#at one point this list was going to be a mile long

[yoursinisforgiven]

WHEN YOU GO DOWN UNDER, DO YOU MISS ME? ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel)

cw: smut, afab reader, usage of the pronouns ‘she’ referring to reader’s genitalia(?), spitting & drool, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, slightly angsty, work & stress tensions. 

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

The study was steeped in a meditative sort of clatter: the rhythmic clacking of  keys—the intermittent scratch of ink on paper, and the soothing, near-hypnotic patter of rain droplets as they slid against the wide bay windows. Outside, California was drowning. Or, at least, it was trying its best to. The clouds had held a month-long grudge against the sun, and the entire coastline now wore a permanent grey shawl of mist.

It was strange, surreal even—rain in California was as unnatural as silence in a courtroom. The world, it seemed, had decided to sulk, and so had you.

Due to the increasingly theatrical weather, you and Isaac had been sequestered indoors like two old authors in a forgotten manor—except one of you was more prone to theatrical brooding, and the other had a habit of turning on all the lamps at once because, in your words, “this feels like a haunted house and I refuse to live like a Victorian ghost.” Isaac had reluctantly agreed, mostly after stubbing his toe one too many times in the hallway.

The last time you’d dragged him out for a walk—armed with nothing but a novelty umbrella and a sense of rebellion against cabin fever—he’d come down with something brutal and promptly declared war on the outside world. For a man who could run five miles before breakfast and climb a hill while listing 18th-century legal reforms, his immune system was a sad, floppy thing.

So, naturally, you’d done the only sensible thing: booked a trip to Italy. Sunlight, gelato, ancient stones, and the prospect of Isaac rubbing sunscreen onto your back in that way that started clinical but always ended… lower.

But, of course, the universe had other plans. The kind of plans that left wrinkled manila folders on your desk at 3 a.m. and smelled like expensive cologne, blood money, and stress.

A high-ranking official had gone missing. No known enemies, no threats, no warning. Just a man-sized absence and a note: “One million dollars. Or else.”The threat was so childishly vague it made you snort when you first read it. “Or else?”  What, were they going to take away recess next?

“I swear,” you muttered at the time, pacing the length of your study with the note in hand, “I’m one more crayon-drawn ransom letter away from checking every seventh grader in the city.”

Isaac had not laughed. He rarely did when working on active investigations, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—his version of a guffaw.

That had been five days ago, and the tension in the house had fermented into something sharp. You’d both become irritable, restless, speaking in clipped phrases and sighs, tiptoeing around conversations that usually came easily. It wasn’t the case that bothered you—well, not just the case. It was what the case cost. Italy. Sun. Skin. The laughter that always came when Isaac tried to pronounce Italian.

You’d been mid-fantasy again—reclined on a sun-warmed chair somewhere off the Amalfi Coast, the sea tasting the air beside you, Isaac’s hands massaging sunscreen onto your back, and, with some luck, wandering just slightly lower—when the doorbell rang.

Startled, you sat up. You’d had to practically bribe Isaac into getting the doorbell installed. He’d insisted that people could knock. You’d pointed out, dryly, that people would need a sledgehammer to be heard from the study. He’d conceded—though not without first suggesting you simply “be less absorbed in your thoughts.” You’d ignored that completely.

The bell rang again. Isaac looked up from his notes, catching your flushed face with a raised brow. That look of his, so quietly intelligent, always seemed to be having a conversation of its own. This one asked, “Are you alright?” without opening his mouth. You shook your head, quick and dismissive.

“I’ve got it,” you said, already moving toward the foyer.

Isaac followed, not out of laziness but because he simply didn’t let you out of his sight for long when working a case. His protectiveness was intense, sometimes comically so. Once, he’d waited outside the bathroom for five straight minutes while you brushed your teeth—his excuse being, “I thought I heard something suspicious.” You’d replied through a mouthful of foam, “Yes, it was a toothbrush, Sherlock.”

Now, he trailed a step behind, his posture tense, already bracing for bad news. You swung open the door.

Standing in the rain was a boy. No older than fourteen, soaked to the bone and holding a plastic grocery bag that clearly hadn’t been designed for the apocalypse. The rain had done a number on him—his hoodie clung to his skinny frame, and his shoes squelched when he shifted awkwardly on your porch.

“Uh. Hi,” he said. “Are you the detective people?”

There was a silence. You blinked. Isaac narrowed his eyes.

“Define people,” you said.

The boy hesitated. “Like... the kind who solve things. Crimes and stuff. I heard about you from my cousin. She said you helped her with that stalker guy. The one who was like, living in her ceiling.”

Isaac, beside you, muttered, “That case was four years ago.”

