I and many others have noticed many Oz media parallels in Taylor's music. I wanted to piece together some I've seen mentioned and some I've noticed myself. More things could pop up as time goes on, so I could imagine me editing or making a second part to this post if necessary.

Part 1: Rainbows 🌈

In the 1939 film, Dorothy's home, Kansas, is portrayed as a dreary sepia or greige color, that way the contrast to the gorgeous technicolor of the land of Oz could be even more effective on the audience. Somewhat surprisingly I guess, this sepia color is reflected in the book, with Kansas being described as "the great grey prairie" and even W. W. Denslow's original illustrations of Kansas being colored in greige; the pages don't include more color until Dorothy is swept into the cyclone on her way to Oz.

So many of Taylor's lyrics describe events turning her world from colorless to colorful or vice versa. "The rest of the world was black and white // But we were in screaming color" from "OOTW", "You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else" from "Illicit Affairs", "If all you want is gray for me // Then it's just white noise, and it's my choice" from "BDILH", "Like a rainbow with all of the colors" from "ME!" turning into "I'm just... in shades of greige" from "The Prophecy", etc.

For TTPD, from a gaylor perspective, the sepia and greige theme of the album is supposed to reflect that for Taylor the closet is colorless and sad. It also invokes old Hollywood and how closeting is an old-fashioned practice figuratively and literally. Closeting is a practice based on outdated mindsets and fears and it's been a practice since Hollywood as we know it today was beginning to be established. MGM Dorothy actress Judy Garland was in at least one lavender marriage and might've been queer herself, but the latter isn't as confirmed as other victims of closeting of the time like, say, her husband Vincente Minnelli. Taylor often utilizes vintage imagery in her music, romanticizing it, but the song "TTPD" (and other points in the album) calls her out for it with her lover having to remind Taylor that they are living in modern times despite being held down by old-fashioned ideals. The Wizard of Oz (1939) film is arguably the epitome of old Hollywood nostalgia, so it makes sense for Taylor to use it as a way to tell the story she wants to tell, especially if it's a queer one since Oz is very special to a lot of queer people.

For what it's worth, Ashley Park performed the film's song, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on The Drew Barrymore Show in what looks to be the Christian Siriano rainbow dress. Fun! Curiously, I can't find a video of this performance, I just happened to stumble upon this GIF on giphy.com and an article talking about the performance.

As an extra tidbit, in the Oz books, the rainbow is personified in the character Polychrome, the youngest daughter of the rainbow. She happens to be featured in one half of a certain famous quote from The Road to Oz. Polychrome comments, "You have some queer friends, Dorothy," to which Dorothy responds, "The queerness doesn’t matter, so long as they’re friends." This quote is theorized to be the inspiration for the phrase "friend(s) of Dorothy" in queer slang. And it's nice to have a friend like Dorothea, of course. Speaking of which...

Part 2: Dorothy and Ozma 🌪️🌺

Dorothy Gale needs no introduction, but I will give Princess/Queen Ozma one since she's a more niche character. Ozma is the rightful ruler of Oz. The "Wizard", Oscar Diggs, was not meant to rule over Oz. He went to great lengths to usurp the throne from Ozma's father, Pastoria, and hide Ozma away as a baby, dumping her on a witch named Mombi, who enslaves her and disguises her as a boy named Tip so she and others won't know her identity. She learns the truth about who she is and takes back her throne in book 2, The Marvelous Land of Oz (This backstory is why Ozma is a trans icon, along with a sapphic one). Ozma and Dorothy meet each other in book 3, Ozma of Oz, and are inseparable from there on. A common queer interpretation of Oz sees Kansas as like the closet and Oz as being out and free. A part of why the queer interpretations of Oz work particularly well in the books is because in The Emerald City of Oz, Dorothy and her Kansas family move to Oz permanently when Kansas stops being liveable for them. So Dorothy becomes the second ruler of Oz and Ozma's "constant companion" at Ozma's "proposal", as L. Frank Baum describes it. Dorothy is the only person allowed in Ozma's bedroom unannounced, which is cutely domestic. Baum's story and John R. Neil's illustrations of the two often depict them as being very close, holding hands, and kissing. It's not really knowable if Baum intended for it to be seen this way, but many modern Oz book fans see them as a couple.

Naturally, there's the theory that Taylor's song "Dorothea" is about Karlie, as well as the fact that Karlie dressed up as Dorothy for Halloween 2023 and did a partly-Oz-inspired photoshoot in 2010, among other Oz-themed things. Also, after the first book, Baum had a falling out with Denslow and appointed a new illustrator, John R. Neil; Neil's design of Dorothy sports a blonde bob, which reminds me of the "Karlie Kut" a bit, even if that's coincidental. Since the Karlie as Dorothy theory is pretty well established, I want to forward a theory about Taylor taking on the role of Ozma.

For starters, Taylor wears a gingham green dress in her music video for "Karma (ft. Ice Spice)" as she skips and sweeps down a yellow brick road in red shoes, looped braids, and lemon beret. This outfit is a bit perplexing, as while it seems very Dorothy-inspired, it actively makes itself just different enough from how Dorothy is illustrated in the first Oz book and seen in pop culture. It could be suggested that this is for copyright reasons since 1939 Dorothy is not in the public domain yet and using that likeness would require making a payment. However, thanks to the book specifically describing/illustrating Dorothy as wearing blue and white gingham and pigtail braids, these features can still be used, as all of Baum's Oz novels are in the public domain. Oddly, the only potentially copyright-able aspect of Dorothy's costume is the one that Taylor kept, the ruby slippers exclusive to MGM's '39 film, since in the book Dorothy's shoes are silver. So why were all these unnecessary changes here?

My main theory is that Taylor is subtly invoking Ozma in a way that would still be recognizably Oz-ian, as I don't think most people would catch on to the Oz reference if Taylor dressed as a more accurate-looking Ozma. Hence why the gingham and red shoes are present even though Ozma is never described as wearing anything like that. Ozma is often depicted in long flowing white or green dresses. And while Ozma's hair is usually free in Neil's illustrations, her hair is sometimes tied into a bun, and Taylor's looped braids seem to be in the same family as a bun (I don't know how else to say that, I hope you get what I mean...). The lemon beret is hard to explain. As far as I know/can recall, lemons have never played a major role in any Oz media, so my guess is that the hat is meant to match the yellow brick road or maybe slightly invoke the fighting trees from the film and book. Since Taylor's outfit is similar but not the same as Dorothy's, it could be interpreted as Taylor dressing as someone adjacent to Dorothy, or a friend of Dorothy's, and Ozma would definitely fit that title. Ozma is also a fairy, so this also lines up with my Taylor is the beast to Karlie's beauty theory, since a fairy is a creature. And as the small, coincidental cherry on top, Ozma was originally described as blonde like Taylor in the story's text, despite the fact that Neil always drew her as a brunette. Dorothy's appearance outside of her clothes is rarely if ever given, that way anyone could see themselves in Dorothy, her design not mattering too greatly. The only clue to her physical looks is in the illustrations, but the consistency changes over the Oz series when it comes to Dorothy's design, so again it doesn't matter. Kind of like how, whether a song has male pronouns or not, it’s always describing Karlie, the "design" of the muse not mattering. And it actually does make some sense for Ozma to have the ruby slippers, even though she never had them in the books, but more on that in the next part. If Karlie is Dorothy, Taylor is Ozma.

An alternate, more flimsy idea is that Taylor is dressed as Dorothy in her green dress returning to the Wizard with the wicked witch's broom as proof that she melted her. However, this doesn't quite work for me personally, as in the film, Dorothy never got a green dress from the Emerald City. And while book Dorothy did get a "green" dress, she never had to bring the witch's broom to the Wizard and her dress wasn't actually green but white; it only appeared green in the Emerald City due to the green spectacles everyone was tricked into wearing by the shamming Wizard. And of course, book Dorothy's slippers weren't red like Taylor's, but silver. Maybe I'm being too particular, but to me, the details of the two titular versions of Oz make this idea weak.

Another idea is that Taylor is dressed as an amalgamation of Dorothy and the witch, which is definitely an interesting thought. In the 1st book, both Dorothy and the witch have no magic of their own and need to obtain magical items, like the silver shoes or the golden cap. But the difference is that the witch uses her power to do evil while Dorothy doesn't know the power she has, even by the time the shoes get her to Kansas again, as they presumably could do way more than that. The idea of Taylor combining the two is interesting, but again the red shoes put me off.

I think the Ozma theory works the best (and I think it's the cutest).

The story of Ozma being unrightfully taken from her throne and hidden away from everyone and herself reminds me of many stories told through Taylor's music. Lyrics like "I (I) don't (don't) like your kingdom keys (keys) // They (they) once belonged to me (me) // You (you) asked me for a place to sleep // Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)" from "LWYMMD" and trapped imagery in MVs like "Willow" feel somewhat reminiscent of that story.

Taylor isn't any kind of genderqueer as far as anyone publicly knows for sure, but Taylor definitely seems to have no problem with aligning herself with masculinity and taking on male roles. Take things like the wonderland photoshoot (Lordy! 🤭), Taylor semi-confirming she's Folklore's JaMEs, "The Man", "Peter", and maybe etc. Ozma being a girl but forced to present as a guy for years could be seen as similar to Taylor having to paint some of her songs about women as being from a male perspective, or some songs never being officially said to be from a male perspective being assumed to be so anyway, like "Question...?"

One more small parallel between Taylor and Ozma: Ozma is often pictured as wearing two poppies, one on each side of her head, seemingly in her hair or connected to her crown. Reminds me of "Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair" from "The Great War".

Part 3: Return to Oz 👠

Return to Oz (1985) is an unofficial sequel to The Wizard of Oz (1939) made by Disney. It takes the stories of The Marvelous Land of Oz and Ozma of Oz and combines them into an original story. At least in America, this is the only feature-length film to feature Ozma and attempt to vaguely adapt the novels more closely. (Context for RTO photos in the image descriptions, which is the case for every image and GIF on this post because why the hell not)

Return to Oz adds a setting that wasn't featured in any of the Oz books: a mental hospital. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, concerned that Dorothy isn't sleeping and won't stop insisting Oz is real, send Dorothy to a mental hospital in an attempt to get her help (not out of malice). As we know, TTPD features the theme of asylums prevalently. The treatment chosen to help Dorothy is electroshock therapy, similar to Taylor receiving electroshock therapy in the MV for "Fortnight". In "Down Bad", Taylor says, "They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about the existence of you", just like how Em and Henry thought Dorothy needed psychiatric help when she talked about Oz being real.

When Dorothy stays over at the hospital for treatment, a character named Nurse Wilson (Kansas doppelganger of Mombi) escorts her to her room; Nurse Wilson wears a black dress very similar in style to Taylor's black dress from "Fortnight".

When the power goes out and the electroshock therapy isn't given a chance to begin, a fellow patient revealed later to be Ozma helps Dorothy escape the asylum by freeing her from the bed she's strapped to and bolting with her. Ozma and Dorothy slip into a river while running away, in which Ozma finds an abandoned chicken coop for Dorothy to ride through said river to Oz, Dorothy fearing Ozma drowned during the process until the end of the film. This is similar to Taylor and Post Malone's character escaping the asylum after Post cuts the power in "Fortnight". Ozma unstrapping Dorothy from her bed is similar to the nurse who unchains Taylor from the bed in "Fortnight", theorized to be played by Karlie herself. And Ozma finding the coop for Dorothy to ride away on is reminiscent of Taylor clinging to her piano in "Cardigan". Clinging to something when in rough water is common imagery, so it could definitely be coincidental, but I thought I'd mention it.

In this film, Ozma is trapped in a mirror by the witch Mombi, reminiscent of Taylor depicting herself as trapped behind glass closets in numerous MVs. After Dorothy saves Oz, she is the one to free Ozma from her glass prison by touching her hand and guiding her out of the glass, similar to Post and Taylor in the last scene in the "Fortnight" MV. Ozma in the mirror behaves like Dorothy's reflection, which reminds me of Taylor having Post's tattoos when she wipes her face in the mirror as if to say she's a reflection of his character.

Dorothy gives Ozma the ruby slippers before leaving Oz (Disney paid for the right to use them). That could help to explain why Taylor wears the ruby slippers that Ozma never had in the books if she's truly dressed as Ozma. And notably, when dressing up as Dorothy for Halloween, Karlie wore a full Dorothy costume, except for the ruby/silver slippers, arguably the most important part. As if Karlie was in "Kansas" and gave Taylor her shoes.

Dorothy chooses to return home in the end, but Ozma gifts her a way for them to communicate: through her mirror. This way Ozma can watch over her and when Dorothy wants to return to Oz, Ozma will make it happen. I've mentioned the parallels with the glass closets, but this also reminds me of "A tiny screen's the only place I see you now" from "Dorothea". In the book and '39 film, Dorothy uses her shoes to get back to Kansas, but in RTO, they are presumably going to be used to get Dorothy back to Oz when the time is right. So maybe after Taylor potentially comes out she will use Karlie's ruby slippers to sweep into the rescue and save Karlie from Kansas/the closet and back to Oz/freedom with her. Outside of RTO, it could also work the other way, with Taylor using the shoes to go home, especially with all the lyrics Taylor's had about returning home to/with her lover. Kansas doesn't represent anything bad in the original story, so it's possible that Kansas isn't a debilitating cage/closet, just home where you feel safe with the ones you love. Ozma also encourages Dorothy to keep their communication secret. Dorothy wants Aunt Em and Uncle Henry to know of Ozma, as she calls for Em to come and look as soon as she summons Ozma. But Ozma seems to see it as best kept quiet, no exact reason given to the audience from what I can tell, but it's understood by Dorothy and Ozma themselves. Pretty similar to Kar and Tay maintaining their closet for reasons we gaylors don't fully get to know, at least not yet.

(I didn't know where to put this little factoid, but in this film, the only times Ozma really smiles is at Dorothy. It's not important, just a bit cute and sad.)

And as a bonus for you Spade riddle fans out there, when Dorothy meets Ozma in the hospital, Ozma gifts Dorothy a pumpkin because "it's Halloween soon". The pumpkin is a Kansas doppelganger to an Oz character called Jack Pumpkinhead, who calls both Ozma and Dorothy "Mom" because Dorothy saved him from Mombi and Ozma built him and brought him to life. A bit reminiscent of Karlie and Taylor having Levi and Elijah if you ask me. I'm admittedly not a huge riddles person because it goes a bit over my talents, but I think they're intriguing and I'm curious if the riddles and Oz/RTO together would mean anything.

There's debate on whether Post's character is supposed to represent Taylor working with herself to get free or Karlie. I think it could be either or even both in a convoluted way. I like both theories. If "Fortnight" is based on RTO, the roles of Ozma and Dorthy seem switched, with Dorothy rescuing Ozma from the asylum. However, the tattoo mirror scene suggests that Taylor is mirroring Post's character, or playing him, and if that's Karlie, maybe the MV could be seen as Taylor playing Karlie in a sense since they're "twins" whose pasts are "parallel lines", while Post is either playing Taylor or Karlie; they are one and the same. The MV is really interesting to ponder in general.

Part 4: Miscellaneous Oz Connections ❇️

Lightning round (filled with tons of reaches)! ⚡️

In the "ME!" MV, Taylor and Brandon running up to the green building with a rainbow beam on it whilst in green marching band outfits looks similar to Dorothy and her friends running toward the Emerald City in the '39 film.

The all-pink soldiers in the marching band scene of "ME!" remind me of Glinda's all-female red army in the books.

In "loml", Taylor sings "The coward claimed he was a lion", a reference to the cowardly lion.

The men in the "ME!" MV falling from the sky with umbrellas reminds me of Dorothy and her cousin Zeb falling through the sky with an umbrella down to Oz in Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz.

Taylor might've been in a Wizard of Oz play at her school in 2006. The linked post doesn't give too much evidence admittedly, but I think it's worth saying that the play at least happened at her school.

I wasn't sure where to put this mini-analysis, but I think it's interesting that Taylor associates Dianna Agron with Wonderland and Karlie with Oz and the differences that could suggest. Alice and Dorothy go through similar adventures, but the two go about them very differently. Dorothy adapts to Oz very quickly and loves it there, enough for it to be her second home. Meanwhile, Alice certainly doesn't enjoy Wonderland as much as Dorothy loves Oz, itching to get out and stay out. Dorothy is very active in her role, making friends and changing Oz forever, while Alice passively goes through the motions and lets things happen before escaping to the next thing. It seems like Baum wrote the Oz books to give children lessons on friendship, feminism, and more, while Lewis Carroll wrote the Alice books with the exact purpose of saying nothing and giving birth to the genre of "nonsense writing". And Wonderland is definitely a dream in the original two novels while Oz is a very real place in the books. I know the associations seemingly have to do with the muses’ actual taste in fairytales, but I wonder how the differences speak to the story Taylor’s spun in her music about them. Assuming both Oz and Wonderland are freedom to some degree, does Wonderland being temporary speak to Taylor and Dianna as a couple, while Taylor and Karlie are still ongoing IMO, just like the Oz book series to this day (Canonical Oz books are still being written by different authors. There’s 40+ of them)? Is there something in the fact that Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is an English fairytale and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is considered the first American fairytale, and Karlie convinced Taylor to stay in America and live in New York rather than London where Dianna was? Do Alice and Dorothy’s different reactions to their discovered worlds speak to how both Karlie and Dianna feel about closeting vs being out or maybe how they feel toward Taylor in some way? I genuinely have no clue, but it's some interesting food for thought. (This isn't Dianna, Swiftgron, or Alice's Adventures in Wonderland slander btw, I don't know enough about Swiftgron besides the basics to do that.)

In Conclusion 🌼

I have no way of knowing if Taylor has even read the Oz books, seen Return to Oz, and knows all this information, but I think it's fun that these connections are there. If there are more connections you thought of or ones that you think I missed, let me know!

Thanks for reading!

[emelinstriker]

Macaque ♢ No Response

Got too many fluff fics of Macaque, so have this one for the feels. c:

Hanahaki go brrr-

♢ ~ Angst ~ ♢

Not just anyone got to be this close to Macaque. Be it emotionally or physically. This demon held even people he enjoyed being around with at arms-length. You knew it's due to his past experiences and you didn't mind. You enjoyed hanging out with him regardless... Though, you were disappointed that he never showed any signs that he was actually interested in you beyond friendship. Thus, you never tried to make a move. However, you did give away subtle hints that you liked him.

From the way you were helping him with his daily plans, to the way you were regularly smiling at him. He never seemed to take the hint. He simply treated you like he would any other he deemed as 'friend', while also putting his dislike for Sun Wukong first.

And it hurt.

Yet this pain was quite minimal compared to how you felt during one evening's 'hangout'...

The sun was starting to set as the people of Megapolis slowly started to head home to rest from their tiring day at work or school. Meanwhile, you were waiting in an isolated corner at the park for Macaque to arrive. He wanted to meet up to ask you something so important that texting you apparently made him feel uncomfortable.

Hope arose when you read his hangout message once again. Was he going to confess? Was your love for him reciprocated?

After what seemed like an hour of waiting, despite it only having been roughly 10 minutes, a shadow portal appeared underneath the closest tree's shade. And as expected, your monkey friend appeared. "Sorry about being a little late. I quickly had to check up on someone..."

You waved your hand dismissively, telling him that it's fine. "I haven't even waited for half an hour. Anyway, what was it you wanted to ask?"

"Ah, straight to the point, as usual", he chuckled. However, while his smile remained, his gaze suddenly seemed a lot more nervous.

"Well... You see... How do I put this-"

Hope arose once more as you noticed a very faint blush on his cheeks. Macaque crossed his arms for some comfort.

"Do you..."

Your smile brightened.

"...Do you know what would be a good gift for a first date?"

...

What.

And in an instant, your smile was gone and was replaced by a mixed expression of hurt and confusion. You masked the expression with more of the confusing part almost immediately.

"I- Um- What-"

"I got a date with a human this evening and I haven't even come up with a gift! But humans bring gifts to dates, right??"

"...W- Well, generally speaking, I... I guess flowers are a first date thing?" You shrugged. "Or- Uh... Something small they might like? I- I don't know?"

"Something they might like... from what I recall, they don't like flowers. So that option is out of the question..."