The boy looked hopeful. “Cool. So… you are them?”

You crossed your arms. “Depends. Are you the one who wrote the ransom note?”

The boy frowned, genuinely confused. “What’s a ransom note?”

You sighed.

Isaac, despite himself, snorted softly. Then, much to your surprise, he stepped forward, his usual caution cracked slightly by amusement.

“Come in,” he said. “You look like a mop.”

The boy shuffled inside, leaving muddy footprints on the rug. You winced. Isaac noticed, of course he did.

“I’ll clean it,” he said over his shoulder.

You looked at the boy again. He was now standing in your foyer like someone who had just entered a museum, eyes wide, soaking wet, and clearly nervous. You couldn’t yet tell whether he was an idiot, a genius, or both—a combination which, in your experience, was frighteningly common.

“I’m Rowan,” the boy said. “And I think someone’s trying to kill my brother.”

You paused. Isaac’s eyes darkened slightly, and his hands slipped into his pockets. The air shifted.

“Start talking,” you said, voice lower now. “And don’t leave anything out.”

And just like that, your trip to Italy faded even further into the background. The sun would have to wait.

 ──

It turned out to be Rowan. Rowan, the rain-drenched boy with sneakers that squeaked like mice on linoleum, who had written the ransom note.

There was no grand conspiracy. No masked puppetmaster pulling strings from a distant tower. Just a teenager with unresolved jealousy, a crude grasp of threats, and a fountain pen. His “kidnapped” half-brother had been holed up in a friend’s pool house the entire time, playing video games and ignoring phone calls.

The conclusion was so absurdly anticlimactic, so insultingly simple, that when the judge passed the sentence—five years in juvenile detention and a community service arrangement whose details you had already forgotten—you didn’t feel triumph. Not even relief. Just a low, dull thud somewhere behind your sternum, like something small had fallen down a deep well.

You'd accompanied Isaac to the courthouse, mostly to see it through, partly to make sure he didn’t say something cutting and irreversibly career-ending to the DA. But mostly because... well, you never liked when he went places without you.

And yet, sitting in that pew-like bench, the scent of varnish and legal tension hanging thick in the air, you'd felt strangely dislocated from it all. Like you were watching your life from outside a fogged-up window. Rowan had fidgeted. His brother looked vaguely annoyed. The attorneys bickered politely. The judge adjusted his glasses like he did it for show.

And that was that.

Justice served. The gavel came down like the last note in an unfinished song. And the curtain closed.

Too clean. Too easy.

Something about it rubbed at the raw edge of your thoughts. It wasn’t anything you could name, but it sat there, deep down in the base of your chest like sediment, something ancient and unsure. You’d seen enough to know that what went unspoken was often far more sinister than what ever made it to court.

But philosophy didn’t hold your attention for long. Not when Isaac was rubbing oil into your back.

You lay on your stomach, the plush of the duvet beneath you, candlelight licking shadows onto the walls, and Isaac’s strong hands pressing slow circles just beneath your shoulder blades. He was silent, focused. He always was when touching you like this. As if your skin was a puzzle and he intended to solve it with deliberate reverence.

“What is this stuff again?” you murmured, cheek pressed against a pillow.

“Hikarua oil,” he replied. “Monarchs used it. It was made for long ceremonies—rituals of sanctity, endurance, sensual clarity. Or something like that.”

You let out a muffled hum. “Sounds pretentious. I like it.”

His chuckle was brief, but warm, his thumbs now sweeping firm lines down your spine. The scent was subtle but intoxicating—like woodsmoke tangled in spring flowers, the kind of smell that felt older than memory.

You could feel the heat from his palms even when they weren’t touching you directly, hovering just enough to drive you mad. The glide of the oil gave every movement a fluidity that made you shiver slightly, and Isaac—ever the observer—paused.

“Too much?” he asked, voice low, a murmur spun from velvet and control.

“Mm-mm,” you shook your head. “Not enough.”

Silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick with something unsaid, something folding in on itself like heat in a room with no windows.

“You’ve been quiet since the case ended,” he said, his hands pausing briefly at your lower back, then resuming with even more delicacy. “That usually means something’s bothering you.”

You turned your head slightly to glance back at him, catching the sharp line of his jaw in the golden half-light. “You think something’s off too.”

“I do.” He didn’t bother denying it. Isaac never lied to you. “But there’s nothing actionable. No evidence. Just... a gut feeling.”

“Guts are rarely wrong,” you said softly. “Mine’s been twisting ever since we got home.”

His touch slowed again, lingering this time at the dip of your waist, thumbs pressing gently into the tension there. “It’s not over,” he said. “Not really. I think that was just the first note in a longer piece.”

You closed your eyes.

“Can we pretend it’s over?” you whispered.

A pause. His hands slipped a bit lower, smoothing over the curve of your hips, not possessive, but something like a question. “For tonight.”

A beat passed. You almost replied, but then he leaned down. His breath ghosted against your spine, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible:

“You were thinking about Italy again.”

It wasn’t a question. You could feel his smirk without seeing it.

You groaned, sinking deeper into the bed. “The trip I planned? Yes, occasionally it crosses my mind.”

His hands moved again, slower now, as if the memory of sunshine on foreign skin had infected his fingertips. “Maybe we still go. Once this... whatever it is, reveals itself.”

“You’re assuming it’ll show itself at all.”

“I’m assuming it’ll be stupid enough to try,” he muttered.

You cracked a smile. “That’s oddly comforting.”

“Besides,” he added, more quietly now, his thumbs dipping with maddening slowness into the space just above your thighs, “you deserve to be somewhere warm.”

Your throat caught slightly at that. It was never just what he said—it was the way he said it. Like he was promising something without having to use the word.

“I deserve more than warm,” you whispered.

He leaned down again. His lips brushed just behind your ear. “You deserve the sun.”

And before you could respond, his hand shifted again—closer now, fingers ghosting lower, warm and sure and just bold enough to make your pulse kick up.

You rolled over beneath him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. “Forget Italy,” you whispered against his mouth. “Just don’t stop touching me.”

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, those oil-slick hands slid up again, finding the edge of your shirt, still bunched around your ribs. Without ceremony—without even breaking eye contact—he pulled it over your head and tossed it vaguely in the direction of the laundry hamper, which it missed spectacularly.

You were left in nothing but your bra and a pair of pajama shorts, hair tousled from the pillow, skin flushed from his hands. Vulnerable. That was the word. Vulnerable—but not afraid. Never afraid. Not with him.

He looked at you like you were something unrepeatable. His eyes were dark with focus, intent carved into his brow like marble. It was the kind of gaze that made your mouth go dry.

And then his fingers found the waistband of your shorts.

You exhaled, lips parting to speak, and what came out was, “Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?”

It was your tame way of saying: Take your damn clothes off, detective.

His brow arched—just one, like it was sculpted for sarcasm. “You’re the one getting the massage, no?” His voice was maddeningly calm, like this was all protocol. “Soon. Be patient.”

“I don’t want a massage.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.” His thumbs slipped beneath the waistband now, tugging downward an infuriating inch at a time.

“I don’t want one now.”

A quiet beat passed. Then—without a hint of hurry, his voice dropped low enough to shake something in your core—he said, “When have I ever been one to leave things unfinished?”

And it wasn’t just the line itself—it was how he said it. Like he was referencing something bigger than the moment. Like he had a deep, unshakable belief in finishing what he started, in seeing things through, in completing all the half-drawn sketches life threw at him. He was methodical to a fault. Even in bed. Especially in bed.

And you were unraveling under him.

Your fingers slid beneath his shirt now, finding the warm skin beneath and pushing upward. He let you strip it off him this time, quiet and watching, his breath uneven for the first time since you’d started. There were still traces of Hikarua oil on his hands, and the scent clung to his skin—spiced, ceremonial, something ancient and grounding.

“You always do this,” you muttered, half a laugh buried in your throat.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m part of some... ancient rite. Like I’m about to be sacrificed to a very handsome priest.”

“Would that be such a bad way to go?”

Your laughter broke the tension just enough to let your nerves settle, your heart beat slightly less loud in your ears. He bent down again, this time pressing a kiss to your collarbone—slow, reverent. Then another just beside it. And another.

Your bra joined the shirt on the floor. Then the shorts. Then your panties.

He looked down at you like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking his whole life.

And you thought—fleeting, strange—that maybe love was a kind of ritual too. Something made sacred not by the fire and ceremony, but by the small acts. The unsaid things. The way someone touched you when they weren’t in a rush. The way they noticed when your laugh was forced. The way they stayed. Even when the case was over. Even when the danger had passed. Even when the easy part was supposed to be ending.

“Isaac,” you breathed, barely audible over the sound of your own pulse.

He hummed in reply—low, focused, like he was tasting your name on the back of his tongue. His lips were warm against the curve of your breast, trailing from the soft swell to the delicate skin just above your heart, where he began to leave marks in a careful constellation—plum-dark, unmistakably his.

When his mouth closed around your nipple, teasing with the wet flick of his tongue, your back arched instinctively, a gasp escaping before you could bite it back. But just as quickly, his strong palms pressed firmly to your hips, pinning you against the mattress with practiced ease.