"Oh." You liked flowers. "T- Then I don't know how to help you here... Sorry." He wasn't talking about you, clearly.

He sighed, placing one hand behind his neck with the other on his hip. "It's fine. I guess I could've just asked you this through text. But I felt like it'd be too... awkward."

"As if this meeting wasn't awkward...", you muttered lowly, hoping he wouldn't hear. Though, you forgot about his extreme hearing. The dark-furred simian raised an eyebrow at you, but refused to say anything. This meeting was kind of awkward after all. However, he thought it was awkward due to a very different reason.

"...Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" You asked after a few seconds of silence. If he paid enough attention, he would've heard the obvious disappointment in your voice.

"I...", he started before pausing, "...No, actually. I'm just... looking for advice."

Your mouth formed a straight line as you crossed your arms. "I... guess all the advice I can give you is... act like yourself, give them something small they might like, and just... have fun. Good luck on your first date though, I'm rooting for you", you added with a small, fake smile.

And with that, you started to turn and walk away, hands in your pockets... When you suddenly had the urge to cough. You covered your mouth with one hand as you rather loudly coughed, trying to get rid of whatever was itching in your throat... And out came a tiny bit of blood. Your eyes widened at the sight as you let out a very quiet gasp. Macaque, of course, heard you. "Are you okay, (Y/N)?"

"Y- Yeah. Just... caught a bit of a cold, I- I guess... Don't worry about me though! Worry about your date!" You nervously laughed, brushing off the concern his gaze on you held.

"Are you sure? I could at least-" "N- No, no! It's fine! I'm f- fine! Maybe a walk back home will clear my pipes more." You were trying to hold back another cough as you started to walk away a little faster. "See you after your date! Text me how it went!"

After letting out another cough, you started to speedwalk away, leaving the shadow monkey alone to his thoughts. He was worried, sure, but you had a point. He had a date to prepare for and he was majorly unprepared.

While he set out to finding the perfect first date gift for the other human, you arrived home and ended up coughing into your bathroom's sink. You were already expecting more blood, but you were not expecting the petals that followed soon after...

You needed answers.

And so, you ended up looking up your symptoms on your phone. Oddly enough, it did not take long at all to figure out why you were suddenly sick and coughing up bloody petals. The first page of your search was entirely filled with articles, images and even documentaries about it. A disease, or rather a curse, called Hanahaki.

Apparently it wasn't a common disease. It sort of seemed to have vanished for the most part, and the most recent records you could find seemed to have happened a few years ago. It seemed to involve falling in love with demons and said demons not returning the person's love. Which is why it was also deemed to be a curse- A curse the Celestial Realm may have set upon humanity for committing the sin of falling in love with a demon. However, as said before, it seemed to have died down and the greater majority of humans are safely able to be with a demon...

You were not part of that greater majority.

Dread washed over you as you felt the urge to cough again. 'Oh, what fun', you thought sarcastically. Especially after knowing Macaque was on a date with someone potentially better and more interesting than you... Tears gathered in your eyes at the thought of being completely replaced by someone else as the person he usually came to talk to first. It did not help your increasing coughing fit.

Your coughing did not seem to decrease of stop either as more and more thoughts clouded your mind. Perhaps Macaque would be better off without you bothering him with your interest in him...

Speaking of the shadow monkey, he did not have a great time on his date either. Turns out his interest for his crush disappeared the moment they started to talk about their interests without ever asking him about himself. The conversation seemed to be more one-sided if anything. He did try to add some of his own interests into the mix, but his date would brush those off within seconds and lead back towards their own topics.

He couldn't help but imagine how this conversation would've gone if you were sitting there instead of his date. You probably would've talked about mutual interests and lead to the topic of a new videogame you two could try together. The dark-furred simian sighed as he nodded along to whatever his date was saying, already zoning out of the 'conversation' and starting to look at his phone on his lap.

At some point, they started talking smack about their friends and hinted at his friends probably being 'just as strange'. His thoughts only went back to you. However, one statement actually pulled him into the topic.

"That being said, i knew a loser back in my school days named (Y/N)." His date said as the monkey's ear twitched. "What an oddball, honestly. All they ever did was read, write and draw during recess with no friends at all. Haha! Someone this quiet and awkward would never be able to score a date, I tell you-" They suddenly stopped when they noticed the intense glare the demon sitting across the table was giving them.

"...You know what? Sorry, but I don't think this relationship could ever work. I'm out. Check's on you", he stated before angrily getting up from his seat. He took a few steps back before phasing through his own shadow.

"Huh- Wha-... HEY!"

Once back in the darkness of Megapolis's streets, Macaque started to calm down. Sure, they could've meant another (Y/N), but the way they described those interests of yours, those interests that you've been carrying around happily for years... It just struck a cord and he somewhat snapped. He actually had to hold himself back from just outright yelling at this human.

Though, even if they were not talking about you at all, they still were not suitable as his mate. The lack of common interests was just one part of it. Either way, he decided to text you, knowing you would still be up at this time. It wouldn't be the first time he would want to visit you before the clock hit midnight.

'Date was a bust'

'Kept talking shit and i lost interest before we even hit the 30 min mark'

'You awake?'

Yet you did not reply.

Strange. You did not answer like how you usually would... Maybe you just fell asleep early? After all, you probably expected him to be unavailable for the entire evening. And if you were sick, that would just add even more reason to it. Macaque groaned. He should've stayed with you to make sure you were actually okay! Worry started to take ahold of him once more at the thought of you ignoring his texts due to your last conversation with each other.

Only then did he realize... You actually seemed disappointed when he told you about his date.

What hit even harder was the memory of him wishing you sat with him instead of this other human he thought he had a crush on. But... it was you he actually wanted. It's been you for so long and he never realized.

He facepalmed before deciding you give you a surprise visit. Just to make sure you were asleep and not ignoring him for his stupidity. Using another shadow portal, his next destination was your living room. Once inside, he quietly roamed the darkened apartment. All lights seemed to be off, so he thought you were actually asleep... Until he noticed the light coming from your bathroom. Macaque, instead of knocking as to not scare you into thinking he was an intruder, spoke up.

"(Y/N)? Are you in there?"

No response.

"...Are you mad at me for sending you to the park for our short talk?"

No response. The demon closed his eyes and focused on the bathroom's sounds. Maybe you were actually ignoring him.

However, confusion started to kick in as he noticed... He did not hear anything. No water dripping, no movement of clothes...

...Not even a heartbeat?

Now that he thought about it, he did not hear your heartbeat even once since he got here... But you would never leave the bathroom's lights on if you left... If anything, you would only leave the living room's lights on if you were out for a short moment. Concern replaced his confusion as he tried opening the door. Only for it to be locked. He cursed under his breath before using his shadow form to enter the small crack beneath the door...

He froze.

There you were. Lying on the ground.

Dead.

He already knew you had no pulse. Your heart wasn't beating. And he couldn't hear any faint breathing either. But... what made him freak out the most was how you died. Dark purple petals filled up the sink. Dark purple flowers filled up your bloodied mouth...

Hanahaki.

Macaque started to hyperventilate as tears quickly gathered in his eyes. He ended up sobbing once he fell onto his knees. grabbing ahold of your corpse, cradling it in his arms.

"N- No- Please- This- This is a joke, right? You're not- You're not actually dead- Right??"

No response.

"PLEASE- SAY SOMETHING- ANYTHING-!"

No response.

"...I didn't get to... I couldn't even tell you... I just..."

No response...

"...I love you... sugarplum..."

> Masterlist <

♤  Part 2

[ghostboybrainrot]

Out of Touch Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, AO3

TW: Mild gore, mentions of blood, mentions of gun violence

_________________________

Danny was vaguely aware that someone was trying to tuck him in. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness since he'd stopped to rest. At first, he figured he must be dreaming. Nobody tucked him into bed anymore. He was a 16 year old not a toddler. But it was nice that someone cared. He didn't want to encourage this behavior though so he pretended not notice.

It wasn't until he heard the crinkling of plastic and the shuffling of cardboard that his sleep-deprived brain registered something was off.

His bed did usually have plastic in it. He wasn't in his bed. He tried to remember. He was in Gotham. He had been flying toward his apartment. But he was having a hard time holding his ghost form and then-

Oh shit.

His eyes shot open.

Hovering over him, was the pale image of a woman. 

He yelped and tried to jump back, realizing too late that he was backed against the wall.

“It’s okay!” She backed up as soon as she saw the boy start to stir. She put her hands out in front of her in a calming gesture.

“I’m trying to help. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Danny was only vaguely aware the woman was speaking. His attention had been captured by the very realistic bullet hole in the woman’s forehead. A trickle of blood was frozen mid-decent on the woman’s face. He shuddered, imagining what the back of her head must look like.

His mind was still fuzzy from exhaustion. It took a moment to realize what he was looking at. It was a shade. A shade of a woman who had been shot to death.

Well, that was a relief. Shades didn’t pose much of a threat. Unless of course they scared you to death.

He looked down at himself. He had a blanket draped over him. Had that been there before? No. No, he definitely didn’t have that when he had curled up. He looked back at the woman, her words finally registering in his sleep-addled brain.

“Uh…thanks?” He pulled himself into a more upright position, scooting his back against the wall. He brought his hands up and rubbed his eyes. When he felt a little more awake he looked around the alley. It didn’t look like anyone else was around. He noticed the bottle of water and the plastic package lying next to him on the ground. Then he looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. As if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with them.

“Go ahead.” She encouraged. “You looked like you needed them.”

Danny was hungry and thirsty. It was true. He wasn’t sure when the last time he ate was but he knew it had been much longer than was healthy for his living body. He grabbed at the bottle. His hands were shaking slightly. He opened it carefully, not wanting to waste any of it by spilling. As soon as the neck of the bottle was safely against his lips he drained it quickly. He let out a satisfied gasp when he finished. Needing to catch his breath.

He dropped the bottle then reached for the pastry. The clenching in his stomach had eased up slightly after drinking the cool water but he still was feeling slightly nauseous from hunger. He knew he’d feel better if he ate but forcing himself to chew and swallow was a chore. His body had been without food for too long and he feared it would reject it. Fortunately, he was able to keep a couple small bites down. He folded the plastic over the rest of the pastry and put it in his hoodie pocket.

“Thanks.” He croaked but his throat was less raspy now.

“Happy to help.” She smiled nervously, and glanced around.

“I don’t mean to alarm you but you didn’t pick the best spot to hole up in. This is a dangerous part of town.”

Danny laughed harshly.

“No kidding.” He snapped sarcastically. “I’ll take that into consideration next time I’m falling out of the sky.”

The woman winced. Hurt and embarrassed. Danny felt a twinge of guilt for snapping.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “Just a little on edge. I know what you meant. But, unfortunately-”

He gestured to his injured leg.

“-I’m not really equipped to find a better spot.”

“I could find something!” She added hopefully. “I have a friend near here that I think could help.”

Danny glanced at her with a pitying look. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“Is your friend… you know. Still around?”

The woman looked insulted.

“If you mean ALIVE. Yes. She is alive.”

“Sorry.” Danny at least had the good graces to look embarrassed.

“Not everyone in your situation is as aware as you. I promise I’m not trying to offend.”

He sighed.

“I really appreciate the help. But I’m very close to my apartment. I think I’d have a better chance getting there safely than trying to get to wherever your friend is.”

“You live near here?” She asked skeptically.

“Well, yeah. Not exactly legally. But it's safe.”

“Okay.” She started to reach for the boy. Extending her hand for him to grab.

“Okay?” He sounded confused.

“Yes, O.K. Let’s get you home.”

Danny wasn’t sure whether to accept her help or not. She seemed determined, that was for sure. And she had brought him supplies. No easy feet for a shade. Most wouldn’t have been able to hold on long enough to complete a task that took that long. Whatever had driven her to help him must have been pretty strong. She was present. Focused. Every other shade he’d encountered in this city, forgot about him the moment he was out of their line of sight. They weren’t unkind. Just distracted. Their minds, or what was left of them, lingered in the past. The moments of lucidity were few and far between. And just as fleeting.

This woman was solid. She took up space. She knew where she was and what she was doing. It was honestly impressive. Gotham had more ambient ectoplasm than most cities but not nearly enough to sustain a shade to this extent. This was one strong-willed ghost.

“What’s your name?”

“Martha.”

He nodded and smiled.

“Danny.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand.

_________________

Notes:

Here’s the second part of that chapter! Sorry for the wait. I haven’t abandoned it yet I promise! Just been a busy couple of weeks. If you like the fic so far please leave a comment! I love Martha she’s just trying her best. Being dead is hard lol

Thanks for reading!

Tags:

@alinmenttreasure @quirky-gardener @mnemovoid @amercurio @may-rbi @allmune @i-havenothingelsetopost @kittenline @alienzil @depuffstuff @thegatorsgoose @flamey-comet @paper-enigma @that-awkward-fae-nerd @keimiwolf @ectoplasm024 @oddlydrawnpuppets @coffeeandcrown @analusikzz @quirky-gardener @seraphinedemort @v-inari @catmaraudersfan @icedbluesoul @spookytragedyshark @freakofyournature @rhyme-is-sublime @introvert-even-on-the-internet @cutelittlebeanie @chubbypotato @jackalspine @magicaldaydreams @riverdancingwerewolves @tabetharasa @imagineshazamlokimight @avelnfear @mouzerequis @idfk-man10 @nervousperfectionandroid @thefearfullone @mentalcarebear @strawberryfire17 @valiantsuitcaseskellington @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant @ineeesleep @dracotheghostdragon @allmune @liandrin

[bluezenzennie]

"The heart of the forest grove"

Pentadrabble

Pairing: Námo/GN!Reader Reader is one of Yavanna's maiar.

Themes: SFW, fluff.

Synopsis: Lately, you've noticed Námo crackling under stress with his duties laying heavy upon his shoulders. Despite his dismissals and denials for a break, you drag him with you to one of your lady's forest groves, to alleviate some of the stress.

Warnings: /

Characters mentioned: Yavanna, Manwë, Vairë, Irmo & Nienna

"Little crow-" "Námo." You mutter under your breath, exasperation laced all over your tongue, tired of his occasional excuses of getting back to work. A deep sigh escapes your throat as you turn your head to stare stubbornly into his viridian eyes... Which, of course, return the same kind of determined stubbornness, tenfold. You speak up again: "I am tired of watching you wander aimlessly in your exhaustion. Your role as the doomsman is important, yes, but so is your health. Anyone else would tell you this Námo, everyone is trying to tell you this." The smallest grunt leaves him, it is not one of disagreement nor agreement, perhaps one from somewhere in between the both, you're not too sure.

You had been dragging Námo towards one of the forest groves that you, yourself, usually go to when you're in need of peace, for what seemed like hours to him. When in reality it had only been thirty minutes and no less, that was how tired he was, and it worried you, like it worried his maiar and the other valar.

You hated when he forgot to take care of himself. You knew that when he didn't even listen to Manwë, Vairë, or even Irmo and Nienna, matters had to be dealt with immediately, before the doomsman burned himself out, snuffing the flame burning the candlewick with his own hands. Usually, the five of you would have your own turns at getting him to cave in and rest, even if it was just for a little while, and it succeeded most of the time! But when nothing seemed to work with anyone this time, you had given him a scolding.

It was meant with all the love within your fëa, and it was a habit you had picked up from observing and experiencing the way your lady Yavanna would scold when she was worried for someone. It was a light scolding of course, but it was enough to get him to cave in and let you drag him out of his halls.

So there you were, now standing in the middle of your beloved forest grove, the grassy and mossy ground covered with snowdrops and lilies, rose bushes with the most beautiful pink roses decorating them, the leaves that held them vibrant green, some viridian hued, that matched his eyes perfectly. "Sit." You insisted, urging him down to join you on the mossy forest ground, by tugging at the long black sleeve of his robe. The sound of a thud against soft moss echoes throughout the grove for a moment, as Námo allows his tired legs to cave in, not because you told him to do so, of course... Well, maybe because of you too, just a little bit.

"Would you like me to braid your hair?" Your gentle voice sends tingles down his spine, the smallest tint of pink dusting his pale cheeks as you tug gently at one of his black tresses. "I... Alright, fine, why not." He inhales and exhales deeply, taking in the fresh air of the shaded forest grove, whilst watching the life around it. Perhaps, this wasn't that bad, perhaps, all he really did need was to get out for a little while.

A/N: I need this man to sit down, drink some really good tea and eat some good sweets and let people take care of him. He needs a break.

Taglist: @edensrose

Want to get tagged for more like this? Here's my Tolkien taglist

Likes & reblogs are very appreciated <3

[prisms-writing]

HAHA You thought you'd escape me? YOU THOUGHT WRONG *slides all these over* Give me some First Sound and make it strong (said in a wild western accent) 🌈 💝  ⚠️ ❗ ⚔️ 💛 🌕 📓

(In an accent that’s just as thick)

Alrighty, but you asked for it.

🌈 - do you associate any colours with them?

Cadence: lapis, Ive always associated them with darker blues but it’s also a nice nod to their original name.

Dante: mostly reds to be honest, I don’t have a specific shade but I’d say ones that fall on the warmer sides of things

Alisha: mainly jewel tones, though for the one I associate her with the most? I’d say green, emerald shades to be exact. It’s also a nice complement to her brother

💝 - how much effort do they put into their appearance? Do they have a favourite article of clothing?

Cadence: it depends honestly, if it’s for knight related work they’ll tend to just make sure their uniform is clean and that there’s no damage to the armour parts of it. Whereas for casual outings they’ll put in however much effort they want to, how well they’re put together also tends to reflect how much they actually like the person as well.

Dante: couldn’t care less about how he looks, man’s got everything from the wrinkled clothes to the bed hair that hasn’t been brushed in a week, sure he blames his lack of self care on the fact that there’s a witch running around causing problems but the rest of his team knows he’s messy regardless of the excuse, something that both Alisha and Henry reprimand him for.

Alisha: cares more about her appearance, but mostly because she’s in the public eye more than her brother. Though she still suffers from the same bed hair problem, something she has to get up an hour before she technically has to to fix, though she doesn’t really bother too much about her looks on the rare day she gets to stay in her room.

⚠️ - if this oc came with a warning sigh, what would it be?

Cadence: WARNING: self sacrificial

Dante: WARNING: overprotective of his family

Alisha: WARNING: surprisingly mean

❗️- what are the highest priorities to this oc? (At a point in their life of your choosing)

Cadence: after the fight with Elvira, they have to force themself not to slip into isolation so that they can keep an eye on everyone to make sure that happened with Elvira doesn’t happen to anyone else they know all while trying to hunt down Monarch.

Dante: making sure Stella is taken in and locked away, even going as far as constantly sending messages out to other kingdoms and towns, checking if they’ve seen or noticed anything. Though Henry does think that Dante is trying to do too much on his own from time to time and has to bring up the concern on several occasions.

Alisha: after the ambush attack that happens during the ritual, her father is hurt and is forced to step down as king, and after speaking with her brother, they both decide that Alisha is better suited to stepping up in the role. Though she’s by no means comfortable at the start, staying up late at night to double check knowledge she’s known for years all to make sure she’s doing a good enough job of ruling.

⚔️ - how does this oc handle conflict?

Cadence: tends to harbour their anger and resentment after it happens, though they also have the tendency to snap at people due to it.

Dante: can handle it pretty well, he’s used to it after spending time as both a knight and prince. Even if having to deal with it causes him to roll his eyes from time to time.

Alisha: is incredibly passive aggressive, and even if she’s the original person to cause said conflict, she’ll try and turn it so that the other person is the one to feel bad (Though she does get better at not doing it in the future, even if there are multiple reminders from her brother about it).

💛 - are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward?

Cadence: they’re pretty good with them, they use to babysit younger kids back in Phoenix so they know how to deal with nearly every type of kid from good to rowdy. Even if it’s still tiring to them even with years of it under their belt.

Dante: is ok with them, not the best though. He doesn’t know anything about that kids actually like but he’s happy to listen to them, even if he has no clue about what they’re on about.

Alisha: has no clue how to talk to them whatsoever, she’s spent all her time with either people her age or older, so while she wouldn’t say she “hates” them, she doesn’t really like being in the room with them due to not knowing what to do if they want to talk to her.