“Stay still,” he murmured, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes. There was a warning in his voice—soft, unhurried—but a warning nonetheless. “I’ll make you forget your own name if you keep moving.”

You blinked up at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your body betraying you at every turn.

And then he reached—calmly, like there was all the time in the world—toward the small nightstand where the bottle of oil sat waiting, catching glints of gold in the soft candlelight. He poured more into his hand, the scent instantly blooming between you. That same expensive, foreign oil—Hikarua—smooth and sweet, layered with hints of cedar and something ancient, something regal. You wondered, distantly, how long it had taken him to find something like that. How long he’d spent selecting it just for this.

He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil, then brought them back to your skin—this time, lower.

Lower.

The pads of his fingers met the tender inner parts of your thighs, and you swore your lungs stopped working properly. He didn’t rush. He never did. Isaac was meticulous. Every movement was intentional, every stroke of his hands drawing you further into that thick, buzzing stillness that only happened when the rest of the world forgot to exist.

He paused.

And you realized he was looking at you—not at your face, not yet, but between your thighs. At the way you glistened under the flickering candlelight, flushed and trembling and utterly undone.

You were on fire. Inside and out.

His gaze lifted to meet yours at last, low and unreadable, his lips twitching at one corner. “Excited?” he asked, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.

You gave him a look that could have wilted a flower.

“Do you ever ask questions you don’t know the answer to?” you snapped—well, tried to snap. Your voice came out more like a breathy whimper.

“I like confirmation,” he said, smirking now. “I’m thorough.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he said, voice dropping again as his hands slid just slightly further up, thumbs brushing where you ached the most, “are impatient.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m worshiping you,” he corrected, tone infuriatingly soft. “There’s a difference.”

And he meant it. That was the wild part. Isaac, who barely touched anyone, who kept himself measured and calculated even in crisis—looked at you like you were something divine. Like loving you was a sacred act, not a pastime. Not convenience. But ritual.

“I’ve solved murders with less precision than this,” you muttered.

“I’ve seen your notes,” he said dryly. “I’m not sure that’s comforting.”

You laughed despite yourself, breath hitching when his fingers moved again, tracing the edge of everything you wanted with just enough contact to drive you mad.

And still—still—he didn’t give in. Not fully.

Because Isaac never skipped steps. Never rushed his process. It was part of what made him so good. As a detective, yes. But here too, with you. With the things that mattered. With the things that couldn’t be undone.

And then, at last—finally—he leaned down again, breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even particularly seductive. It was soft. Careful. The kind of question that arrived without an agenda, like a hand reached out in the dark—gentle, not demanding. The kind of question people forgot to ask, or asked too late. The kind that made you feel seen rather than stripped.

You bit your lip. Your heartbeat was climbing—no, galloping—through your chest like it didn’t belong to your body. “You,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

The humor in Isaac’s eyes evaporated like mist burned off by sunlight. What replaced it was something darker, molten and reverent, like he was watching a solar eclipse—something rare, unrepeatable. His fingers moved, and you barely had time to gasp.

One hand, slow and certain, slipped between your thighs again, and then—just like that—two oiled fingers pressed inside you, curling with the kind of precision that felt unfair. Almost unholy. You let out a sharp breath, back arching. It was so seamless it startled you, the oil slick and warm, your body already flushed and aching and so shamefully ready. He knew it. You knew he knew it.

And you wouldn’t be surprised if he measured your reactions by now—the kind of man who probably kept a quiet, private ledger of every whimper you’d ever made.

His thumb pressed gently against your hip as he watched you with that careful, studious gaze, and then his voice dropped, soft and teasing at the edges.

“Is she excited to see me as well?”

Your breath hitched, caught between a groan and a laugh, and your hand shot out instinctively, wrapping around his wrist. You could feel it there—your arousal, slick and heavy, already sliding against his palm, marking him. You swallowed, trying not to fall apart.

“Please,” you mumbled, so quietly it didn’t sound like you at all. Not a cry. Not even a word. Just the echo of something ancient—some plea people had been whispering to each other in candlelit rooms since the world began.

“Hmm,” Isaac said, lowering his face closer to yours, lips brushing your cheek, then your temple. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’m methodical, remember?”

You shuddered. “Isaac, you’re being unfair.”

“I’m patient,” he corrected. His fingers curled again, deeper this time, deliberate. You whimpered against the sound of your own breath, gripping the edge of the sheets like a lifeline.

He leaned into your neck, warm breath cascading across your skin. “You always make this sound like a punishment,” he murmured. “I’m trying to be good to you.”

“This is too good,” you gasped. “It’s—it’s cruel, actually. You’re too good.”

“You say that like I should apologize.”