🌕 if this oc was an animal, what kind would they be?

Cadence: butterfly

Dante: horse

Alisha: snake

I know they’re kinda vague answers but I’m gonna be honest I don’t really tend to associate every character with an animal but I feel like these suit them the best.

📓 - do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

Cadence: freedom is the thing with wings

Dante: well done is better than well said

Alisha: strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value

[refiwrites]

Change Your Ticket

Pairing: Young! Remus Lupin x GN! Reader

Requested?: Yes

Summary: Keeping your relationship with Remus Lupin a secret is a struggle.

Word count: 1.5k

Warning/s: none? just fluff

Note: another songfic!! read well! also a little bonus in the end ^_^

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Watching you get dressed

Messes with my head

Remus stared longingly at what seemed to be the light of his life, watching as you wore the last of your clothes hastily. He licked his lips in a concentrating manner, as though memorizing every move you made.

Take that bag off your shoulder

Come get back in bed, we still got time left

This don’t have to be over

“I don’t get what’s the rush for, dear.” He says seemingly out of breath, maybe he was just focused on you that he forgot to inhale oxygen. You slung your bag over your shoulder, shrugging with a slight smile. “Don’t want to be late for our first class, right?”

“It’s six am in the morning.” He drawled out, moving further to grab ahold of your wrist to tug you back down onto the bed. You flumped beside him with an ‘oof’

And you say it’s hard to keep a secret

Girl, don’t leave me all alone in this hotel

“I thought you didn’t want anyone seeing us?” You say, dropping your bag on his bed before holding his face in your hands, he looked like an angel who’s just been woken up. Instinctively, he leaned onto your touch, eyes fluttering closed as he breathes heavily.

And these shades can hide us from the streets, yeah

One weekend, I’ll promise that I’ll never tell

“It’s not that I don’t want anyone knowing about us, I just know the others are going to make a very, very big deal out of us and I don’t think I can stand that.” He speaks almost on the brink of falling asleep again. You giggle, stroking his cheeks and planting a feather-light kiss on his chin. The two of you had been dating for a couple of months now almost for a year, sure at the beginning it was easy dodging things here and there, but the longer it became, the more difficult it was to not just shout your love for the boy over the rooftops and vice versa.

You should probably stay, probably stay

A couple more days

Often, Remus just wanted to risk it and hold your hand while in the hallways, while you wanted to be able to just give him a peck or two in public.

Come on, let me change your ticket home, oh

“Just stay here a little longer, won’t you?” He whispers. “I’d love to, but they’d see us, and some of my roommates are going to wonder where on earth I have been.” You speak.

You should probably stay, be with me, a couple more days

Come on let me change your ticket home

With a very long farewell with Remus trying to keep you in bed, you were able to convince him that you’ll join him later again, but for now it was time to pretend you two were just the best of friends and try to keep it on the low.

Don’t go, it’s not the same when you’re gone

And it’s not good to be all alone

“Hey!” You greet one of your best friends as you took a seat in the Great Hall. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” (F/N) said. “Sorry, just got a little busy working.” You grinned, hoping your lie wasn’t noticeable. But it was enough considering (F/N) fell for it. “Alright, oh hey have you heard about…”

As the two conversed, Remus, who was a few rows of chairs away sat with Sirius within front of them being James and Peter.

So you should probably stay, be with me, a couple more days

Come on, let me change your ticket home

He was unable to keep his gaze off you, until there was a pinch on his arm which made him look to his side. “Hey what was that for?” He rubbed his arm. Sirius mockingly tried to copy you, twirling his hair and such which made Remus scoff and roll his eyes. “Oh Moony!” Sirius teased which earned him a smack from Remus.

“He’s in love!” James prodded.

“Am not!” Remus retorted.

“Then why else would you be staring at (L/N)?”

“I wasn’t— What are you on about?” Remus lied but he stumbled upon his words. James, Sirius, and Peter looked at each other before looking at Remus. Remus felt like he was in a hot seat looking at them. “What…? I’m not!”

And you say it’s hard to keep a secret

Girl, don’t leave me all alone in this hotel

“Suuree…” James said before taking a sip of his juice. Sirius playfully slung his arm over Remus and spoke, “Y’know Moons, if you ever need flirting tips, I’m your man.” Remus shook his head.

And these shades can hide us from the streets yeah

One weekend I’ll promise that I’ll never tell

Remus forgot how hard it was to not grab your hand in hallways whenever you both find yourselves walking to the same class. He resisted the urge to offer himself to carry your bag whenever you found yourself carrying a ton of books and parchment.

You should probably stay, probably stay, a couple more days

Come on, let me change your ticket home, oh

You should probably stay, be with me, a couple more days

Come on let me change your ticket home

Now it was potions class, and they were tasked to finish their strengthening solution. However, Remus couldn’t keep his eyes off you again as you were paired with a boy who looked to be interested in you than passing potions.

Instead of listening to his professor, he was listening to the both of you.

“(Y/N), hey is this right?” The boy, who’s name is Jones, a fellow sixth year asked you as he stirred the pot. You glance and lean over to him to inspect the inside of the pot. Although Jones seemed to be staring at you rather than the potion.

Don’t go, it’s not the same when you’re gone

And it’s not good to be all alone

“I didn’t know you had (E/C) eyes.” He spoke. You look up at him and you shrug, going back to your seat. “It’s not really that hard to miss. And here,” you say, handing him the powdered griffin claw. As he reached out to take it you felt his hand linger a little longer on yours before taking it.

Don’t go, it’s not the same when you’re gone

Come on, let me change your ticket home, oh

You retract your hand and smile patiently at him. “(Y/N), are you free this Saturday?” He suddenly asks. You turn to him, when you opened your mouth, he spoke again. “I mean if you’re not busy then maybe…Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

You almost let out a laugh but you held your composure. You appreciated that he found you interesting but you were quick to reject him politely. “Sorry Jones, but I’ve got to study with (F/N) for our exams.” You say. He looked dejected but nodded.

“Oh, alright.”

Why don’t we make it right?

Girl, I don’t wanna say goodbye

Remus couldn’t help but smile as he caught a look of the dejected face of Jones, that might be evil but that’s what he gets. He also felt his heart jump as after that little interaction between you and Jones, you turn around to exactly look at him. He nods at you and you mirror his actions before returning to the task at hand.

“Mr. Lupin, have you got an answer to my question, or would you rather stare off into space?” The teacher said which made Remus shake his head with wide eyes as he coughed. “Uhm… yes.”

You should probably stay, probably stay, a couple more days

Come on let me change your ticket home, oh

You hid a laugh as he answered the question.

You should probably stay, be with me a couple more days

Come on, let me change your ticket home

Once classes were over, you gathered all your things and slung your bag over your shoulder. Walking out in the hall you could feel someone catching up to you. You turn and see Remus, out of breath.

“Hey.” He greets, looking down at you.

“Hey.” You greet back.

Don’t go, it’s not the same when you’re gone

Come on, let me change your ticket home

Remus held in a breath as he looked at you. The stare you gave him was enough to have his hand act on its own and hold yours. Your eyes look rapidly between his hand on yours and his face. You weren’t expecting him to be the first one to crack and reveal what was going on between you two.

But you weren’t complaining, you knew how much this meant to Remus and his thoughts. He looked at you with a shy grin and with a small squeeze on your hand. “I like this.” You speak.

“I like it too.” He holds your hand up to subtly give the back of your hand a small kiss.

BONUS:

“PADFOOT, WORMTAIL! I’VE COME WITH NEWS!” James shouted at them. “Huh?” Peter says, looking at James. “What?” Sirius says. “I can’t believe Moony lied to us!” James dramatically says. “Yeah, look he gave me the answers to our test, but I’ve got half the score!” Sirius said. James snaps his head to look at Sirius “Wait he gave you the answers? Why didn’t you tell me— never mind, the thing is—”

“Is it (Y/N) and Remus holding hands? Cause look.” Peter says, pointing at their friend and you, who seemed to enjoy walking towards the shade under the tree, possibly to study together. The two scrambled together to get a better look. Indeed, there it was, the two of you sitting together, laughing at something Remus probably said.

“Holy heavens.” Both James and Sirius say.

[delicatel0vers]

Confessions pt. 1?

Edmund pevensie X Reader

Summary: Edmund has been acting differently towards Y/n and the Pevensie sisters tease her about it.

Word count: 664

A/N: mmm, honestly idk about this one. Might do a part two where she confesses to Edmund!

Part 2

He'd been ignoring her for days now.

"I don't know what Ed's deal is." She sighs talking with Lucy and Susan as they took their evening walk around the gardens, "I can't think of one thing I might have said or done to set him off recently. Honestly, I thought we were past the whole 'I can't stand you' thing!" Susan shrugs,

"He hasn't mentioned anything. If he was mad, he'd say something especially if you had pissed him off. All I ever hear is him talking about you y/n." Y/n blushes at that and furrows her brows, thinking to herself,

'So then he's not mad at me?'

"I bet I know what's up," Lucy says with a grin as the two girls turn to look at her with questioning eyes, "he's obviously realized his feelings for y/n. Pete and Caspian probably knocked some sense into him!" Y/n simply rolls her eyes and keeps walking, but Susan stops looking Lucy dead in the eyes,

"You mean to tell me he's finally acknowledging his feelings?!" A smile breaks out across her face as Lucy enthusiastically nods. Y/n blushes at her two best friends interactions and shakes her head,

"I've told you guys-"

"It's not like that!" Lucy cuts her off,

"We're just friends!" Susan continues, "yeah yeah, we all see how you two look at each other. You're not discrete at all." Y/n blushes at the realization they've noticed.

"You look into things too much. Really, he is just a friend." she laughs at herself,

'This has to be the dumbest thing I've lied about, honestly y/n do you hear yourself?'

"Oh yes, friends definitely sneak out late at night to go walk along the beach." Lucy says, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"That's just him letting off steam, he only let's me go with bc he knows how much I enjoy the sound of the water!" Y/n defends, her face turning a deep shade of red.

Susan rolls her eyes, "And the whole head in his lap as he reads to you nearly everynight?"

"I-" y/n starts just to be cut off again,

"Or how about the fact that the two of you will only dance with each other at balls?" Y/n rolls her eyes, and just let's them do their thing, there's no shutting them up once they've started with this.

"You do realize his eyes are always on you right? Like no matter what."

"He always makes sure you laugh at his jokes."

"He can hardly contain a smile when you look at him."

"If you're near him his hand is in yours or on the small of your back, on your thigh."

"He speaks to you with such softeness in his-"

"Okay I get it! Yes I do like him, of course I like Edmund." She cuts Lucy off, before thinking about what she's said. Lucy practically screams and Susan just laughs,

"I knew it!" Lucy exclaims, "this is amazing! I can't wait to tell Peter and Caspian oh my gosh!"

"No!" Y/n says, and Lucy turns to her confused, "You can't tell them. Honestly, I hadn't even planned on telling the two of you." they frowned at that, "I had just wanted to wait for it to go away, I mean it took so long for us to even get where we are now. I just couldn't stand the thought of messing it all up over some small crush." she sighs.

"How long have you known you like him?" Susan asks, Y/n looks down,

"About fourish months now."

"FOUR?!" Lucy and Susan both shouted, "that sounds like much more than 'a small crush' to me," Lucy says with a grin, and y/n shakes her head smiling,

"Okay yeah, I'm kind of in love with your brother."

"Well, good. Because I couldn't picture him with anyone else at this point. You two are perfect for one another," Susan winks at her and she rolls her eyes bumping the girl playfully.

"I'm glad I told you guys." Y/n says with a soft smile.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 4)

Summary: Reader has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, which her Professor is hellbent on making a little bit better. A/N: If y’all thought you hated Kyle (bathroom bitch boy), just wait until you meet the new antagonist (of the female variety) here... I hope you all enjoy! 😚 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Sexual themes/fantasies Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

Einstein once attributed his genius to his childlike sense of humor. Studies performed since then have largely proven his point — funny people tend to have higher IQs, which makes sense when you consider the cognitive and emotional intelligence required to produce humor.

Spencer Reid was no exception. The only problem was that his humor was so remarkably niche and impossibly specific that barely anyone could understand the punchline. He insisted to me that he’d gotten better over the years, which I only barely believed… until he told me a joke that hadn’t left my mind since. A joke that he described as ‘just crude enough to make it palatable to the layman.’

"Caffeine and Viagra are both phosphodiesterase inhibitors,” he’d said — a slow start if there had ever been such a thing. But I held on to hope, hanging on the ecstatic, guileless smile he wore. And boy, was I glad I did, because what he’d said next broke me into a frankly embarrassing fit of giggles that returned with the memory every time.

“Which explains why both of these drugs keep you up all night."

The poor barista stuck working the busy early morning shift eyed me like I’d grown two heads when I once again devolved into laughter for no apparent reason. I almost felt embarrassed about it, but then I reassured myself that if she’d heard Dr. Spencer Reid tell a drug-induced-boner joke, she would also laugh about it forever.

I’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Not in a perverse way, either, despite his increasing comfort in breaching such topics in my presence. It was more like I’d started to infuse him into my every day, finding him in whatever way my brain would allow. While I made my way to his office, I breathed in the soothing scent drifting from the cups that were precariously perched in flimsy cardboard.

The smell took me back to quiet moments in his office. The kind of simple serenity that accompanied silence between two people who need not speak to share ideas. Where the second you looked away, you felt their eyes follow you, like the universe couldn’t maintain its structural integrity without one of you looking at the other.

It was intoxicating and alluring; so easy to lose myself in. Something I knew was dangerous for a number of reasons.

For example, when I am not paying the utmost attention to my surroundings, I have a tendency to lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. I also tend to… drop things. Especially hot and otherwise dangerous things.

Things like the two cups of coffee that finally became too much for shallow, defective cardboard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screeched as I became acutely aware of every place where scorching hot, drenched clothing hung on angry skin. Normally, I would at least try to sound more dignified while on my way to work, but it hardly seemed like it mattered anymore.

I was too busy hurriedly tearing at my shirt and dropping everything else I was holding. I’d gotten three whole buttons on my shirt popped by the time I remembered it wasn’t technically necessary. I dropped my bag immediately at the thought, tugging on the hem of the shirt and trying to bring it over my head.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t regained my grace, and in the muddled mess of fabric, I’d also grabbed hold of my undershirt. Which meant that whoever was walking through the empty halls of the early morning in academia would find me, with my stomach exposed and clothing dripping while unintelligible curses flowed freely from my lips.

I expected most people would probably just turn around and leave. I probably would’ve. The giant splatter of coffee and the absolute idiot slipping in it were beyond saving.

But there was at least one person who saw the mess and stayed.

I smelled his cologne before I felt his hand was pressed over the bare skin of my lower back. Despite the fact my skin was burning, it welcomed the warmth of his touch. My body stopped at his command, waiting for him to break me free of the paradoxically frozen state I was in.

He pulled the shirt back down, just enough that I could see him when he wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders and started guiding me into his office, which I’d somehow managed to almost walk straight past in my daze. I wished that I could go back there, to the imaginary world where he hadn’t just seen me half disrobed and cursing while covered in the coffee that I’d meant to give to him.

Spencer’s hands left me once the door was shut, probably trusting, or at least hoping, that I could figure out the mess on my own. Oddly enough, I didn’t notice any signs of him staring at me. Like he only felt comfortable looking when I was clothed.

I tried not to think about it. Once I did manage to free myself of one of the shirts — without further flashing my boss — the anxiety brewing inside of me burst out in the form of frantic shouting.

“Hi Professor! I’m so sorry, I spilled the coffee!”

“Yeah, I... saw the puddle,” he mumbled, throwing a cursory glance back at the hallway before his eyes met mine with a terrifying level of compassion, “Are you alright?”

“Besides the boiling liquid on my skin and the horrid embarrassment? I guess,” I mumbled back before shouting, “Shit! This is why that woman sued McDonald’s! Why do stores serve coffee like that?!”

Spencer didn’t really say anything. In fact, he kind of just stood as frozen as I had been, staring at everything around me rather than meeting my eyes again. But while he seemed somewhat cool and composed, I continued to tug at my clothes to try and avoid the friction. It was then that he cleared his throat, covering his face just like he’d done when he saw me in an arguably more provocative position the week before.

Arguably, I said. I should have known that Spencer would win any argument. I should have considered why he was making such a point of not looking at me while I clawed at the white undershirt turned beige. But I didn’t. Not until I looked down to inspect the state of my skin.

I realized then that Spencer had been trying to figure out a way to inform me that not only had the coffee turned my shirt a different shade — it had also eliminated the opacity.

He could see my bra. Spencer Reid, my boss, was trying not to stare at my very clearly visible bra.

“God, this is the worst Monday of all Mondays!” I whined between half-sobs, “and Mondays are already bad, Professor!”

There must have been something else in that cry, too. Something akin to permission. Enough for him to step closer, managing to avoid looking at my chest in the process. I’d entirely forgotten that he’d wrapped me in his cardigan until he pulled it tighter around my shoulders like his own version of an embrace.

“That they are, Bunny.”

If my skin had been heated before, it turned to flames at the use of the nickname. It was honestly a pure work of magic that the liquid on me didn’t turn vaporize the second I’d heard the word.

Bunny?

I pushed the thought away as quick as humanly possible, focusing instead on the way my clothes were going from uncomfortably hot to frigid as a result of the usually refreshing air conditioning. But when I was once again reminded of the obvious undergarment, I sighed.

“I can probably ask a friend to bring me a replacement shirt, or just go to class like this,” I thought aloud, “No one really looks at me, anyway...”

Spencer’s response came immediately, his hands flying up in protest as he shouted, “No!”

I wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, or even which part of the statement he was objecting to, so he was met with a wide-eyed, slow blinking stare.

“I-I mean, I have a shirt you can borrow. I don’t want to subject you to any further embarrassment,” he explained at a significantly more appropriate volume, “You can just wear my extra shirt.”

He turned away from me before I could respond, shuffling through something hidden beneath his desk that created more questions than answers for me.

“Why do you have an extra shirt?”

“Go bag,” he said in the most nondescript manner. It wasn’t necessarily abnormal, either. The question I’d asked didn’t spark any concerns in his mind, but it also wasn’t the question that I felt needed to be asked.

What I really wanted to say was caught in my throat. My hands clamped together in front of me tighter than my jaw that resisted opening to make way for the thoughts that felt more scandalous than they should’ve been.  

“U-Um, Professor don’t you think—“

“Here you go,” he offered with a smile. I took the large, plain black shirt with a hefty dose of caution, my hands shaking along with my broken voice that still couldn’t finish the sentence from before.

Spencer finally noticed the struggle on my face, and I watched his body move from comfortable to defensive in a matter of seconds. Like he was worried he’d done something wrong in trying to be kind.

He hadn’t, but I felt like I had.

“Won’t people... you know?” I mumbled, motioning a hand between the two of us, “I’m showing up to your class at 8AM wearing your clothes…”

I thought that the words alone would be enough. I thought that the gesture was overkill. But Spencer was still staring at me with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought.

I was going to have to say it.

Won’t they think we’re having sex?

There was no way I was going to be able to say it.

“Aren’t you concerned about people getting… the wrong idea?” I blurted out, instead.

The confusion on his face shifted to a clever little self-assured smirk so fast that I almost missed the transition. My stomach flipped from the sight, but then he spoke again, and what had felt like it was filled with butterflies turned to rocks.

“I’d much rather them gossip about something that’s not happening than watch the young boys ogle you instead of paying attention.”

It wasn’t the words, but the way that he’d said them. Like they were silly, like the idea of us being together was so preposterous it could only be entertained by people he perceived to be children.

I was foolish, too.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said with a wave, “Just worry about making this Monday a little bit better.”

“O-okay. Thanks,” I whispered, turning and running from the room only to be reminded of the mess I’d made. But the pool of tawny liquid on the floor wasn’t the most disastrous thing anymore. That honor was reserved for the state of my heart, begrudgingly continuing to beat despite being broken.

Scooping up my bag that I’d abandoned before, I tried to allow myself to be happy about the little things. For instance, the fact that the shirt Spencer had handed me was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt in my life. It made sense, considering the sensory issues he always described.