Isaac's fingers plunged back into your dripping cunt without warning, two thick digits pumping in and out, stirring up your juices until they coated his hand and dripped down onto the sheets below. The obscene sounds of your arousal filled the room, punctuated by Isaac's harsh pants and your own breathy moans.

You couldn’t even answer, not with the way his fingers worked inside you, slow and reverent, every movement a prayer. You felt drunk on it, and he knew it. He always knew it.

There was something philosophical in the way he touched you. Something intentional. Isaac never lost control. Never gave in to recklessness. He was the kind of man who believed every act had meaning—even this. Especially this.

The candles flickered across the room, catching on the edges of his dark hair and the thin sheen of sweat on your skin. The whole moment felt suspended in amber—timeless and glowing, something you’d remember even when you were old and gray and pretending you hadn’t once been this foolish over a man with calloused hands and a detective’s scowl.

You couldn’t help it.

You reached for him again—not just his wrist this time, but his shirt, fisting the fabric and yanking him down to you. His mouth met yours with the same heat, the same slow-burning intensity. He kissed you like the world had slowed down. Like he had all the time in the universe and had chosen to spend it here, with you. 

When Isaac finally pulled back, his chest rose and fell in short, uneven bursts. He looked wrecked — hair mussed, lips slick, and pupils blown wide with something close to desperation. A thin thread of spit still connected you, glistening in the low light before it broke and disappeared against your skin.

His gaze dropped immediately. You didn’t have time to feel self-conscious — the way he looked at you was anything but casual. It was possessive, almost greedy, and it made your breath catch.

Still staring, Isaac’s fingers curled inside you once, deliberately, as if savoring the way your body fluttered around them. Then — without so much as a warning — he drew them back. The sound was obscene. Sticky and wet. The kind of sound that would’ve made you flush if you weren’t already burning.

“Jesus,” he muttered, staring at his fingers before slipping one into his mouth. He groaned, low and guttural, like the taste of you had short-circuited something in his brain. “You’re unreal.”

You squirmed, and he smirked.

Before you could speak, his other hand replaced the first, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your legs twitch. He was still licking his fingers clean, like it was dessert, and then — without missing a beat — reached for the oil bottle again.

The slick sound of it pouring into his palm sent a shiver straight through you. It was almost worse not looking — the idea of him behind the veil of your lashes, rubbing his hands together slowly, coating every inch, warming it up like it was part of some ritual.

And then you felt it — his oiled hands on your thighs, dragging upward with a grip that was all heat and confidence. He climbed up onto the bed, kneeling between your legs. His face hovered close — too close — his breath teasing your skin, his eyes locked on the mess he’d made of you.

You tried to come up with something sharp, but the moment he leaned in and kissed you low — there, just above your aching core — your words died in your throat. His lips were soft but insistent, tongue teasing with maddening patience.

And then he sank lower.

His mouth was hot, wet, and without warning, he shoved his face in like he was starved. No hesitation. No buildup. Just full contact.

You arched off the bed, a broken sound slipping from your lips.

Isaac's hands kneaded the soft flesh of your thighs with a deep, sensual pressure, his fingers sinking into your skin as he worked the muscles. He began at the top of your thighs, just below your hips, and slowly massaged his way down to your knees, his touch firm but incredibly sensual. His thumbs dug into the creases where your thighs met your pelvis, applying a delicious pressure that made you gasp and squirm beneath him.

As he massaged the tension from your upper thighs, Isaac's fingers crept around to the backs of your legs, tracing the curves and dips of your calf muscles. He squeezed and kneaded the firm globes of your ass, his hands sinking into the supple flesh as he groped and caressed. His touch sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.

At the same time, Isaac's mouth remained pressed against your dripping slit, his tongue delving deep to lap up every drop of your sweHis tongue flicked over your throbbing clit, the rough surface teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until you bucked your hips against his face. Isaac groaned, the vibrations rumbling through you and amplifying the intense pleasure coursing through your body. He suckled on your clit, his lips wrapping around the tender nub as he nursed on it like a man starved.

As Isaac feasted on your dripping sex, his hands slid up to your hips, gripping the curves possessively. His fingers dug into the flesh, pulling you harder against his mouth, demanding more of your sweet nectar. He licked and suckled, his tongue plunging deep to fuck into your fluttering channel, stroking the velvety walls and drawing out your essence.

Your hands fisted in Isaac's hair, gripping the strands tightly as you held his face against your core. Your hips undulated, grinding your weeping cunt against his lips, smearing your arousal all over his chin and cheeks. Isaac just growled in response, the sound muffled by your dripping sex, but the vibrations only heightened your pleasure.

Suddenly, Isaac pulled back, his chin glistening with your juices. "You look beautiful like this." he rasped, his voice raw and thick with lust. "I want to drown in you."

He dove back in, his mouth latching onto your slick folds like a man possessed. He licked and sucked, his tongue plunging deep to fuck into your clenching hole. Isaac's hands slid up to your tits, squeezing the soft mounds and rolling your stiff nipples between his fingers. He pinched and tugged on the sensitive buds, sending jolts of electricity zipping straight to your core.

Your body was a live wire, every touch and lick stoking the fire building in your loins. You could feel your release fast approaching, your belly tightening and your thighs beginning to quake. Isaac could feel it too, his tongue flicking faster over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, cum for me." he panted against your sex, his hot breath fanning over your dripping flesh. 

Isaac could feel your body tensing, your thighs clamping around his head as your climax approached. He redoubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as he fucked two fingers deep into your clenching cunt. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room, mixed with Isaac's harsh pants and your escalating moans.

"Fuck, Isaac!" you cried out, your voice breaking as the first waves of your orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy spasmed around his plunging fingers, gripping them like a vice as you gushed your release. A flood of your essence poured out, coating Isaac's hand and dripping down onto the rumpled sheets below.

Isaac groaned as he felt your nectar flood his mouth, your tangy-sweet flavor exploding on his tongue. He lapped and slurped, drinking down every drop of your offering as your body shuddered and convulsed above him. Your juices smeared across his cheeks and chin, marking him with your pleasure.

As your orgasm began to subside, Isaac gentled his touch, his licks turning soft and slow. He placed tender kisses along your sensitive folds, his tongue soothing the overstimulated flesh. Even as your chest heaved and your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, Isaac continued to lap at your dripping slit, coaxing out every last tremor of your climax.

He nuzzled into your sex, breathing in your heady scent as he savored the intimate taste of your arousal. Isaac's hands slid up to your hips, gripping them possessively as he held you in place.

You were floating. Not in the whimsical sense — not like butterflies and dreams — but like your soul had wrung itself dry and was now hovering somewhere above your body, dazed and weightless. The room pulsed softly, blurred at the corners. The candlelight flickered, golden and low, casting shadows across the walls in slow, molten waves.

Your gaze landed on the flame. It bent with the breath of the room, dancing but never burning too bright. No scent. Not a trace. You remembered Isaac saying once that strong smells made his head hurt — "makes my thoughts too loud," he'd said, offhandedly, like it wasn’t the most curious thing you’d ever heard. You'd never lit another scented candle around him after that.

Below you, his head still rested on the flat of your stomach, cheek to skin, his breath warm where it fanned across your navel. His hands lay at your sides, fingers splayed — loose, but not without purpose. You could feel him even when he didn’t move. That was the kind of presence he had.

Your lips parted, a lazy breath curling out with the afterglow. “This would've been even better in Italy.”

There was a pause — not because he didn’t hear you, but because Isaac never responded to anything too quickly. He let things sit first. Let them mean something before he chose how to answer.

Finally, his lips — still damp with you, still pressed against your skin — curved into a small, tired smile.

“Then book the next flight,” he said simply. “We’ll go.”

You blinked, then let out a soft, huffed laugh. “That easy, huh?”

Isaac shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His eyes, still dark with leftover desire, flicked across your face, drinking you in like he was memorizing something secret. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You looked back at him, the weight of his stare rooting you in place. You felt… seen. Stripped down in every possible way — not just naked, but raw and open, your chest cracked wide with the aftermath of being ruined so completely.

“You’d fly to Italy just because I said this would’ve been better there?” you asked, voice soft, half-curious, half-teasing.

“I’d fly to the moon if it meant you’d make that sound again.”

It wasn’t said with flair. No smirk. No dramatics. Just calm certainty. And that made it hit harder — the way all his words seemed to.

He laid his head back down, turning his face slightly, so that his cheek now pressed against your ribcage. The slow rise and fall of your chest lifted him gently, like he was part of you now — tethered there, even in stillness.

For a long time, neither of you said anything. The candle kept dripping. Somewhere, the clock ticked. Your skin buzzed where he’d touched you, where he hadn’t yet. You felt the weight of his body, solid and grounding, and the quiet was almost intimate in itself.

Then, after a while — a murmur from him:

“I hate being idle,” he said, voice low. “But... I could lie here for a while.”

You didn’t move. Just let your fingers trail through his hair, slow and rhythmic. “Yeah?”

He closed his eyes. “Mm.”

“You’re not exactly the sprawl on a bed and cuddle after sex type,” you teased.

“I’m not cuddling,” he said. But he didn’t move.

You smirked. “You literally have your face on my stomach.”