Still, I waited until I was in the safety of a bathroom stall before I buried my face in the fabric. It smelled just like him, a mixture of freshly done laundry and vanilla. Much better than the cheap, burnt coffee that covered me. Funny enough, that sort of smelled like him, too.

By the time I slipped into his clothes, I had almost forgotten his joke entirely. I was too lost in the joy of sweater paws from his cardigan and fabric that felt like a hug. Or at least, what I’d imagined a hug from him would be like.

The energy it provided me was a better pick-me-up than any cup of coffee had ever been. I kept my squealing as quietly as I could, bouncing in place just like the nickname he’d chosen to let stick. But before I returned to him, I felt something. A small, noticeable weight in one of the cardigan pockets.

If I’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, if I’d reminded myself that they were his clothes and not mine, I would’ve let it be. I wouldn’t have pulled the little object from its safe hiding spot. It would have stayed locked away, leaving me none the wiser of its presence.

But I didn’t think about it, and then there I was, holding onto the sobriety token I should’ve seen coming.

Not that it was a bad thing; I already knew Spencer had a history with drugs. He’d mentioned it in passing in class and was deeply involved with a number of volunteer programs around the area. At one point, I’d even taken it upon myself to research his history.

That research, while I regretted it now, feeling that it violated his privacy some way or another, led me to a second conclusion. As my thumb ghosted over the embossed number five, I realized that Spencer had been sober since he was released from prison.

My heart swelled with pride and relief that felt shameful. I didn’t want the token to have such a profound effect on the image of him I’d already crafted in my mind. Lord knew I didn’t need any more reasons to idolize him. And, at the end of the day, I’d only discovered this information by happenstance.

Part of respect, I decided, meant ignoring the way that fate seemed to push us together. If Spencer ever wanted my opinion on his sobriety or strength, surely, he would just ask. So, I slipped the chip back into the pocket and made my way back to him without worry for what it meant.

While I had no worries, Spencer was another story. I’d barely even made it through the door when he saw me. All of the papers he’d been holding immediately fell from his hands the same way the coffee had fallen from mine.

“Oh no! My clumsiness was contagious!” I laughed, bolting over to help him only to find his face an unhealthy shade of red. He chuckled back but said nothing else as he scrambled to pick up the loose-leaf that had splayed itself all over the floor.

Once we were back on our feet and as collected as we could be considering the circumstances of the morning thus far, his eyes met mine again. His cheeks were still flushed, unable to focus on anything specific and choosing to traverse my body the same way his hands had on Halloween.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in a way that made me wonder if he knew I could hear him, “I was distracted by how unfair it is that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

It was my turn to be flustered, but Spencer didn’t let the moment drag on. He tore himself away from me in every sense of the word, marching past me and halfway exiting the room before he found the courage to look at me again.

“Are you ready to head to class?” he asked as if it were an option.

I suppose to him, it was. For a second I imagined what the future would hold for us if I’d said no. What would he have done if I begged him to stay with me, instead? What if we rebelled against expectation and remained locked away in his office until we grew tired of one another? What if we never did?

My mind filled with fantasies of Spencer’s hands freely feeling my skin the way his clothes could. I could hear soft, breathy sounds of desire shaped like my name. For all of my inexperience, he would still find me intoxicating. He would grow drunk on me the same way a child finds endless joy in sweets that really ought to make them sick.

Then again, maybe he had grown used to the sugar. Maybe he wanted something more mature, a bitterness like molasses that was only earned from years I hadn’t had yet.

Regardless, I couldn’t really get into any of that. Instead, I just flashed a very awkward thumbs up to the man fifteen years my elder when I droned, “Sure am, Professor man.”

As stupid as it felt to do something so juvenile, the smile he gave was worth it.

“Alright then, Bunny,” he answered with his own little peace sign, “Let’s hop along.”

——————————————————

It hadn’t even been a week since I saw her, scantily clad in the plush, socially acceptable equivalent of lingerie. It’d been even less time since I admitted my own weakness to her. I’d replayed the memories of her visceral responses to my touch enough times that I should be sick of it. But there was no tiring of her.

I considered deleting the photos she’d sent me, convinced that it was cruel to keep them when she’d only sent them while inebriated and undoubtedly exhausted beyond belief.

But when I woke up in the morning, my stomach still reeling from the knowledge of what I’d done, all that she’d sent was a curious collection of emotes and a very brief note.

“Oops!” she’d written, “Bad bunny?”

I put that phrase out of my mind immediately, unable to handle the way it incited the desire for destruction in my veins.

“I’m always glad to hear that you are safe.”

That was the end of the conversation, and I was grateful for that much. Even the few words we’d exchanged would haunt me until I saw her again. Of course, the torture ended there, but only for a few seconds before it was replaced with other images and words.

It’d been hours since I’d found her flailing about half-naked in the hall while uttering rushed curses that sounded too crude for her lips. It’d been hours since I felt the soft skin of her lower back and became lost in an entirely different set of fantasies.

It’d been even less time since I saw her standing at my door, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater and staring at me with nervous, shifty glances. Completely unaware of just how beautiful she was in her simplicity. How much more torturous it was to see her wearing my clothes than any lustful suffering that lingerie or nudity could elicit.

I thought that it would get better throughout the day, but it didn’t. It only got worse.

I’d stepped out of my office for barely half an hour, but I returned to find her curled up on the plush chair. Her shoes were slipped off, revealing colorful socks that clashed with every other neutral color she wore. It somehow made me want her even more.

I stayed stuck for a few seconds longer, watching her with bated breath and shameless admiration. She was so caught up in the papers on her lap that she didn’t even notice my presence until the door clicked shut. It was then that she turned to see me, allowing a smile to blossom across her face despite eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What’s all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the collection of bags hanging from my wrists.  

“Did you know…” I started before my heart stopped at how she always leaned forward with excitement whenever I started a sentence that way, “that food is one of the best ways to solve a terrible Monday?”

“Which scientific study did you get that from?”

I paused again, debating telling her the many studies that would support such a theory, but then decided against it. Instead, I sought out her laughter and childlike joy that always brought out the best of her.

“Garfield,” I answered.

Sure enough, the office filled with the melodious sound of her happiness. I moved as quietly as I could, thinking back to when I was younger and thought of how powerful bottled laughter would be if I could capture it. Hers would surely right so many wrongs.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but I figure it’s the least I could do.”

She approached me to assist before I’d even made it to my desk, and although I thought her hands were far too soft to be bothered with something like this, I allowed her to help.

“You could do nothing, you know. It was my own fault.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

She laughed again, shier and shrinking into the sweater as she tried to find her place in such a domestic activity as sharing a meal with me in private. I thought of how it was a taste of my dreams.

Because as often as I did fantasize about her, undone, bare-skinned, and defenseless to my desires, I just as often envisioned her just like this. In fact, I found those fantasies more dangerous. They couldn’t be written off as mere lust. They were another, scarier thing.

“Well, lucky you I am an exhausted, broke grad student, so free food will always win me over,” she muttered, half-sarcastically but just sad enough to bother me.  

“Duly noted,” I said.

I hid away the promises I wanted to make. That if she were mine, she would want for nothing. That I would give her everything she needed to bloom. That I would prune away any neighboring flower that dared get in her way or block the sunlight. There would be no need to worry of predators or pollinators intruding, because she would belong to me and only me.

I would be her earth, her rain, and her sun. I would be surely and shamelessly selfish.

Her shoulders rose with a cheeky, excited little giggle once she had collected her food. I wanted nothing more than to let her enjoy it to her heart’s content… but there was a problem.

“Nuh-uh, no way,” I chuckled before she had a chance to return to the chair with her precarious paper plate, “Get in the other chair.”

Her face scrunched up, bouncing back and forth between the two seats in the room like she’d heard something so strange that it must have been a mistake.

“Wh— your chair?”

“I will not have you ruining another shirt today,” I explained. It caused the confusion to quickly shift to an embarrassed frustration within seconds. Just as she opened her mouth to protest my teasing, I continued with something I knew would tie her tongue until she could no longer argue.

“If you’re so worried about what they’ll say when you show up in my shirt, just think of how they’ll talk if they catch you wearing nothing.”

That stubborn little thing still tried. Her mouth floundered, strange sounds of protest starting but never finishing until she gave up. She sulked over to the seat with an odd amount of self-satisfaction. She settled into my space as comfortably as she always did. With an ease that was almost unsettling to my tired, tortured heart.

Swapping places with her for that little bit of time was a good idea. I hadn’t expected that it would bring me as much serenity as it did. My usually busy lips kept their focus on the food, opting to listen to her ramble about any and everything that came to mind.

It wasn’t until she was fifteen minutes into an explanation on her paper that I realized how little I’d tried to learn about her life outside of me. Whether it was self-preservation or narcissism, I’d never decided. But what I was certain of was that it had been a brutal form of self-sabotage.

Because as I sat there, watching her clumsily, excitedly swinging her fork and proving my point that it had been a good decision to give her the desk, I saw her for in a different light than before.

She was not just a beautiful, mysterious flower peeking through the concrete. She was the trembling giant, the clonal colony of thousands of quaking aspen trees. An extravagant network of roots that flowed far beyond the seed that started them.

This sprout might be new, but her soul was ancient and celestial, wise and immortal.

“Who knows?” she sighed, coming to a natural conclusion of a story I had almost missed while lost in daydreams and metaphors, “Maybe one day I’ll be a professor, too.”

“You’d be good at it.”

For once, it felt like she accepted the compliment without a fight. I considered it progress all the way up until she shot back a thinly veiled taunt.

“Thanks. Means a lot from someone who has 4 stars on rate my professor!”

“Don’t forget the chili pepper,” I jokingly returned.

“Not sure I’d get one of those.”

I knew that my disagreement wouldn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things, so I opted for a slightly-self-centered flattery instead.

“Just show up in that outfit,” I said with a nod that barely hid my actual intention of focusing my eyes on the rest of her, “you’ll be golden.”

“You gonna let me borrow it in ten years?” she hummed.

It was a dangerous proposition, an implication that made the pitter-pattering in my chest unbearable. Rather than chasing her down the rabbit hole of fantasies, I just chuckled before I answered, “You know how to find me.”

Then it happened again. Her face slowly changed, growing from a cautious optimism to a yearning. A subtle hint of words left unsaid. And although she wet her lips and set down her fork, the words never came out. They stayed stalled in her throat, and there was no discernible way for me to drag them out of her without hurting the both of us.

When a loud knock resounded through the room, the thought ended altogether.

“Come in,” I grimly announced, recognizing the intrusive sound as the death rattle for whatever might have been said.

As the door opened, I realized the same time (y/n) did that we had forgotten that the rest of the outside world wasn’t familiar with our dynamic. They didn’t have the backstory of how she’d perched herself on my chair with her shoes off and wearing my clothes.

Torn between scrambling to take more socially acceptable positions and the knowledge that our hurry would make us look even more suspicious, we both opted to remain frozen in place like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

When the door opened, however, I was somewhat relieved to see someone I found completely unthreatening. My closest colleague, a woman that should really terrify me all things considered, seemed mostly perplexed when she found a young girl in my seat.

She quickly turned to me, drawing out her words as she asked, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I... interrupting something?”

“No, what can I help you with, Candy?”

“I was hoping we could talk about my current paper proposal.”

She paused, and I took the moment to follow her glower to the flower still stationary behind my desk. (Y/n) stared back, seemingly frightened by the presence of the other Professor.  

“If you’re busy with... office hours…” Candy muttered before turning back to me, “we can always set up a meeting for a better time.”

Before I could address the possible tension or implication, the girl at my desk sprung to action, clearing off any sign of her presence as she spoke.

“You know, I actually need to get going.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t look at me when she answered, “Yeah, I’m sure your papers are more important.”

If I’d turned back to Candy, I might have seen the condescending scowl that was driving her away. If I’ve had any inclination or desire to look at Candy, I would have realized that (y/n) wasn’t trying to escape from her connection to me. She was just trying to get out of my way.

It didn’t make it any harder to watch her leave. I took solace in the fact that she held tighter to my cardigan, trusting me to keep her warm by proxy as she ventured back into the real world. The world where we couldn’t be in peace.

“Thanks for the advice, Professor,” she said before she left, “You were right. As usual.”

One last smile was shared, somber but sobering. A necessary break from the intimacy of the moment.

“See you in class.”

The office felt so much duller without her radiance, but my disappointment would have to wait. As much as I actually didn’t mind the world knowing how my heart hurt from her absence, I knew that it was best I didn’t let it impact her academic career.

“Sorry again for the intrusion,” my colleague said in a much happier voice.  

“It’s not a problem at all.”

She must have noticed the way it sounded like a lie, because her tone quickly shifted back to a slightly disgruntled confusion.

“I didn’t realize she was your student, too. What class is she in?”

It was juvenile, really, the way my heart fluttered so ridiculously at the mere mention of her existence. The excuse to discuss her again.

“Oh, did she not tell you?”

Candy just shook her head with a blatantly false smile.

“Unsurprisingly modest,” I laughed, making my way back over to my seat and running my fingers over the wooden armrests like it would be the same as touching her ghost, “She’s my TA.”

“Oh… I see.”

“She was the only one who would put up with me,” I offered with a chuckle. Self-deprecating humor was the only reliable personality trait I had. It was also, unfortunately, one that most women in my life despised and refused to let sit.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

It sounded less sweet coming from her. I wrote it off as a product of the differences in their species. While the hummingbird of a girl who’d just flittered away was used to only drinking the sweetest, purest nectar, the bird of prey who’d entered relied on the work of others to gather the sweetness before they were devoured.

That wasn’t to say she was cruel; hawks are as much a miracle of nature as hummingbirds. I simply related to one more than the other. I understood one while the other remained a mystery. And I loved mysteries more than myself.

“So, you wanted to talk about your paper?”

“Oh! Yes,” she chirped, passing the packet over to me now that I’d found my way back to what she probably deemed my rightful place. “The conference is coming up so much faster than I anticipated, and I would love to hear your opinions on my first draft.”

I’d already started to read the first page when she spoke again, uncharacteristically bashful and anxious, “Since we’ll be presenting together, I figured...”

“Yeah, no problem at all,” I interrupted, not wanting her to dwell nor expand on the thought of us doing anything together any more than necessary, “I can send you mine.”

It felt curt, blunt, and off putting when I said it, but she didn’t take it as such.

“Wonderful. You have such a unique voice when you’re writing. It’s very refreshing.”

Immediately, a memory appeared at the forefront of my mind and led to a laugh that I couldn’t contain. Candy seemed pleased at the sound, and I felt the need to explain.

“Thanks. (Y/n) likened it to Ray Bradbury at one point, although in different and less flattering words.”

I could hear her clear as day, quoting my words with an overdramatized effect before laughing, ‘Pack it up, Bradbury, you’ve got more science stuff to explain.’

Of course, we both found her laughter-ridden explanation of the ‘meme’ far funnier than the original joke. She was probably the only person in the world who never seemed bothered by explaining everything to me ad nauseam.

“She is... certainly a choice as a TA,” Candy strained upon scrutinizing the smile that had returned to my face for the first time since (y/n)’s departure, “Will she be joining us at the conference?”

But then the guilt returned, wiping the smile from my face and replacing happy memories with deviant thoughts and fears.

“Oh... you know, I haven’t asked her.”

“That’s perfectly alright! I think we’ll do just fine without her.”

“Right...” I whispered, glancing back down at the stack of papers in my hand before setting it in the tray designated for (y/n). “I’ll have her look at your paper just in case.”

A lull in the conversation stretched past the point of comfort for both of us, and I glanced up at the woman I actually felt guilty for ignoring in place of fantasies that would probably never come to be. She hadn’t even done anything to warrant my disregard. She was an attractive woman — as beautiful as she was brilliant, really — she had worked very hard to garner my trust and academic collaboration. At one point, I had considered her one of the few potential candidates for something more than a purely academic partner.

But there was something about the way she looked at the honeyed girl that made my hair stand on end. A defensiveness and instinct that couldn’t be ignored.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that was all,” she said as she broke from what I presumed to be her own daydream, “I hope your semester keeps going well.”

“Thanks, I hope yours does, too.”

I meant it, despite the aforementioned concern. I wished her well in the semester for both selfless and selfish reasons. I wished her well because she deserved it, certainly. But the other reason, the larger one, was that I hoped she would remain distracted. I hoped that she didn’t notice the way I would slip away from her affections to chase those from a more interesting challenge. One that remained mysterious, with hair covered in pollen and lips sweet with ambrosia.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid.”

I failed to respond to her again before the door shut because my hands were already busy with rekindling contact with another.

“I have a proposition for you, Bunny.”

“Sounds ominous. I’m in.”  

The fact that the response came before I could even shut off the display was so characteristic of her that I had to laugh.

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” I observed, to which she once again immediately responded, “Your point being?”

“I’m afraid this is an obligation that does require some expansion before agreement.”

Her response was slower, then, and I could almost see her with a slight panic and overwhelming curiosity that grew stronger by the second.

“Ominous and vaguely unsettling,” she said.  

I considered drawing it out further, letting her imagination truly run wild with the possibilities. But then I realized that if she thought hard enough about it, she might reach the same place that had immediately come to my mind.

“Would you like to attend the upcoming conference with me?” I relented, almost stopping there but then frantically tagging on the conditions I knew would be most likely to cause hesitation. “You’d have your own room, of course. The department and I will help with funds.”

But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to be worried.

“A cheap weekend away from school where I get to be a nerd with you?” she sent with another set of small, smiling faces I was only just starting to understand, “Of course I’m going to say yes, Professor!”

“Perfect. I’ll arrange it.”

“I can’t wait!”

Although I felt the same, I forced myself to end contact again. I put my phone out of reach to prevent myself from spoiling any more of my fantasies than I already had. I didn’t need her to second-guess the possibilities of a weekend away together now that she’d already agreed to it.

The thought alone sparked guilt anew. Through the entire interaction, I’d infused each word with a charge that shouldn’t have been. Each line was far more provocative than it needed to be.

It was just an academic conference. Most people found them terribly dull, not to mention physically exhausting. It would not be a time away like most couples dreamed of because we were not a couple in any sense of the word.

Yet… I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps there weren’t as many differences as one might think. Because while yes, most people would be bored, I didn’t think Bunny would be. Clandestine meetings made between conference meetings sounded exactly like the kind of dreams we would share.

I believed it so strongly that my mind had already drafted several narratives that would suit her. I pictured her and I sharing company in public, unafraid of public displays of affection — innocent, childish kinds, of course — because we were miles away from those who might care.

That drunken, lust-inducing, half-lidded gaze from the week before would return. Except this time, I would taste the wine on her tongue, my hands sliding not over fluffy fabric, but the same skin that I’d felt for the first time that morning.

Behind our door, I would teach her so many things. Things that she would have begged me for. Things that others would see written on her skin in the shape of my fingers and mouth. Things that she would carry with a straighter back and dripping down her legs.

I didn’t just want to destroy her. I wanted to break her so that I could build her back with gold-laced lacquer. She would be my kintsugi creation full of sugar and honey, just imperfect enough that the sticky residue of her sweetness would slip through the cracks to coat everything she touched.

And then she would touch me, and I might finally feel like I deserved anything at all.

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| Part Five |

[mhysa-leesi]

𝕄𝕣𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝-𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⭐.

Summary: “Steve Rogers deserves nothing less than an All-American Apple Pie Life, with his Miss America. And he’ll stop at nothing to have it.” 

Word Count: 3,472 

TW‼: Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Smut, Minor Stockholm Syndrome, Minor Misogynistic Themes, and 1940′s Housewife Themes. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 

AN Cont.:  If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION. 

Steve Rogers is a hero who’s sacrificed so much for the greater good of the world. He’s been fighting his entire life, a constant cycle of getting knocked down, just to get back up and do it all again the next day. A constant blur of black and blue, of broken bones, and bloodied knuckles. Steve didn’t complain too often, he enjoyed waking up every morning and saving the world. He was grateful for the life he led, a life of justice and liberty. So, why did he feel so unfulfilled? Unaccomplished? Incomplete?