He opened one eye, dry and amused. “Your body’s warm. And you’re soft.” He paused. “It’s not the same.”

“Totally different,” you agreed.

A beat.

“You’re enjoying it though.”

He didn’t answer. But his thumb moved — just once — grazing the side of your thigh. Barely there. You felt it everywhere.

The quiet returned, thicker this time. Not awkward — never awkward with him — just full. Like the walls were holding their breath for you. You let your eyes fall shut, trying to memorize the weight of him. The way he stayed. Not because he had to. But because he wanted to.

That, more than anything, wrecked you.

Isaac didn’t move for a long time. Then he kissed the skin just above your hip, mouth hot and slow, lingering.

 ──

author's note: request are open again! please refer to here before submitting one.

ps: next fic will either be the requested vic and issac or zaros !

psps: why is it snowing in april...

tag list: (small reminder if you'd like to be removed from the tag list just send me a dm, no i will not take it personal!)

@ysawdalawa @rain-soaked-sun @tanksbigtiddiedgf @sdfivhnjrjmcdsn @lil-binuu @colombina-s-arle @xxminxrq @souvlia @meraki-kiera

[fictionadventurer]

Potential January Reading:

A Bell for Adano by John Hersey

The Foxhole Victory Tour by Amy Lynn Green

The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Something by Pope Benedict XVI/Joseph Ratzinger

A classic (new-to-me or reread)

[motorsportbarbie13]

Christmas Showdown

In which you and Lando run into an ex-boyfriend while you're home for the holidays.

Warnings: talk of abusive relationship (no details though). Established relationship. Protective Lando. This could probably be better and it's pretty short buttttttt I needed to get this out of my head, so enjoy! Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1.8k words

Master List

It had been several years since you spent the holidays in your small Midwestern hometown. Usually, your family flew out to London or Monaco to spend the holiday’s with you there, much preferring to leave Michigan’s several feet of snow that was typically on the ground during Christmas. This year was different thought. Your grandmother had been too ill to make the long flight so instead, you came to them. Which was fine with you, you had missed seeing friends that were home for the holidays and missed the nostalgic nights spent around the Christmas tree with your family. The one person who was not fine with it, however, was your boyfriend. 

Lando Norris simply hated the cold. He hated being cold. Hated thinking about the cold. Hated the snow. Anytime the temperature dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit ( which also a fight you two had often was how he refused to learn the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius while also simultaneously refusing to do the same for him.) So you knew he must really be down bad for you when he had agreed (albeit a bit sluggishly) to spend the Christmas holiday with you in your (freezing) hometown. 

There was minimal complaining for the first few days you were at home, mostly because it the weather was fair enough to not be something comparable to the North Pole, but trouble arose the day of your Aunt and Uncle’s infamous Christmas party. The first sign of trouble was your brother’s insistence on a family outing to the sledding hill that was a few miles from your house. Of course Lando had packed several parkas but when he had seen the Canada Goose store in the mall the day before, he had bought the thickest, best cold rated puffer jacket he could find. Despite that and several layers of long johns and sweaters, by the time you reached the sledding hill your poor boyfriend was shivering like your grandma’s ancient chihuahua. 

To his credit though, there was not one single utterance of a complaint or plea to go back to your parents house for a cup of hot chocolate then entire time. Lando happily chased your nieces and nephews around the sledding hill and even went down the hill a few times with you. 

“Okay, folks!” Your dad calls out as the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. “I think it’s time we all head home and get ready for Judy and Steve’s party tonight. I expect everyone to be at their house by 7pm sharp!” The ‘this reminder is for your benefit’ look that your dad sends you has your already wind chapped face turning even more red. 

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me! I’m always on time!” You shout, grabbing for Lando’s hand. “We’ll see you guys tonight!” 

Once you get in the Range Rover that Lando had rented for the two week visit, he immediately turns the heated seats on full power and cranks up the heat. 

“Do you want to swing by Starbucks and get something warm before going home?” You ask as Lando pulls out of the park and onto the snowy street. “I feel like I might need to just get you an IV of hot chocolate at this point.” 

Lando gives you a sidelong glare. “I think I have icicles in my nose hairs.” 

Laughter tumbles out of you, quick and light, sending a thrill of pleasure down Lando’s spine. You two had been dating for a few years now and there were still times he’d look over at you and think ���how the fuck did I convince this girl to be my girlfriend?’. You had come into his life at a particularly challenging time and had been his rock since day one. 

“Starbucks it is, my poor little snowman. There’s one up here in this strip mall. Turn left at this light and then it’s on the right.” 

The parking lot, which is a shared lot with several other big box stores, is an absolute zoo and you can see the line snaking around the inside of the Starbucks before you even go in. To save some time, Lando drops you off at the front door while he goes and finds a spot for the large SUV. 