Steve would catch himself daydreaming during briefings, dreaming of his childhood. He dreamt about Coney Island, about the smell of popcorn, and the sticky feel of melting popsicles on his fingers. He was stuck in the past and he knew it, maybe he truly was “The Man Out of Time”. He’d journal his thoughts, sketching his memories in charcoal and faded colors. Mostly he’d sketch faces of his past, but there has only been one face as of late that lived within the thick pages. (Y/N). The newest Avenger, his Miss America.

He found himself fantasizing about her with every gentle curve of his pencil, imagining it was his hands running over her hips and not his graphite. The front of his jeans tightened as he shaded her breasts, and he wondered if they were as soft and supple as he made them look on paper. He captured her eyes, adding that sparkle and depth that seemed to become her. Her hair, the unruly hairs, and the ones always perfectly in place. He colored her skin, his heart skipping as he imagined running his lips over the skin of her thighs. Her star-spangled leotard left little to the imagination, so Steve found other things to imagine. The sound of her moans and whimpers, how she’d look as he took her apart one lick and thrust at a time, and how she’d look with him dripping from in-between her legs.

Steve groaned as he threw down his pencil, running his graphite-stained hands over his face in frustration before closing his sketchbook with a soft thump. He needed a distraction--and a cold shower…

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Today was Lila, Clint’s daughter’s birthday, and all of the Avengers were invited to the festivities. Steve sat next to Bucky, both of them donning bright pink party hats with the words “Happy Birthday” on them in glitter swirls. Bucky was telling Steve about a girl he had recently met at some café or something--truth be told Steve wasn’t listening to his best friend. His attention was elsewhere, across the room, to be exact.

You were in a green tonal dress that perfectly complemented your skin tone, with puff sleeves and floral print. Steve was entranced as he watched you bounce baby Nathaniel on your hip. And he watched as the baby babbled and yanked your hair, making you laugh and wince as you handed him back to his mother. He knew at that moment what he had been missing, what he had been deprived of--what he had deserved after all this time. A family, a white-picket fence… You.

It all suddenly made sense as if he had just completed a puzzle he’d been working on since he woke up from the ice. That was what he wanted--no… It was what he needed, what he deserved. All of his life he had made sacrifice after sacrifice, the world owed him this one thing, and he’d have it. No matter the cost.

You were perfect. A nice girl with a strong head on your shoulders and a good heart, who better to start a life with? There was no question, you’d be his wife, the mother of his children. You’d see it in time, but he couldn’t wait for you. He was a man out of time, after all…

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It had been almost a month since his revelation, but it was all due in good time. He had made the arrangements, he had been meticulous in his planning. He made sure to get every single detail right, his and your future depended on his perfection. The trap had been set, now he just needed to go hunting for his prey.

You were just coming back from training with Natasha, your skin sheen with sweat and kissed with soft purple bruises from sparring with the Widow. You were laughing at something she had said, giving Steve a small wave before making your way to the communal fridge. He patiently watched as you grabbed your water bottle, your name written in sharpie with stickers on the front. He fidgeted as you took three big gulps, smacking your lips as water dribbled down your chin and onto your chest.

Steve watched as you made your way to your bedroom, he smiled as he noticed a slight stumble in your steps. The drug took faster than he had expected. He waited until he heard the click of the closing door, but it never came. Like a silent shadow, he crept down the hall to the threshold of your room. You were splayed out on the edge of your bed, legs dangling, and your hair a mess.

He couldn’t help himself. He nudged your arm for a response and nothing; you were out cold. A dangerous smirk crossed his face as he knelt down above you, his shadow consuming you in every delicious way possible. He touched your cheek, tracing down to your jaw, and up to your lips. They were so soft, so plump, and oh, so kissable. He tasted you then, molding his lips to yours in a one-sided dance. Steve shivered as he explored your unconscious body, he groped, squeezed, and tasted your salty skin.

He stopped himself. He only had three hours to move you, six tops if his hunch about you skipping breakfast that morning was right. So, he picked up your unconscious body and began the next steps to his plan…

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When you awoke your limbs were stiff and mind foggy. You stretched away the stiffness and rolled onto your side, blindly reaching for your bottle of water. When your hand failed to meet your nightstand, you froze. What the hell? Confused, you reached out again; telling yourself you just misjudged the distance. But when your hand once again met an empty space, you sat up with a start. You looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The walls were striped, the floor a godawful floral carpet, and the bed had a wooden frame and a blue blanket tucked into the corners. You blinked, thinking that this room would magically melt into your bedroom at the Tower, and when it remained the same, you blinked again for good measure. You stood on shaky legs and looked around the room once more, disbelief clouding your better judgment. The bedroom looked straight out of a 1940’s catalog.

When the lock on the bedroom door jiggled, you whirled around with your fists raised to meet your captor. You were prepared to see a HYDRA Agent or some other villain with a vendetta against you. What you weren’t prepared for was Steve Rogers. He stood dressed in his old military uniform, his hair neatly combed, and his face clean-shaven.

“Steve? What’s going on?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

What do I mean? “This,” you gesture wildly with your hands in disbelief, “Where are we?”

“Home,” he said calmly.

“Whose home?”

“Ours, honey,”

You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. This couldn’t be your Steve Rogers, this wasn’t your Captain or friend. This was… someone else. You took a tentative step forward, searching for an eerie glow to his blue eyes, for an explanation for his weird behavior. This had to be mind-control, some elaborate HYDRA plot to disarm the Avengers. This wasn’t Steve, right?

“Steve,” you said carefully, “this isn’t our home. We live at the Tower, remember? With Nat, Sam, and Bucky?”

Steve’s frown deepened as you continued to speak to him like an incompetent child, “No. This is our new home, (Y/N). I made it just for us.”

You nodded along as you slowly crept forward toward the door. He shyly stuffed his hands in his pockets as he continued speaking, confessing. When you were close enough, you bolted past him. But you weren’t faster than Steve Rogers. He caught you by the ponytail and threw you back into the bedroom on the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. You scrambled to your feet and into a defensive position as Steve made another grab for you. You twisted and threw a right hook to his jaw, the strength of your powered punch was enough to send him stumbling backward, but it wasn’t enough to win against him. The same serum that made him had made you, too. But you’d be a goddamn idiot to think that you were stronger than Steve Rogers.

You made another run for the exit, but you didn’t get very far as Steve caught you yet again by your ankle. You kicked, punched, scratched, and flailed as he overpowered you. The man straddled your wriggling form and placed his hands around your throat. Squeezing and squeezing until the oxygen caught in your throat and your limbs began to relax. Your arms and legs went lax as your vision began to dot and blacken. When you let out the last wisp of air from your lungs is when Steve released you. You wheezed and gasped like a fish out of the water as you struggled to breathe, to fill your lungs with oxygen once again. You massaged your throat and glared up at Steve who was straightening and dusting off his uniform.

“I’ll only tell you this once, (Y/N). If you disobey me, in any way shape, or form, you’ll be punished. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned, “Now, get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

He opened the closet and pulled out a baby blue dress with silver embroidered star details around the off-shoulder neckline, and set it on the bed before you. You sat on the floor, just silently glaring and snarling as he knelt down in front of you with a small velvet box and diamond ring in hand. He grabbed your left hand and went to place it on your ring finger, but before he could slide the diamond on your finger, you wrenched your hand away and cracked him across the cheek. The slap seemed to echo throughout the room as his jaw ticked in silent anger. Before you could react, Steve pulled his hand back and returned the slap. The impact sent your head whipping sharply to the side, and caused your eyes to water with prickling, unshed tears. Your cheek stung when you touched it.

“I told you, (Y/N),” he sighed, “You made me do that.”

“I didn’t make you do shit, Rogers,” you spit.

You flinched as he pointed an angry and threatening finger in your face, “Language.”

He left you then after reminding you of dinner. Alone in the bedroom, you scowled at the dress that seemed to mock you. You threw it onto the floor and stomped out of the room, fueled by anger and hatred.

You found him in the kitchen, knife in hand as he carved a glazed turkey. His smile dropped as he took in your dress-less form. You were still in your gym clothes from earlier. Steve’s nostrils flared as he set the knife down, he stared at the turkey before turning his gaze to you.

“You’re not wearing the dress,”

“No,” you said flatly.

“And why not?”

You scoffed at him, “Why do you think, Steve?”

He moved his head to the side as he grumbled something under his breath. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. You smirked triumphantly, you didn’t know why, but getting under his skin was satisfying. You weren’t going to make this easy for him, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing that damn dress.

As if he had read your mind, he looked back at you with an ominous smile. He rounded the counter and stood in front of you, his large frame so much bigger than yours. In any other scenario, it would’ve been intimidating--having your Captain looming over you so threateningly. But right now, at this moment, you couldn’t care less. You wanted to piss him off, to knock him down off his pedestal. You’d be damned if you bent to his sick will.

Your eyes darted behind Steve to the counter where the knife waited for you. Before he could track your movements, you made a dive for it. Rolling over the island as you quickly readied the knife. You slashed and stabbed at Steve, growling in frustration as he effortlessly blocked and dodged all of your attacks. In one quick and fluid movement, Steve grabbed and twisted your wrist; forcing you to drop the knife. Your heart breaking with the loud clatter as it hits the floor.

Steve dragged you to the table by the back of your neck and slammed your cheek down onto the wood. Empty wine glasses and plates clattered with the impact. You grunted and kicked out your legs blindly, settling for a shin kick--anything. Steve slammed your head against the table once more as you continued to fight against him. He did it again, and again, and again until your vision blurred and your blood splattered against the polished wood. You weakly clawed at the plates and silverware around you, desperately trying to cling onto something. When your fingers wrapped around on a fork, you didn’t hesitate. You stabbed Steve’s thigh and summoned all of your remaining strength to throw him into the wall.

You fell back as you panted for breath, arming yourself with another piece of random cutlery. You threw a steak knife, missing him by just an inch. Steve growled as he dragged you by your kicking legs, hauling you up, just to slam you down onto the table once more. He held your face down as he growled in your ear.

“You have a lot of fight in you, (Y/N). Breaking you is going to be so much fun, honey,”

Slam.

“I’ll beat that spark out of you, if you make me, (Y/N). So why don’t you just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

Steve took hold of your neck once more as he guided you up the stairs and into the bedroom. He shoved you down onto the bed, and you landed on your stomach with a bounce. Your head was throbbing with an uncomfortable fog that settled over your thoughts. You murmured weakly in protest as Steve began to undress you. You felt the blood from your head drip down to your ear and down your neck.

Panic set your heart in motion as you felt him tug your leggings down your legs. Your brain and body kicked into a desperate overdrive as you writhed beneath him. You tried to shove him away, you summoned all of your super strength and thrashed, but you were simply no match for him--you were utterly powerless and at his mercy. His hands explored your thighs, dipping between them and squeezing that soft, supple inner skin. You scrambled to your knees, inadvertently pressing and grinding your ass to his front. He groaned as he moved his hands to your hips, angling them up as he ground down onto you with a silent promise of what was to come.

His hand dipped down and he held his prize within his hand. He groped and you grunted as you clawed blindly at his forearms, grabbing his wrists as he yanked down your cotton panties past your knees. You screamed as he shoved his fingers inside you, forcing his knuckles past your folds. You kicked and cursed him, hoping your struggle would be enough for him to let you go. You screamed louder than you had ever screamed before, so loud your head ached and lungs burned. With an annoyed grunt, Steve wrapped his thick arm around your neck in a chokehold to shut you up. You babbled breathlessly as you slapped at his arm.

“Steve,” you choked, “Please…”

He gave you one last strong warning squeeze before letting you fall flat on your back, coughing and gasping for breath.

“All you had to do was be good for me, (Y/N). I told you, bad girls get punished,”

He withdrew as he undid his fly. You swallowed thickly, wincing as your throat burned from his assault. You grabbed at his wrists, but he just batted your weak hands away as he held you down with one hand. The other gripping his thick, swollen length. You saw the muscles of his stomach tighten as he parted your legs. His grip on the back of your knees was bruising as he held them apart, lining himself up to your entrance. You tried once more to shimmy away, but he had you where he wanted you; vulnerable and open to him. He bent over you, his eyes black with lust, as he invited himself inside of you. He pushed himself inside, agonizingly slow, inch by inch, just relishing in the grip of you. You were too dry, too unwelcoming, but it didn’t matter to him. You were perfect, warm, and tight. He moaned then, as he forced himself deeper into you, pushing and pushing until his pelvis touched yours.

“Steve, please,” you sobbed, “please, stop…”

He shushed your pleas as his face scrunched in pleasure with every shallow thrust. You gritted your teeth to keep yourself silent, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tilted your hips up, finding his own slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into you. He cupped your face and forced his lips onto yours, his tongue swiping and exploring your mouth. You slapped at his head, but he never relented, never pulled back from his searing kiss. He moaned into your mouth as his hips skipped a beat. You took that opportunity, the falter of his hips, to bite down on his tongue. Then, did he finally relent.

He pulled away from you, his hips stilling inside of you. He carefully touched his tender tongue, scowling as he pulled away bloodied fingers. Steve drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. The smack of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room. You sneered at him and he frowned in disappointment before cracking you once more. You yelped as he held you down by your neck. Steve had found a new rhythm, and it was relentless. His tempo was fast, and he made sure to never miss a beat as he hammered into your abused cunt. He put pressure on your throat, but not enough to send you into a pool of cold unconsciousness. No… he wanted you awake for this, lucid, and remembering.

His groans and moans grew louder, duetting with the lewd notes of your squelching pussy and his skin slapping against yours. The repulsive symphony he had conducted finally reached its ungodly climax. You sobbed as you felt his warmth flood within you, as he shamelessly emptied himself deep inside of you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling himself from your wet grip. Your body instantly curled in on itself, shielding you from the man before you. The man you had once admired. You lay there, just shaking, whether it was from shock or anger, you didn’t know.

You felt as he dropped the baby blue dress with the silver embroidered stars next to you. You sniffled as you looked at the dress in defeat, silently dressing in the blue cotton. When you were dressed, Steve helped you to your feet, holding you against his chest as he gently swayed you. He caressed your head, embracing you gently as if he hadn’t just used your body, as if he was your sweet and loving husband, as if this was normal.

“Dinner is probably cold by now,” he sighed, “It’s okay, though. You can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” your voice was smaller now, weaker, afraid.

He hummed, “It’s a wife’s duty to cook and care for her husband, (Y/N). I think I’d like meatloaf for dinner, and apple pie for dessert. What do you think, honey?”

You hesitated, you wanted to spit at him, to curse, to smack, punch, and kick, but your body was frozen against his. When you didn’t reply, his grip on you tightened threateningly, making you flinch.

“Yes, that sounds good, Steve,” you whispered. He kissed your head as he gently swayed you, his warm release slowly dripping down your shaking legs.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Bedside Manners

Sherlock figures out who the father is and the cat has the reader’s tongue. Or, the reader reads auras and Sherlock realizes that maybe The Woman has nothing on the one he already has. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t seen Sherlock in over a week.

It had all happened so fast you could barely keep up. One moment you’re out on a case with John and the next Sherlock is heavily involved with a woman who you only knew as beautiful, powerful, and way smarter than you. 

It was too much to be around him and his constant texts with his very specific ringtone so you had decided in order to save your friendship, you’d mourn your imaginary relationship in peace. He hadn’t called or texted, but since technically this was a case you didn’t expect him to. Usually, you were working the case right alongside him. You honestly hadn’t thought he noticed you were gone.

You were cocooned under the blankets watching old recorded episodes of Maury when your phone went off.

Can I come over? SH

And then, right after:

I’m coming over. John told me it was polite to ask but I know your work schedule and I know you’re home. SH

Your lips gave way to an involuntary smile at that. It shouldn’t surprise you as much as it did that Sherlock knew so much about you because you have spent most of your days together as of late, but it still made you feel special even if it was a little odd. Sherlock Holmes coming to your flat was the last thing you expected tonight and you were nowhere near prepared. Sherlock had never shown any interest in seeing where you lived before and it wasn’t that shocking seeing as you spent more nights on his sofa than you did in your bed. You got up and tried your best to tidy up, put on some better looking pajamas and unlocked the door for him.

The door’s unlocked. Y/I

You got back under the blankets and made sure to leave room for Sherlock to sit, too. It wasn’t long after you sent the text that you heard steps coming towards your bedroom door. You hardly expected him to show up in his pajamas and horrible-- but so cute, you thought-- bedhead but there he was in all of his glory. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what (or who) kept him up all night. His lips were fixed in what you could only describe as a pout and he looked like he was on a mission to decipher you as soon as his knees bumped the bottom of your bed. 

Shades of blue and purple complimented his complexion tonight. You tilted your head back to see the colors better and tried to find where the light was stemming from. Before you could even say hello or finish your analysis, Sherlock was on your bed and pulling away at your blanket cocoon to invite himself underneath. You let him, of course, and realized this is the closest you had ever been to him. It felt like it could be a normal night routine and your heart ached.

It was then that it fully hit you how much you missed him. You had hoped that the way he was acting now was a reflection of how much he missed you, too, but getting your hopes up never did bode well for you. Remembering the reason you hadn’t been around all that much hit you like a freight train and you wondered if he saw right through you.

He got settled and you both sat together in silence watching as the program played. You couldn’t imagine that he came all this way just to watch telly with you and your curiosity got the better of you. “Sherlock,” you started, turning your head to face his profile, “why’d you come over here?”

“Do I ask you that when you’re at my house?” He shot back quickly, his eyes never leaving the TV. While that would sound rude to anyone else, you knew that tone. He was anxious.

“You always invite me over. You don’t have to ask.” You countered. 

“Hardly my fault you don’t invite me over. That says more about you than it does me.” Sherlock finally turned to face you and you thought he looked like ethereal with the TV light cast on his face. How you loved him so.

You could tell he was avoiding whatever it was that was bothering him and figured if he came here to sit in silence with you, you could do that for him. Turning back to the TV, you brought the blankets up even further around you two.

“He’s the father,” Sherlock said minutes before the talk show host announced it, “and you’ve been... avoiding me.” So he did notice. Just as you were about to deny it, he added, “do not lie to me. We know each other far too well for that.” 

You sighed. You really didn’t want to have this conversation with him now, or ever, but here Sherlock was snuggled up in your bed with you secretly worried that you haven’t been around. If you’ve read all the signs up until this point wrong, well, you get an A for trying. 

You could feel blue eyes boring into you and he was surely expecting an explanation. “I don’t know. This case has just been a lot on me.” 

You didn’t know what else to say. Everything involving Irene Adler was too much for you and you thought if you pretended it wasn’t going on, you’d be able to forget about it and move past it. Of course the “it” you were trying to move past was laying in your bed with you. 

You didn’t have to further elaborate because just as Sherlock was about to speak, his phone moaned. Figures.

You couldn’t hide it if you tried. She was texting him late at night and he didn’t even seemed surprised so that meant she had been texting him late at night. Your body slumped immediately and you cursed yourself because you knew Sherlock was watching. You didn’t want him to see you so weak.

“Irene Adler.” He murmured, talking more to himself than you. “You’ve been avoiding me because of Irene Adler. I don’t understand.” 

He truly was lost at this point. How Sherlock could be so brilliant but so blind was an anomaly you’d never understand. You looked at him as he tried processing this new piece of information and you could see that it wasn’t adding up for him. He couldn’t possibly understand how hearing the love of your life’s ringtone for another woman being a moan would ruin someone’s mood. It was too far beyond him.

“Sherlock, it’s fine-- it’s not her. It’s not you. I’ve just been tired. It’s me.” You try reasoning with him but it’s no use, he already off on his mental tangent. He sat up farther in bed and brushed his fingers against his lips. Something suddenly dawned on him and he was shoving his phone in your hands.

“Our texts, read them. She keeps asking me to have a night with her and I never reply. I don’t want to. Look.” He’s urging you to look at this point, and you’re unsure of what he’s trying to prove that for. You didn’t think he knew that you’d be jealous, and frankly, you didn’t think he’d care. But it was unlike you to keep him waiting, so you started to read their message thread and he was right. He had literally never responded and at this revelation you looked up at him.

Sherlock was watching for your reaction, that much was clear. Still sat up, he looked down on you as you read and met your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t discern.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sherlock. You’re a grown man, and you’re allowed to do, and see, whoever you want.” You watched as his aura got stronger as you spoke and you wondered what he was feeling. It looked like it was coming in waves.

“Not at the cost of our relationship. She is not worth a damn to me, especially if it means losing you.” Sherlock was serious now, and that took you by surprise. You had never expected him to say anything like that about you, much less in this context. You started to wonder if all of your hopeless unrequited feelings weren’t so unrequited after all.

Now you were sitting up, and you were sitting knee to knee next to each other. “You won’t lose me. You will never lose me, Sherlock, I need you to understand that.” You matched his tone, speaking in earnest.

“Besides, if I ever did get lost, you would come find me. You wouldn’t be able to resist the game.” You offered him a smile to try and lighten your heavy confession, and when he took it, yours turned into a grin. 

You really didn’t know how you got lucky enough to love someone as beautiful as Sherlock. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.

You don’t push him any farther tonight than what he’s already offered you because it’s more than enough. Instead, you lay back down and pat his pillow for him to lay next to you and start another episode of Maury. He lays back down and he’s the calmest you’ve seen him all night.

“If you guess the outcome of the episode correctly within the first three minutes, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” You challenged, looking over at him like he put the stars in the sky himself. And in your world, he did.

“The game is on.”

[artemiseamoon]

Pt 2: In the aftermath of everything

Slate (ofc) & Walt Breslin & Sal Orozco | ft. Calderoni and an Omc

Words: 5,970

Warnings: vague sexual content, language

About: Slate reunites with Walt and Sal, and continues to navigate life after Mexico. Walt and Slate have a bonding moment.

Fic info | Read pt one here ** important to read this first | part three

Read on A03

An: This has taken on a life of its own! I did plan out the oneshot, after the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Now, the story wants to grow. I am merely a vessel so here we go. The weather forecast is predicting angst and longing. No Calderoni in this chapter, but we do find out what happened soon! We haven’t seen the last of him yet. - Next chapter is up! And he’s featured in it.

3 months later

“Hell of a reunion.” The words barely left Walts’ lips before he slid a cigarette between them. He's doing his lazy smoking, when the cigarette is dangling loosely from his lips. Somehow, it never falls, at least not yet.

“You know that shit makes me nervous, Breslin. Watch the cig.”

Walt chuckled. There wasn't much energy behind that either, it's low, just like his voice, “all the shit you’ve seen Slate? And this makes you nervous?” He glanced back at her, his eyes concealed by his shades, same as everyone in the car.

“Yep.” Slate grabbed the cigarette and pretended to throw it out the window.

Walt grinned, took it back, then slipped it between his lips. In the driver seat, Sal chuckled quietly, his eyes still fixed on the house ahead. Only a minute or two pass in silence before Sal speaks, “target on the move.”

That evening

Walt returned to the table and placed a drink before Slate and Sal.

“Thanks man.” Sal raises his to his lips,

Slate responds with a small nod then does the same.

“Thanks for coming out, I wanted people I can trust on this.” Walt said as he settled into the spot next to her.

“For you, “she traded a glance with Walt, then Sal, “and you, I’m in. No matter what.”

They raised their glasses then proceeded to drink.

Conversation was light, and no one forces anything. In the background, modern rock plays from the speakers mixed with some classics. Slate people watches as she drinks, and soon round two makes it to the table, this time on her dime.

Back at Walt’s place, late that night

Slate dropped down on the couch with a sigh. With three rounds of drinks in her system, she's feeling a little drunk and thankful for her newly cleared mind. Walt plopped himself down next to her. By the time Slate looks at him, he’s got a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Thanks for letting me crash here, Walt."

“Least I could do.” He put the lighter on the side table.

Slate examines his face closely and grabs his chin, Walt stilled under her touch. “Hey, you sleeping?”

“I sleep fine.”

“Okay, sure,” she releases his face and moves her attentions to her socks. Rising one leg at a time, she peels them off as Walt watches.

Walt clears his throat, then settles his gaze on the cigarette smoke. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Nah, it’s your place, couch is fine.”

Walt took a long drag of the cigarette, then blew out a puff of smoke, “take the bed.”

Slate shifted on the couch so she could face him, "fine, if you insist.”

She studies his profile as he stares at nothing. He looks dead tired, but Walt never looked refreshed either, not really. He got close a few times and looks like a new man when he does get some sleep and a diet consisting of more than beer, scotch and cigarettes. A couple years back, he had about 10 more pounds on his thin frame. He was sleeping better too.

Slate understood better than anyone how stressful their job is. It has a way of taking its toll on everyone; physically, emotionally, mentally. As she studied him, Walt turned his head to look at her, his body is still facing forward.

One of the things Slate noticed about Walt early on is his large brown eyes, puppy dog eyes. Over the years they've been weighed down by so much stress, pain, and whatever else Walt buries deep within himself. His eyes hold back a turbulent storm of emotions and memories, all held in place by sheer will and stubbornness.

For those who know him well, Walt has another layer to his eyes. He always seemed on the verge of wanting to say something more than he does. Like part of him wants to open up, just a little. There’s this burning need deep inside of Walt and sometimes Slate just hugs him, unprompted, because he really fucking needs it.

So that's what she does next, she inched closer to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Walt laughed awkwardly at first, then breathed into it. Walt closes his eyes, then gripped her arm with a little squeeze. He inhaled deeply, savoring the contact, and the scent on her skin and hair.

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah, it’s just radiating off of you. Sad boy vibes thru and thru Breslin.”

Walt's eyes remained glued to her, “fuck off.” A hint a smile appeared, then disappeared from his lips.

“Yeah, fuck you too.” She smirked then released him from her arms.

Walt continues to regard her softly as she stands. “You have anything other than old take out and beer in the fridge?”

“Properly not.”

“Of course.” Slate shouted back as she headed into the kitchen.

It’s viewable from the living room, and Walt continues to smoke while watching her.

Slate closes the fridge and opens one of the cabinets, inside is a half empty bag of tortilla chips. “This will do.” She grabs the bag, a bowl, then returns to her spot on the couch.

“We’re going food shopping tomorrow; your skinny ass needs to eat.”

Walt laughed, “I do eat.”

“Cigarettes and beer, scotch for dessert. The Walt Breslin diet.”

“Asshole,” he nudged her with his elbow.

“I have one day left here, and we’re eating real food. Once I leave, you can go back to your shitty diet.”

“Thanks for looking out, I guess.” Walt chuckled and leaned into her, pressing his arm against hers.

She poured the chips into the bowl and before she could grab one, Walt grabs a handful. He grinned then shoved them into his mouth.

The two snacked in silence for a while. Eventually Walt gets up and leaves the room. When he returns, he’s carrying pictures in his right hand, the small kind you use for files.

“What's that?”

“Figured you want 'em, maybe for your picture wall or something,” he sits and hands her the photos, they’re all face down. Slate takes them. Her eyes lingered on Walts a little longer before she glanced down at the photos. “"I've seen that stack of photo album you have.”

“Hey, I love photo albums okay, don’t judge me, “she turns the first photo over. Instantly, her smile drops to a frown and Walt wonders if this was a mistake.

His intention was to do something nice; he was never really good at reading women or knowing what to get them, friend or more. Send him to another country to take down some bad guys, he's in his lane. But anything having to do with gifts, or women, or being emotionally open; he’s pretty rough around the edges there.

Slate swallows hard and sets the other photos down, her eyes are fixed on the same photo she now holds in two hands.

“Shit, I fucked up.” Walt reaches for the photo; she moves her hands out of his reach.

“No, it's- it's okay I,” she blows out a breath and looks Walt in the eyes, “I just, haven't seen his face since - he drove into a fucking tank…” she forced a laugh, “more metal than I’ll ever be, fucking asshole.”

When she blinks, a single tear rolls down her cheek. They both take the deaths hard, and though Walt had history with Ossie and knew him longer, once Ossie and Slate met, it was like long lost friends getting back together. It was hard to imagine they didn’t know each other already. They were instant best friends, and his death really fucked her up. Slate didn’t talk about the deaths, nor did Walt. They're alike that way.

“I miss this fucker, “Slate gently places the photo down on the coffee table in front of them. Ossie's grinning in it, fresh off some arrest and just smiling like he won the fucking lotto, classic Ossie.

Walt laid a hand on her shoulder, “I can take 'em back.”

“No. I want them. I want to remember their faces, “she meets Walt's waiting gaze, “add them to a photo album 'cause you know, I’m sentimental. “

A thin smile curved on Walt's lips; he gives her shoulder a little squeeze before taking his hand away.

“Thank you, Walt. For the photos."

Walt rubbed the back of his neck as relief washed over his face, “it was touch-and-go there, wasn't sure if I did good, or if you were about to clock me.”

“Maybe both?” She teased.

Slate breaks eye contact first and Walt continues to stare at her, “hey, is Sal leaving tomorrow?”

“Day after, same as you.”

“I have an idea," when she paused, Walt notices her eyes land on the photo again, "dinner, all three of us. Before we disperse into our little corners of the world again.”

“Then we definitely need take out. Have you ever seen me over a stove?” Walt raised a brow.

“I’ll cook, and no, you’d properly burn the kitchen down. You can be my sous chef.”

He scrubbed his hand over his chin, “I’m good at a few things, cooking isn't one of them.”

“That’s why you’ll be sous chef, leave the heavy lifting to me."

“Speaking of, still seeing that chef guy?”

“God no, that's done, he was more of a mess than I am.” Her eyes meet Walts, “Speaking of love lives, are you seeing anyone?”

Walt drops his eyes to his hands, he's fiddling with the lighter now, “no.”

Mexico was four months ago now, and in that time, Walt’s been keeping as busy as possible. His new job started out shitty, mostly paperwork. But when he finally got some foot action, it improved things, gave him less time to think. Less time to feel all the shit he doesn't want to feel.

In that time, he did reconnect briefly with an old associate and the two hooked up, twice. Walt tried to hold on to the comfort of those nights; having someone in his bed, a body next to his, warm soft skin to touch. The brief fling was a much-needed release for all his pent-up energy. Walt tried to not think about it, but he made amends with being a lonely guy a long time ago. Just, after Mexico, he’s feels lonelier than ever.

“Besides, “he picks up one of the last chips in the bowl, “if I had someone, I’d probably fuck it up. Better to just be alone.”

“Breslin, that's some depressing shit.”

He sits up and looks her in the eyes. His little shrug after is the real kicker.

Sad boy Walt Breslin.

Despite the thought, Slate doesn't judge him. She hadn't made the best decisions herself, specifically the Commander. And she figured she wasn't the best girlfriend material either. She has a lot of stuff to work on, and release before she can share herself with someone.

For now, as it has been, she sticks to fleeting sexual adventures and one-night stands. If Walt knew about the Calderoni thing, she’d never hear the end of it, it’s one of her big dark secrets and she intends to keep it that way.

“I’m not much better, “her voice is so low he leans in to hear her better, “I’m damaged goods too. Properly wouldn't even know what to do in a relationship at this point.” She leaned back on the couch and brought her knees to her chest, “thank god for hot dudes who don’t need conversation or heart to hearts.”

“At least one of us has been getting laid, congrats.” He holds the chip out to her, then eats it.

Slate rests her gaze on the wall ahead.

A minute or so passes before Walt asks, “if you got the opportunity to go back, to do more, would you?”

“Hell no.” She replied swiftly. “No way.”

Walt grinned, “I can understand that.”

“We did what we did, it ended how it ended. I have no reason to ever go back.” Slate gets a faraway look in her eyes; one Walt has seen before. “You would,” Walt quirks a brow, “go back I mean. Think you’re the only one who would.”

Walt doesn’t reply, because she's right. Even if the commonsense part of his brain is telling him to stay his ass on this side of the border, he knows, if given the chance, he’d be on a plane and right back into the madness. Sometimes, Walt wondered if that was the only way he could really exist. He still finds himself struggling a bit in mundane regular life. Still, there is a part of him he keeps deeply hidden, a part of him that craves more but he won't let himself have it.

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, both swimming in their own thoughts and observations about things. Some time passes before Slate breaks it,

“Sometimes I think I need to talk to someone about all the shit that went down, not just Mexico, before that too. “She pauses, Walt's eyes are on her again, “my family didn't believe in therapy…funny how family shit has a way of settling into your bones. Next thing you know, you're perpetuating the same patterns.”

Walt frowns, but it feels more personal to him, and whatever is going on in his head right now.

“I’m thinking about getting a therapist.”

“Hope that works out.”

Her gaze falls to his bouncing leg, “You should think about it too, Walt.”

“Nah, me and my problems are my business," Walt touches his chest, "I’m fine.”

“Walt,” She gently places a hand over his, “seriously, as your friend, you should consider it. We can do a friendship pack, make sure we stay accountable.”

He shakes his head, no, “Slate, it aint gonna happen.”

She frowns and lifts her hand; his eyes follow the movement of her hand from his leg to her own. He can see the disappointment written all over her face and wishes he had a better answer for her, but to say anything else would be a lie. He's impressed she's even considering it, it's a mature move. Walt also doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so changes the subject.

“How they treating you in New York?”

“Alright. It’s a big department, the shit jobs suck but honestly, don’t know if I can handle anything high risk right now.” she replied, taking note of his subject change but not commenting on it.

“Well,” Walt stands up and stretches, “if you ever get sick of it, I could get you in here.”

Slate smiled, “Miss having your buddies around? You know they didn't put us in the same place on purpose.”

“I know, fuck them. You, me, Sal in the same place again. Let's make it happen.” His tone raises a little as his excitement grows," think I can get Jaime on board."

Slate stands too and stretches out her legs. “No one knows me back east, it's kind of nice.”

“Can't fault you on that.”

“Well see,” she pats his arm, “maybe I'll change my mind.” they look at each other for a moment, “I'm pretty beat, going to take over your bedroom now.”

“Please do,” Walt steps aside and motions to the hallway, “changed the sheets for you and everything. “

“Wow, hotel level service at the Breslin, lucky me.” Slate heads toward the hall and glances at him over her shoulder, “nite Walt.”

“Goodnight, Slate.”

Dinner the next night

Sal ate another bite of food then dropped the fork, “Slate, you were holding out on us. This is delicious.”

“I couldn't really whip up a meal in an old warehouse, could I?” She smiled as she carried a glass of water to the table.

“Shit, we could have made it work, if we were going to eat like this.” Walt takes a big bite; he looks like a chipmunk.

“Thanks,” She takes a moment to watch them eating, enjoying the looks on their faces and the sounds leaving their mouths.

She liked to cook, didn't do it often, but when she had time, and if she was in the mood, it was a whole thing. And though only a small amount of people in her life were able to see this part of her, she knows food is one of her love languages. Making it, offering it, asking if someone ate. After everything the three have been through together, this feels extra special, and even if it's just for one night, she’s glad they get to share this.

Slate knew Sal through Walt. She met him about 3 years back after her transfer to Houston. They even worked a few jobs together, but he mostly worked with Walt. When Walt’s brother died, Sal and Slate were there for him. The two sat with him all night. Walt was gone, he didn’t talk, he didn’t cry, he didn’t say a word; he just stared at the wall and ran through half a pack of cigarettes.

-Flashback - 2.5 years ago Houston, Texas -

Slate stepped away from the car and stood before Sal, neither spoke as he raised the radio to his mouth.

“Walt, we need you at 3500 Lockwood right now.” He lifted his finger from the button.

Slate looked over her shoulder at the car again, “This is gonna fuck him up Sal.”

“ I know - “Sal paused as Walt’s voice came through the radio, they can hear music in the background.

“Sal, what is it?” Walt asked.

“It’s your brother.”

“I’m on my way.”

Slate rested her hands on her hips as she paced. There was nothing left to do, just wait for Walt's arrival.

A few short minutes later, the sound of screeching tires pulled their attention to the street. Walt’s jeep came to a stop, and he flung himself out; concern written all over his face as he makes his way through the crowd, and under the tape. After Walt flashed his D.E.A badge to the cop, he approached the crime scene, Sal and Slate walked over to him.

“Walt - “Sal started, but Walt kept walking, his eyes fixed on his brothers' car.

Sal and Slate stay closed but gave him space as he approached the car. Walt used the sleeve of his jacket and grabbed the car door. Opening it, he crouched down, and took a closer look at his brother. He's dead in the driver's seat, eyes closed, blood splattered on the window glass. Cocaine and a pack of cigarettes on the passenger seat. The red and blue lights from the police car continued to flash, coloring Walt and the inside of the car.

Sal approached first and shakes his head regretfully, “I'm sorry man.”

They continued to stare at Walts back, he went completely still. Slate swallowed then called his name. Walt got up and stalked away from the car, not saying a word or looking at either of them.

“Fuck.” Slate turned to Sal,” what do we do?”

“Nothing we can do. Not right now at least…go, keep an eye on him. I’ll catch up.”

Slate nodded then headed off after Walt.

- Flashback over -

To this day, Walt doesn't talk about that night, or his brother. But he did thank them one night as they had a few rounds,

“Thank you being there, means a lot.” Six words. Six words with a whole lot of weight behind them.

Slate knew, their shared history was only one of the many reasons he asked them to Mexico. He handpicked everyone on his team. It made the loss of their guys; Ossie, Danilo and Amat even harder. They weren't strangers, they were people Walt knew.

For Slate, she only knew Sal, and Daryl vaguely. Everyone else she met for the first time on the job. In their time together, they became a dysfunctional- functional family. Even years from now, she knows she’ll still miss them, even the ones she didn’t get to know that well.

During this dinner, as they eat, drink, joke and laugh, she misses them. She can imagine them at the table; Ossie to her left making a joke or fucking with someone, Amat across the way with a smile that reaches his eyes as he enjoys himself, and Danilo with a beer in his hand, listening but not saying much.

The ghost of their three fallen friends fills the room, they're here, she can feel it. Slate's eyes drift to the box of playing cards on the counter, and a memory comes rushing back.

- Flashback -

“Oh, come on!” Slate throws her cards down on the table. Amat smiles and sits back in the chair with a proud grin.

“I won.”

“No, best of three, let's go - “she grabs the cards and shuffles them again.

“She’s a sore loser, I warned you.” Ossie shouted from where he’s sitting, he looks like a kid hanging from a jungle gym.

Slate doesn't look up but frees on hand to flip him off. She gets a chuckle out of Sal whose reclining on the couch.

“I got the green light.” Walt strolled into the room, a coffee cup in his hand. "This is it.”

Ossie cheers before jumping down to ground level, “Whoo-hoo!”

Walt stops at the table where Slate and Amat were playing cards. Daryl comes over, a beer in his right hand. He's chewing the last of his lunch. Danilo is off to the left, but still close enough to see and hear everything going on.

“The golden ticket, the whole reason we’re down here. We know where he is, so today we go get him.”

Daryl asked, “what about the army?”

“Not leaving. We go in guns-a-blazing we’ll get eaten alive, so we gotta do this one different.”

Stale looks to Walt,” what's the play? After Verdin, shits loud. We gotta be careful.”

“I fucked up, shit got a whole lot harder. We’re on their radar, our only advantage is they don't know our identities yet. We’re in this fight, so let’s finish it.”

-Flashback over-

“Too bad Daryl couldn’t make it.” Sal commented, it pulls Slate out of her thoughts and memories.

“Smash and grab crew, back together.” Walt grins before taking a drink of his beer.

“His girl is pregnant right? Daryl?” Slate asked.

“Yeah,” Walt answers, “our boys about he be a family man.”

“Cheers to that. After everything, we deserve all the good we can get.” Sal raises his beer, Walt and Slate do the same.

Later that night

“Can't believe he's asleep already.” Slate observes Sal, he's knocked out on the couch, his mouth slightly open. She glances at Walt who’s sitting on the side of the armchair.

“Should we draw on him?” A childlike grin brightens Walt's face.

“Fuck yes we should!” Slate is first on her feet and looks around for a marker. She finds one and creeps over to the couch, barely holding back a laugh.

“He’s going to kill us.”

“For sure.” She whispered back then kneels down. She inches close to Sal's face and pops the cap off the marker. She can hear Walt in the back, trying his best not to laugh. Slate draws a curly mustache on Sal's cheeks.

Walt peers over her shoulder.

Slate looks at him, “If Ossie was here, he’d draw a dick.”

Walt catches his laugh in his hands.

Slate opens the marker again, “I'm gonna draw a cock for Ossie.” she examines Sal, then settles on his forehead. Walt can't contain his laugher and leaves the room.

The suppressed laugh is making her body shake. After she finishes, Slate caps the marker then goes to the hallway toward the bedroom, where Walt is curled over laughing.

“What next Breslin, I’m too amped to sleep?” She tosses the marker at him.

“I know I'm not fallin' asleep on your watch, not with this fucking marker.” Walt tucks it in his back pocket.

Slate grins, “For the best, you'd wake up with something long and hard drawn next to your mouth."

“You would do that,” Walt takes a breath and glances at the clock on the wall.

“I have an idea, its genius, hear me out,” she drapes one arm over his shoulders, “let's go out, I’ll be your wingman.”

Walt moistens his lips, then smiles.

“Oh, come on, today is one of the best we've had in a long time, I don’t want it to end. I know you don't either. So, let me play wingman, I bet you 20 bucks I can get you laid tonight. “

“I really regret making that comment now.” he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

“Oh, come on, don't be shy. I know you aren't. Let me help, I'm a damn good wingman.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, he can't look away.

Walt considers the offer. Truth is, it sounds like the perfect way to end the day and it's been a while, not that it's the longest he's gone without, there have been longer stretches.

Slate tightens her grip around his shoulders, “Come on, it will be fun."

Walt's expression grows serious, “I don't know Slate,”

“Is it weird because it's me?” she asks.

Walt starts to say something, then stops himself. He pulls it back, deep down inside of himself. Instead, he says, "today was nice. I think I’ll try to get some sleep though. And I'm holding on to this marker." He patted his back pocket.

“Really?” she pouts.

Walt lifts her arm from his shoulders, “yes, I suck I know.”

“The nights young.” Slate tugs on his shift.

“And I'm not,” he offers a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes, “I'm taking the armchair, fell asleep in that thing plenty of times before. Bedrooms still yours.”

Slate leans back against the wall, her eyes searching Walts, a very clear grimace on her lips.

“Don't give me that face, I know, “he steps into her space and ruffles her hair with his hand. “Get some sleep.”

“Fine,” she exhales dramatically, “I’m going to use your phone, I’ll be quiet so the old man can sleep."

He laughs at the last part, “Its midnight. Who the hell you callin' at midnight?”

“Joaquin will be up; I need something to do.”

“Who's Joaquin?” Walt rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, “she shakes her head, “just this guy."

“A boyfriend?” he asked quietly.

“I wouldn't call him that," her eyes drift to a photo on the wall, it's a generic art print, likely came with the place and Walt never took it down. She adds, "

“We hang out, nothing official.” When her eyes travel back to Walt, it gives her pause, now he looks disappointed. “Hey, massive mood shift, you okay Breslin?”

“Fine, tired.” He muttered, then turned toward the living room. “Good night, Slate.”

She watches him leave, then heads to the bedroom. Once she's inside, a flash of clarity takes over her buzzed mind. Was Walt disappointed because she mentioned Joaquin? Walt never cared about that kind of thing, and they've been friends for years. They've spoken casually about dates they've had before and he never seemed to have a reaction, not until now. Or maybe she was over thinking it. Maybe he was just put off by the phone call comment. it was midnight after all.

The next day, Slate wakes with a slight hangover, but it's easy to shake off. She finds a very pissed off Sal and helps him get the marker off his face. He eventually laughs about it, and she makes him breakfast as an apology.

Walt sleeps in, which was a surprise. But when he does wake, he seems far away and quieter than usual. It makes for an awkward morning, at least on that end. Once Sal heads out for his flight, it was just the two of them. Walt didn't say much, and instead of sticking around longer, Slate decided to head to the airport early. Walt dropped her off, and even their hug goodbye seemed off.

That Night, Slate back in NY

Stepping off the elevator, Slate stops before the mirror and checks out her outfit. Satisfied with what she sees, she takes a right and head to apartment 3C. Slate knocks on the door once more and it swings open. Joaquin peeks his head out, and drinks her up with his eyes, “fuck, I'm a lucky man."

Slate steps inside, grabs his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. She slides one hand in his hair and shuts the door closed with the other.

"I think you missed me." He whispered as their lips parted. Slate doesn't confirm, nor deny.

The kiss quickly escalates to a heated make out. When they break for air, Slate grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head and arms. Once he's shirtless, she lightly scratches his chest and moves to his belt buckle.

Joaquin grabs her face and looks into her eyes, "How was your trip?"

Slate undoes his belt and pulls it off in one impressive movement. She tosses it across the room, "no questions, keep kissing me.”

Later

Slate watches the curtains sway in the breeze, it's a nice night out and the moon is nearly full. She stretches her arms over her head and hums, her body is still buzzing.

Javier is starting at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. "I was thinking about something."

"Yeah?" She rolls onto her side to get a full view of him.

Often times she found herself just gazing at him. Besides being a great lay, Joaquin is nice to look at, and she likes his voice, she's always been a sucker for a man with a good voice. He rides a motorcycle and looks damn good in all black and a leather jacket, as long as he didn't want more from her, she planned on keeping him around a while.

Meeting him was an unexpected treat, she was at a bar, not to meet anyone, just to drink away her Calderoni problem and say goodbye to her short lived and ill-fated tryst with the hot chef. She was at the bar about 30 minutes when Joaquin entered. He wasted no time introducing himself, and that same night they slept together for what became the first of many times.

"Hey, did you hear me?" He asked gently as he caresses her arm.

"Repeat that?" She brings herself back to the present moment.

"It's been two months now, I still don't know anything about you, except what you told me."

"I prefer to remain mysterious." She winks at him.

Joaquin sits up, opens the top side drawer and pulls something out; it's a preroll. He feels around on the table for a lighter, finds it, then lights the joint.

“Every time I light one of these up, I wonder if you’re going to arrest me.”

“I could if you want me too,” she smirked, then took a hit of it.

Joaquin watches her with a grin, "I'm going for a long ride tomorrow, want to come. Out to Hudson."

"Sure, I'm off, unless I get called in," she hands it back, "but I should be free."

"Cool," Joaquin caresses her face, "it's a plan."

Two days later

After crossing everything off her list for the day, Slate found herself thinking about the photos from Walt. Heading to the bedroom, she pulled them out the drawer she tucked them in and sat at her vanity table. She placed then down one by one; Ossie, Amat, Danilo.

- Flashback-

“Sure you’re up to this? We’re in this with our lives, if shit goes down, it could be worse for you.”

Slate continued peeling the label off the bottle. She took her time but eventually made eye contact with Danilo. It's short lived, her eyes then follow the puff of smoke from his cigarette.

“I know the risks. No way I can do this job and not know that."

Danilo nods and continues to smoke.

Slate lowers herself to the ground, sits, then knocks back the rest of her beer.

“How long you’ve known Walt?”

“Shit, about, 11 years?” She glanced up at Danilo, "on and off, we weren't always around each other the whole time.”

“Fucker gets a round, doesn’t he.” Ossie jumped in as he steps outside, wearing a joker's gin and holding a beer.

“Yeah, lots of notches on his belt.” Slate replied. Her eyes jumped to Danilo, who seemed indifferent.

“Was it dinner and a movie, or straight to fucking?” Ossie barely keeps a straight face as he asked.

“Jesus.” Danilo sighed, then headed back inside.

Ossie chuckled as he watched him disappear inside. He takes a seat on the ground beside her.

Slate twist her neck to look at him, “Dinner and a movie, I got the whole 9. You?”

“Nah straight to it, Walt's a man of little words.”

They both laugh at Ossie's response. As the laughter dies down, they grow quiet and listen to the sounds of the night.

Eventually, Ossie said, "Must feel weird, being the only chic here.”

“Naw, used to it. This happens a lot.'' She puts the bottle down between her legs. Ossie nods, then lights a cigarette, "I smell like smoke all the time because of you guys.”

“Should join the fun.” he offers her the cigarette,

Slate pushes his hand away, “Hard pass.”

- Flashback over -

Pictures in hand, Slate headed to the living room and stopped in front of her photo collage, it's full of familiar faces, friends, her youth, and more. Taking her time, she adds each photo to the collage then takes a step back to review it. As she steps away from it, her phone rings. Slate heads to the wall and answers, her ear is met with a familiar voice,

“Hey.”

“Hey, Walt."

“I uh,” from the sound of his voice alone, she can imagine Walt leaning against his counter, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “That case I told you about; the hearing was today.”

“How'd, it go?” She sat on the floor.

“Good, we got the bastards.”

She hears the excitement in his voice, and it makes her smile, “Congrats, you should be celebrating. I hope you are.”

“One man party right here, drinks and all, “Walt goes silent, and Slate just listens, waiting for him to continue.

She tried to call him when she got back, but he either wasn't there or didn’t pick up. That was three days ago now. The awkwardness in the air when she left still hasn't been addressed. She wasn't mad at Walt for not saying anything, she didn’t know what to say either.

“Slate, I was wondering’ - “Walt stops himself.

“Wondering what?”

He doesn't reply.

Slate knew this call could be one of two things, one, his way of saying he needed someone to talk to. Walt never asked for a friendly ear, instead he'd call about something else, or talk to you about work, or invite you for drinks on him. This could be one of those calls, or he could be the one ready to address their awkward goodbye.

The longer his silence goes on, the more curious she grows, “wondering what, Walt?”

“Ah, nothing, just, work stuff…it was good having you out here.”

Slate closes her eyes and rests her head back against the wall. “Yeah, it was nice Walt.”

“I’m gonna go, have yourself a goodnight.”

“Yeah, you too Breslin.” she listens for a click sound, it doesn't come. Slate can still hear him on the other side listening to her, the same as she's listening to him.

Feeling overwhelmed, Slate stands and whispers goodnight into the receiver once more before hanging up the phone.

Next

Might be interested. If not, I can remove the tag ;) chapter 2&3 are on A03 as well @yourlocalspacewitxch @ashlingnarcos @drabbles-mc

Joaquin FC (Slates new side piece)

[burntmcnuggies]

Jealous Bird (Smut)

Jealous! Hawks x Reader

Warnings: sexual themes, strong language, feral Hawks, rut, unprotected sex, and a jealous birb, 18+ only please! :D

If you’d like the fluff version and not the smut, you can go here! ➪ Fluff <3

“Mornin’ chicken wing. What’re we doin’ for breakfast? I paid last time so this is allll on you.” Hawks sent a playful wink towards you as he landed beside you from his previous place in the air, holding his hand up and rubbing his index and thumb together as a sign he wanted you to pay. You rolled your eyes and rose your hand, mocking him. “Don’t forget who spent hours doing YOUR paperwork because a certain birdbrain was too lazy to do it.” Hawks held up his hands in defeat and slumped over, sticking out his bottom lip, over exaggerating his facial expressions. He whined and let his wings droop. “C’mon just one more time? Pretty please with your favorite pretty bird on top?”

“Stop dragging your wings, you’re gonna get them dirty.” You scolded and pat his back, slightly feeling how tense his shoulder were. You were about to offer to give him a massage later, not wanting your friend to have to sleep tonight with stiff muscles until you noticed something. His wings were almost glowing a whole new shade now. Such a vibrant and beautiful color. It was then realizing how close you were that you could hear a faint cooing bubbling from his throat. “...? The fuck are you doing Hawks?” He looked over confused and tilted his head. You grumbled at his lack of knowing exactly what he was doing. “Do you even have complete control over your body? You don’t even realize you’re whistling and cooing like some pigeon.”

You completely missed the pissed off look that crossed his face at your comment. He plastered on a cheeky smile and put his hands behind his back, picking his wings off the ground and tucking them firmly behind his back. “Nah, sometimes my bird-side comes out, especially during spring. God I go fuckin’ crazy. Sometimes it’s early and I have to take a whole week off a work!” You looked up to a couple trees you both passed while you were walking to your usual breakfast place, KFC —Although you always debate you want to go somewhere else. It was late winter, very close to spring, about March. You never kept up with the date. “Why do you take a whole week off?”

“People with animal quirks like me would understand. Just like Mirko! Haha, I’m sure she’s the worst right now bein’ it’s early March!” He laughed and put his hands out, his hands snaking into his pockets to firmly stick there. You pouted, wanting to know exactly what Hawks was talking about. You told Hawks everything, but he didn’t give you the same treatment. “I’ll just ask Mirko later then if you refuse to tell me.” Hawks quickly wagged his finger side to side in front of your face, his other hand being placed on his hip now. You were familiar with his body language and how much he loved using his hands. “Nah ah, chicken wing. You do that and she’s gonna pounce on you. You won’t see light for days!”

“Mirko has accidentally jumped on me before, it’s not like we haven’t sparred before! I can withstand some punches and kicks!” Hawks sulked again, his hands digging back into his pockets, displaying his annoyance that you weren’t listening to him. He just looked away and shrugged his shoulders back. “Just trust me, kiddo. It’d be for the best you didn’ see Mirko, especially at a time like this. I know how she feels.” You were starting to get irritated at his lack of response to your question, only dodging it and making you sit in suspense. Finally you gave up and decided to bring it back up later. “I’m just gonna stop asking, you’re obviously not gonna answer me are you?”

“Haha! Nope! You know me too well, (Y/N).” You both arrived at KFC, immediately greeted by the manager and many of Hawks’ fans who knew he came there a lot. Many asked for his autograph or a selfie, but he refused politely. “I’ll do some after I get some chicken! I’m starved!” Super fans offered to even pay for his food, to which he declined, saying that you were kind enough to have already offered to pay for his food. A total fat lie! He begged you to pay! You sent him a glare and proceeded just to order both your meals while Hawks spoke with his fans. “Well, guess I can start now! Who’s first?” After he saw you were paying and ordering, he began to sign autographs and take selfies that would no doubt be on social media in minutes.

“Man! I sure do have a lot of supportive and loyal fans! Must suck never bein’ noticed.” Hawks passively insulted your rank as a pro hero by taking a jab at your ranking. You were somewhere in the mid thirties. Not popular at all, especially in this part of Japan where Hawks was born. “At least I have fans who aren’t thirsty for me! Getting all wet and horny at night thinking of their hero Hawks taking them from behind~” You smirked and rose your hands shrugging your shoulders, before hugging yourself. You bit your lip, closing your eyes and squirming with a dreamy smile, mocking his thirsty fan girls. “Oh Hawks! Please I’ll do anything for you! Take me! Oh please fuck my sopping pussy with your big fat cock til I can’t move anymore! Mm! Cum inside me! Let me bare your kids!

You didn’t notice the way his wings trembled and his face reddened, his avian eyes widening as he watched you speak so lewdly. He shook it off quickly before he got out of control and leaned forward towards you smirking. “At least I have fans thirstin’ for my cock~ haven’t heard of anyone wantin’ your boring ass!” He gave a closed eye smile and brought his hands up to give you a big fat thumbs down. Your eye twitched and you remained silent, not having a comment. That was until you remembered a villain hitting on you not too long ago. “Well at least I’ve had a villain fawn over me! I can still remember it clearly! ‘Oh fuck, I would turn good to get a piece of that ass!’”

This time you noticed how his brows furrowed, and his wings fluffed up, almost as if he just had a whole shiver rake through his body. “When was this?” He asked, his head now resting in his right hand, staring intently. You thought about it for a minute, before taking a wild guess. “Ehh, about like a couple months ago.” This only put him in a more sour mood. You didn’t understand why he was acting so strange. Maybe it was what you talked about? Obviously you’d never talked about anything sexual with Hawks, but on the topic of thirty fans aching for him, you wanted to make jokes since he was always mocking you and making sly insults. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. Well... it kinda is.” He admitted afterwards and smirked at you teasingly as if you would already know it was your fault. You frowned, about to open your mouth again before they called your number to get your food. You sighed and stood from your seat, walking over to the counter and retrieving the food, however, you were stopped by a man. He was young, about nineteen or twenty, quite handsome. “Excuse me miss, this may sound really straightforward and all but, you’re really pretty, and I was wondering if I could get your number?” You blushed a bit and looked away. You were a bit weary, but decided anyways. “I-I don’t know... I guess so. You seem nice. It’s-“

“Hey there, you gotta hobby of stealin’ other people’s things?” A gloved band came in contact with your shoulder, and a large shadow cast over you and the man in front of you. The man gasped in amazement at seeing the number two pro hero standing before him, it would’ve been a better experience if Hawks wasn’t threatening him with his looks and smart-ass remarks. “Huh? Oh! S-Sorry I didn’t-“ Hawks rudely interrupted the man, his gloved hand squeezing harder. His smile was obviously forced, and his feathers were starting to fluff up every second that past he stood in front of this guy. “Eh don’t worry about, you didn’ know. Now that ya do, don’t come near her again, Kay?”

And in the blink of an eye, Hawks pulled you away and out of the fast food restaurant. He aggressively pulled out the food and shoved yours against your chest, unwrapping his quickly and munching on it. “What the hell Hawks?! That was a bit much! He was being nice! It’s not like we’re dating or anything...” You trailed off, watching his wings twitch and fluff. You had noticed his strange behavior for a couple days now. His feathers would fluff up every now and again —you had no idea why— especially near men. “You should be thankin’ me chicken wing. I just saved you from a world of heartbreak.”

“That’s not your place to decide, Hawks. I don’t intervene when women ask for your phone number.” You crossed yours arms and turned your nose up at his childish behavior. He didn’t respond, finishing his breakfast and throwing away his trash in a nearby can. His hands slipping back into his pockets, displaying that he was closing himself off from you now. Of course, you began to become irritated at his lack of voice, but you decided to let it go and not pressure him further. “You’ve been acting weird lately ya know? I’m getting worried...”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.” Oh how you hated his emotionless voice, so bland and robotic, it honestly pained you. His eyes were sharp, quick to notice your saddened expression. Hawks sighed heavily and stuck his bottom lip out, wrapping his arm around your arms and pulling you close to him. “I’m one of the top five pros, you don’ gotta worry about me, chicken wing. Cheer up.” You smiled and shoved him off, only a bit happy his cocky and arrogant behavior had returned. The Hawks you knew and cherished. “You know, I hate you sometimes, but I can’t help but love you at the same time.”

“Who doesn’t love me? The sexiest bird-man around.” He smirked and gave you a flirtatious look, a small sound bubbling from his throat similar to a whistle. You returned his smirk with a teasing smile. You were almost immune to his flirty charm, key-word; almost. Hawks was definitely an attractive man. Those piercing eyes with dark markings around them, only making the color pop and glow. His messy hair swept back and disheveled. Let’s not forget about those bushy eyebrows of his, they almost look like feathers from his wings, only a beautiful ashy blonde color just like his hair. You could probably do without his egotistical attitude and vulgar tongue, but that was still all part of his charm. “Move!”

You were surprised by Hawks suddenly grabbing you and jerking you out of the way of an attack from a villain. You were right there in his chest, feeling his warmth, hearing the harsh thumping of his heart at the thought of almost losing you. Before he had a chance to say what he wanted. “Well there goes our leisurely patrol. And more paper work on our desks.” Hawks grunted in annoyance and took to the air. You finally regained your composure and got into your fighting stance. “Ready to kick some ass Hawks?! Whoever lands the final blow is treated to lunch!”

“Heh, you don’t stand a chance! Show me whatcha got!”

—

“Thanks Edgeshot... I totally owe you one.” You scratched their back of your neck with an awkward smile as you stood in front of the current number four hero. While Hawks was on the assault, eager to show off and boost his already high ego, you tried to get a sneak attack in, but the villain noticed you. They were about to attack you, before Edgeshot came and got you out of the way. Hawks didn’t take this too well. He became angry immediately and finished off the villain in a matter of seconds. “No thanks necessary, (H/N). I was just doing my job.” You hated being in debt to someone more than anything, so you quickly threw out an offer.

“Please! Let me take you out for drinks! Honestly! I’ve gotta do something! I-“ Suddenly a large shadow cast over you for the second time that day. You turned around and shrunk down noticing Hawks’ wings spread wide, fluffed to the brim and shaking in anger. His face was red and his eyes were narrowed at Edgeshot. He was angry at himself for not being able to protect you himself, and at Edgeshot for rescuing you and holding you close. That was supposed to be him. “H-Hawks? What’s wron-“ Edgeshot was the one who answered your main question earlier before Hawks could even get another word out. The answer shocked you to your core, finally understand why he was acting so weird.

“He’s showing his dominance, and in a public place no less, how careless.” You looked at the ninja hero confused before you turned your attention back to Hawks. Dominance? His wings were such a beautiful vibrant color now. A shade of red you’d never seen them before on him. A sudden flash captured your eyes, taking your attention away from his beautiful wings. The media was eating this up. Soon it would reach the Hero Public Safety Commission and the president would not like this one bit. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). But I’m impatient, I can’t wait any longer.” Your eyes widened as your attention was fully back on Hawks now. You opened your mouth about to ask what he meant, but something was preventing you from doing so.

Hawks’ lips were firmly placed upon your own, his bright red rings wrapping around the both of you to shield you from any watchful eyes wanting to take a peek at you. His lips were soft, his hands finding themselves on your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You were shocked, your eyes wide, heart hammering wildly out of your chest at the sudden action. Slowly, you began to kiss him back, falling victim to his charm and passionate ways. He was quickly heating up the kiss, but you placed your hands on his chest firmly, pushing him away just enough to separate your lips. He was chasing your lips, desperate to get another kiss. “Hawks what-“

“I’m tired of waiting. I can’t fucking hold it in any longer. I know I’m impatient, but you make it so fucking hard to hold back sometimes.” You opened your mouth about to question, but the only thing that came from your mouth was a terrified scream having Hawks launch you both into the air and fly quickly through the skies. You held onto him for dear life, screaming at him to put you down. You nearly hugged the ground when Hawks reached a luxury penthouse apartment. “What the hells the matter with y- mmm!” He forced his lips onto you quickly, roughly grabbing your body and pulling you against him. His wings still outstretched and flapping slightly.

His feathers went to open the sliding glass door, pushing you inside while still having your lips firmly connected. He was hungry, eating your mouth like it was the only thing he’d had in years. His tongue forced its way passed your lips, dominating the inside of your mouth with his fiery passion. Your hands clawed at his fluffy tan jacket, pulling him closer, your body now aching to be touched more by him. He was just so intoxicating. It was starting to get hard to breath after a while, and you tried to pull yourself away, but he moved with you, keeping your lips firmly together. He only parted away to growl out an order to you. “Breath through your nose.”

His hands were on you again, thick gloved hands trailing down your waist to grab a handful of your tasty ass. A squeak flew out of your lips, allowing him deeper access to your mouth than he already had. You couldn’t deny the dampness beginning to build down there. Your panties were now wet with your slick, making you slightly uncomfortable with the way the damp fabric rubbing against your folds. “God.” He breathed against your lips, not even giving you a second to catch your breath before he was on you again. His hands quickly got towork on getting your shirt off. “I can smell your fuckin’ arousal. Fuck it’s intoxicating. You drive me fucking crazy!”

“H-Hawks! W-Wait!” You voiced your want to stop and talk whatever he was feeling out, but just seeing that lustful passionate look in his eyes, it was a lost cause. His pupils were blown with lust, his breathing heavy and ragged, desperate to start touching you again. “It’s your fault... all your fuckin’ fault it came early. Now be a good baby bird and take responsibility.” You didn’t have time to refuse before he was on you again, his lips finding their way harshly to your neck, his teeth lightly biting. You jerked your head to the side, moaning softly at the feeling of his canines digging into your skin. Your heart was hammering harshly against your chest feeling his thick glove drift up your shirt, roughly grabbing your boobs, groaning at the squishy feeling in his hands. “I didn’ want you to see me like this... but after all the shit that’s happened today... I can’t hold back. Not anymore. That was out the door whenever you started mocking my thirty fans.”

He pulled your shirt over your head quickly, pushing you back into his couch while his hands grabbed your waist, his tongue sliding across the top of your breasts. A shiver raked through your body, low pants leaving your mouth as you watched his mouth move lower. In a flash of red, a feather came up and sliced your bra open, being the impatient man he is, he didn’t want to struggle with getting it off you just to see those perky nips of yours. You were quick to cover yourself, too embarrassed showing your best friend your body like that. It’s not like you would ever look at each other the same after this. A strong grip enclosed around your wrists, Hawks grabbing your wrists and pinning them by your sides.

“H-Hawks...” Your breathy whisper of his name drove him almost mad. He breathed onto one of your nipples, hot breath fanning over the entirety of your perky buds. You squirmed in discomfort and whimpered, your body betraying your mind, desperately wanting his mouth on you. “Hah... I knew you wanted me just as much as I fucking wanted you. How long, how long have you wanted me? Tell me. Tell me how much you crave me right now, ‘cause I can’t get enough!” He drew out the flat of his tongue, running it over your nipple, all while his golden eyes stared right at you expressions. Your legs clinched together tightly feeling a tingling sensation spread from his lick. “Hawks no, mmm~ you cant...”

“I can, and I will, you’re mine, and I’m not lettin’ you out of my apartment until I’ve marked you as mine, and you’ve got so much fucking cum inside you that you’ll already look pregnant.” Your eyes widened and you jerked away from him. Pregnant?! Was he out of his mind?! You weren’t even dating yet! Sure you’ve had feelings for him for a long time now but this was all moving too fast! “What did you expect? I’m gonna breed you so fuckin’ good. So fucking good. You won’t be able to think about anyone else but me.” Now it all clicked. What he said earlier, how he was acting now. Why hadn’t you noticed it sooner? He practically told you everything this morning, you were just too stupid to consider it.

Mating season.

That’s why his feathers had been brighter, the cooing and whistling coming from his throat. The displays of dominance to other men who you conversed with. Courting traits for a male trying to attract a female. You weren’t dumb, animals mated to do one thing, and one thing only. Reproduce. Their instinct immediately is to find a female and mate with them, reproduce and leave. However, this wasn’t always the case in some. “Fuck, you smell so damn good down here. Your pussy’s so wet for me already. And I haven’t even done anything, yet. Looks like you’ve become a thirsty fan, huh? Wanting my cum deep inside you and gettin’ wet while I manhandle you? Fuck, you’re so damn sexy.”

“Hawks m-more~” You were hesitant to ask him for more, worrying for your poor body and your sensitive heart. Only sensitive for him. You accepted your feelings for him, struggling to voice your new found notion to him. He growled lowly in response to your request, hands hastily pulling your pants off in one fell swoop. He was absolutely feral. “I wanna eat you out so fuckin’ bad. Your sweet pussy, sopping snd beggin’ to be stuffed, fuck.” He has a particularly vulgar tongue most of the time, but never like this. He always expressed how hard it was for him to hold back, but this was a completely different side of him you’d never seen. It was like he was feral. A complete animal. “Oh, I’m gonna tongue fuck the shit out of you. You’ll cum all over my tongue, just like how you’re gonna squirt all over my cock.”

He stood up quickly, his feathers dispersing to shrug his jacket off before he pulled his tight shirt over his head. Just like that his wings came back to life, flapping slightly as a readjustment. His gloves were removed as well, now you could feel his bare hands roaming over your exposed body. He dropped to his knees, spreading your legs and putting your inner thighs around his head, but not too tight. He approached your entrance, a damp spot clearly evident on your fabric panties. His fingertips dug into your thighs, pushing his face flush against your panties. He let out a breathy moan against your wet folds protected by your panties, subconsciously humping the couch for even the slightly bit of pressure against his hard cock.

“Hah, fuuuuck. I’m so horny, everything’s so hot. Let’s get these cute little panties off. Don’t wanna rip ‘em now. Need something to hold my cum inside your pretty pussy so you bare my kids.” Hawks grabbed your panties and pulled them down your legs and onto the floor. He kneeled on his knees in front of the couch, his head between your legs, your feet propped against the coffee table, and your hands gripping the couch anywhere you could, desperately wanting to grab his messy hair. “Oh god...” He moaned at the sight of your sopping pussy, your slick slowly dripping onto the couch much to your embarrassment.

“D-Don’t stare dumba- H-Hawks!” You cried out his name in surprise once he drove his face deep into your crotch. His nose firmly pressed against your sensitive clit, his tongue diving deep into your cunt without warning. Your hands dove straight to his hair, pulling at his blonde locks trying to keep yourself composed from his pleasure. “Oh fuck! Oh Hawks! Sh-Shit! Mmm baby yes~” Your head was spinning, his teeth lightly pressing against yours folds. It didn’t help anything with all of the lewd smacking and slurping of his tongue eating you out so damn good. “Ahh! N-No Wait! Your tongue! It’s so... Ngh! Deep!”

“Keep moaning for me, just like that. Moan for me and don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.” The vibrations of his lips against your sensitive pussy cause you to flinch and squirm against his sinful touch, fingers pulling at his hair harder. An unexpected groan escaped his lips as he went back to work, tongue swirling and digging around, searching for that one spot that would make your world come undone. You continued to moan and call out his name, instinctively pushing his head deeper. His movements were quick and sloppy, savoring every lick of your delicious fluids, groaning lewdly against your pussy’s lips once he found that spot. “Oh fuck! Right there! Mm~! More! Please a-again!”

He ruthlessly began to abuse that spot, pushing his tongue harshly against it and attempting to massage it. His fingers poked and prodded at your insides, pushing his fingers past and replacing his tongue with those long slim fingers of his. Your head was now thrown back against the couch, releasing his hair and clawing at the couch for dear life, desperately clinging to anything you could grab. You moaned at the foreign feeling, forgetting what if even felt like to have sex. You had a fleeting experience in your last year of high school, but that was it. One time thing. Now here you are doing it again, with your best friend no less, or were you even friends anymore? His fingers worked on making sure you were prepared for him. You were enjoying yourself, being pleasured by the man you’ve hidden your feelings from for years. Him however...

His cheeks were dusted pink, sweat trickling down his forehead with some of his curly blonde locks sticking to his face. His breathing was ragged, heavy and stuttered with a thick sense of desire behind it. His wings were quivering, the color so vibrant it could rival a neon sign. Now you didn’t know much about their nature, but you could tell just by looking at his wings that he was very excited and desperate. “Gotta get you nice and prepared for me right, chicken wing? Gotta get you ready to take my fat cock.” His lewd words made your world just so much hotter. You could feel your arousal leaking down your pussy to your puckered hole and down onto Hawks’ expensive couch. “Ahh! St-Stop! I’m-Im gonna cum! Oh god I’m gonna cum!”

He jerked his fingers out quickly, grunting in the process as he lustfully stared at his fingers coated in your juices. He breathed out a moan while he kicked away all your juices, growling lowly in possessiveness. “Sorry chicken wing but... I want you to cum on my cock. I want to feel you clampin’ down on me, cumming so hard you faint. Screaming my name at the top of your lungs so that everyone knows that you’re mine! All fuckin’ mine.” Your eyes widened seeing him sit up more, pushing his pants down the rest of the way before kicking them off, leaving him in only his red boxers. His arousal was definitively clear, noticing how the head of his cock peeked out from the waistband, leaking pre-cum, tip red and aching. The sight was undeniable steamy, your legs clenching together with your thighs slowly rubbing together. “That’s right baby. Already thirstin’ for my cock, aren’t you? Fuckin’ slut. My slut. Hah... fuck I gotta be inside you.”

He pushed his boxers down, revealing his aching hard-on. Balls lulling down, full of cum, ready to be emptied out inside of your tight pussy. Without thinking, you sat up slowly coming close to his erection. You could smell his heavily masculine and musky scent from where you were, but you needed more of him. You sadly didn’t get far before he grabbed your head and pushed you back. “Nah ah, baby. Not today. I’m too fuckin’ horny and desperate to let you suck my cock today. Next time.” Next time? There was going to be a next time? Your heart hammered harshly knowing your long time friend and crush planned on doing all of this again with you. “Hang on tight, dove. It’s gonna be a long bumpy ride.”

“W-Wait!” You watched in worry as Hawks pinned you down, spreading your legs and positioning himself. You hadn’t taken him seriously, but now you regret it. “P-Protecti- Ahn~!” You couldn’t even protest once he pushed himself inside, moaning loudly at the sinful heat that engulfed his cock, heating up his entire body more than it already was. His wings flapped slowly, occasionally twitching as he impatiently waited for you to get used to his size. The cool breeze sorta calmed you down, taking your attention away from the pain nestled in your lower regions. “Fuck, can I move? Please, please let me move.”

Good god did he sound fucking hot begging.

“Yeah, y-you can- MMM! Fuck!” You threw your head back, pleasure spreading through your body. As soon as he heard the word “yeah” he immediately got to work on fucking your cunt until you were overflowing with his cum. You harshly bit your lip, holding in your embarrassing noises from his ears, however, he had no problem not hiding them from you. “Fuck, fuck, hah... don’t hide your moans from me. I wanna fuckin’ hear ‘em. Let everyone know who’s fucking you, who you belong to, and that you’re m-mine! Fuck!” He breathlessly moaned against your face, ramming himself into you repeatedly. Your hands were now on his back, clawing down his muscular back. He growled lowly into your ear, breathily cursing. “D-Damnit! Can’t... f-find it! Ahh... hah... fuck chicken wing, fuck yeah!”

His husky grunts were dangerously bordering animalistic. His pants were ragged, hips never faltering in movement, his wings flapping slightly and quivering every now and again. “Yeah baby? You like me fucking you? I’m gonna breed you so fuckin’ good. You’ll bare m-my clutch! You’re mine, ahhaahh! Fuck!” You were crying his name, clenching his back with your legs squeezing on either side of his waist. His cock was hammering against a bundle of nerves in your body you didn’t even know you had. “Hawks! Oh god! Please! Slow down-!” He pulled out quickly, leaving you a whimpered mess without that full feeling in your stomach. He flipped you over, hastily ramming himself back in you from behind, his wild thrusts getting harder. “Yeah, fuck yeah! There it is! Yeah! Gonna cum right in that womb if yours, you’re gonna be so round and pregnant with my kids! N-Nobody’ll ever come near you again! They’ll know you’re mine! My dove! My b-baby!”

His hot hands pushed your lower back, slamming you down against the couch and brutally fucking your tight pussy like no tomorrow, animalistic growls leaving his lips, teeth burying into your shoulder and neck. He was marking you as his. You were covered in his scent now, other men wouldn’t dare come near you now that you were filled with Hawks’ pheromones. “I’m gonna cum! Ahh! Hah! Hahn fuck I’m cumming Hawks! I’m cumming!” He rose his hand and smacked your ass harshly, the red tingling sensation spreading through your cheek. It felt so damn good. He grasped his hand over your stomach and pushed harshly. “You’re cumming, yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock? Gonna try and milk me are ya? Milk me, baby! Milk me so damn good and get every last drop of my fuckin’ cum in that ripe fertile womb of yours!”

“Hawks! Hah! Hah! Oh I’m cumming! Nhhh I’m c-cum...ming! Ahh!” You came harshly all over his still thrusting cock, your creamy juices spreading all over his cock and slipping down his balls full of his child baring cum. He didn’t stop yet, still bucking his hips through your orgasm even though you were still so sensitive. “Ohho! You’re such a good girl! So good! Fuck baby! Yeah, keep squeezin’ me! Keep fuckin’ squeezin’ meee! Agh!” He groaned deeply into your ear, desperately panting and grunting into your ear. You cried, physical tears running down your cheeks at the intensity of his brutal thrusts on your aching sore cunt. He slapped your ass again, squeezing it tightly afterwards with his nails creating crescents in your smooth skin. “F-Fuck I’m close! Yeah you want my cum? Tell me you want my cum deep inside you! C’mon baby, say it!”

“I want your cum Hawks! Mmm! Please! Please I want it! I wanna carry your kids! I want to be bred by you! Ah hahn! I can’t! Please!” You immediately regretted your words. His pace had become quicker, harsh pounds becoming desperate. You could feel his balls slapping against your inner thighs, a red itchy tingling bubbling up. His hands came around your neck, the other going to harshly rub your clit. You couldn’t contain the endless moans, cries, and screams of his name, his hero name to be precise. “Oh god! Oh my god! Feels so good! Mmm! Hawks, I-I’m gonna cum again!” He pants against your ear, snarling and growling about how good and round he’s gonna make you.

“Fuck I’m cumming! Hah, fuck!” He grunted loudly and released heavy shaky breathes, his raging hard on twitching inside your now gooey insides. You came harshly, your walls clamping down on him. He was fully embedded within you, balls pressed firmly against you, his scarlet wings twitching and flapping, stretching widely suddenly stiffening up. You could feel the warm spurts of his cum deep inside, forcing a low moan past your swollen lips. His wings happily drooped once he had finished, his head now hanging low, trying to catch his breath. “H-Hawks... I love you.” You finally admitted to him, watching intently to see his reaction to your words. He laughed huskily, his golden eyes raising back up to meet yours, still cloudy with lust. “You fuckin’ better. You’re my dove, now and forever, ya hear that? Now...”

“Let’s make sure you get pregnant.”

—

Pain was the first thing you were met with the morning after your undeniably passionate night with Hawks. Feathers were scattered all over the place, large blankets thrown everywhere, and some of his clothes were thrown over you. Incredibly confused, you sat up but quickly jolted back down as a searing hot pain shot through your body from your hips. “Woah there, chicken wing! Relax, you must be in a lot of pain. I don’t blame you after the harsh fucking I put you through last night.” The man who had put you in such pain walked into the room, shirtless and only in a pair of boxers. The bed dipped slowly as he sat on the bed, handing you a cool glass of water. You painfully sat up, gently taking the glass from his rough hands, thanking him quietly. “What the hell did you do while I was out?”

The pro hero looked around the room before coming to lay eyes on you again, scratching the back of his neck with a faint blush on his cheeks. “I uh, made a nest!” He answered bashfully. It was an incredibly rare sight to see him embarrassed. Uncomfortable sometimes, but never embarrassed. You looked around the mess and raised a brow. “Nest? Why the hell did you-“ You stopped once you remembered what had happened last night between the both of you and what you had realized. You blushed and threw the covers off yourself quickly, horrified at the sticky mess dripping from your insides, still. Just how many rounds had you gone with him last night? “Hah, Sorry. I just couldn’ hold myself back. My ruts are really bad, which is why I always take a week off.”

“You didn’t have to cum inside me this much Hawks...” You said and cringed at all the fluids dripping out of your abused cunt. You didn’t notice, but his wings shivered, ruffling up a bit at the sight of your leaky pussy, until they settled down again. “It’s your fault ya know? Makin’ me so damn jealous I had to claim you for myself. Claim you before someone else took you.” Your cheeks reddened slightly, and you looked to the side, your heart racing. Of course, he could feel your sensitive heart racing, and slowly leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise, melting into his sweet kiss. There was no sexual intention behind the kiss, only a reassurance that you didn’t have to worry about speaking your true feelings, that he already knew you loved him. “You’re my baby bird now. You’ve upgraded chicken wing. Congrats.”

“How many levels are there with you?” You laughed, enjoying this sweet moment with your new lover. He laughed and hopped into bed beside you, pulling you close to him in your little nest. His hands ran over your flat stomach slowly, cooing and flapping his wings lightly. “A lot more, step up your game, baby. You good though? How do you feel knowin’ you have the most popular hero’s cum inside of you. Mixin’ with all your fertile eggs to make my fuckin’ kids.” He growled possessively and wrapped his wings around you protectively, kissing your head and over your face. You couldn’t help but turn red at his words, embarrassed by how blunt he is. “Do... do you really want to have kids Hawks? I mean... we just started... d-dating...”

“Who cares the order, as long as you’re mine and that little bundle of feathers inside you is all mine, order can go fuck itself.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his arm gently. His whistling and cooing got louder the more he cuddled you, his lips peppering your face with kisses. “Ya know they already have story’s about us? They got my whole ‘top bird’ thing on video.” He seemed quite happy with it. The president of the HPSC would not be happy about this once she found out. But knowing Hawks, he couldn’t have given two fucks about it. He raised your chin, smirking smugly. “I also tweeted that we’re dating and that you’re mine, and that we’re gonna have chicks, and that all those other guys better stay away or I’ll kill ‘em.”

You rolled your eyes. “You jealous bird...”

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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