The line is long when you get inside but you’re thankful to at least be out of the bitter cold. While you wait in line, you mindlessly scroll on your Instagram, which is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Going private on all socials and not being featured heavily on Lando’s had been one of the things you two had agreed upon when things started getting serious nearly two years ago now. People who were huge Lando fans knew who you were but the casual F1 fan probably wouldn’t have been able to pick you out of a lineup. 

Your casually scrolling, minding your own business, when a deep voice calling your name jolts you out of your little social media bubble. 

“Jeff?” You sputter, surprised to see your college boyfriend standing in front of you in line, huge smile on his face. 

Jeff had been one of the guys you and your best friends had drooled over in high school, having been nearly two years ahead of you when you were teens. You didn’t start dating him until your freshman year of college, when he was already a junior. To say the man was toxic was an understatement. In fact, now that you had a few years distance between the now and the end of the relationship, you could confidently say Jeff had been pretty abusive. 

“Hey, stranger!” He says, leaning in for a hug. You go completely still, totally unprepared to be faced with the man who had caused you so much trauma in the two years you had dated. “I have’t seen you in ages, visiting your family for the holidays?” 

You toss a look over your shoulder, desperately wishing for Lando to come walking in the door. “Uh, yeah. First time in a few years. I usually fly them over to London or Monaco for the holidays.” 

A dark shadow passes over Jeff’s face at the mention of where you live now. “Monaco, huh? You always thought you were too good for us here, didn’t you?” 

Your stomach twists painfully at the look in his eyes and you briefly consider just turning around and walking right out of the Starbucks without your drinks.

Before you can stutter out a response, a strong pair of large hands wraps around your waist as Lando drops his head onto your shoulder. “Darling. Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life." Lando croons in your ear, not yet picking up on your body language. "I adore you but why the fuck did you have to be born in a place where the air hurts your face?” 

You laugh stiffly despite yourself. “Talk to my parents about that one, love.” 

Lando drops a kiss on your cheek before looking over at the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.” 

Across from you, Jeff had been watching this exchange between Lando and you with an increasing amount of annoyance. Who the fuck was this and why was he calling you the love of his life? 

“Lando, this is Jeff.” You turn slightly, giving Lando a knowing look which he catches onto immediately. “Jeff, this is my boyfriend, Lando.” 

“That’s an interesting name. Only heard that name twice before, once in Star Wars and…” Jeff’s voice drops off as he finally makes the connection. “Wait. Lando…as in Lando Norris?” 

The smug grin that stretches across Lando’s face nearly has you giggling. “That’s me. And you’re Jeff, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you. None of it good.” 

Lando remembered the first time you had ever opened up to him a few months into dating about how you had been in an abusive relationship in college and how much work it had taken to recover from it. He had been your first serious relationship after leaving Jeff, having left the country just to get away from him. Internally, Lando raged at the man standing in front of you two, the protective instinct in him screaming to just lay the guy out right here.

Jeff’s already ruddy face turns red with incandescent rage. You had totally forgotten he was a big Formula One fan and when you remember the fact that not only is he an F1 fan, but a huge McLaren fan, the urge to giggle hits you again. Oh, this was just too good. 

“How’d you…” Jeff stutters. “How’d you manage to bag yourself a Formula 1 driver?” 

The question is a pathetic attempt to rile you up and insult you but both you and Lando see that question for exactly what it is. 

Lando plants another kiss on your cheek and you know he’s doing it to be an asshole. “I was actually the one who pursued her. She turned me down left and right for nearly a year, didn’t you baby?” 

You nod, remembering the way Lando had come into your office at the McLaren Tech Center day after day just to make small talk at first but finally had worked up the nerve to ask you out. You were one of the newer people on the comms team back then and you hand’t wanted to jeopardize the career you had worked so hard for so you had turned him down for nearly a year, insisting that you wanted nothing more than a friendship with the driver. 

“But eventually, he wore me down. He flew me to Monaco and took me out on his yacht for our first date, it was all very romantic.” It had actually been Max’s yacht, but Jeff didn’t need to know that bit. 

You can see Jeff practically seething at this point, knowing that you’re doing so well and he’s still apparently stuck in your hometown. 

“And how are you doing, Jeff? Still working at your dad’s law firm? How is Vance doing? And Laura?” You know it’s killing him, asking about his parents by their first name. 

Jeff just blinks at you for a few moments, realizing you weren’t the little girl he used to push around and take advantage of in college anymore. “Made partner last year, actually.” 

“That must be easy to do when your dad owns the practice, huh?” Lando says, voice nothing but light innocence. 

Jeff’s eyes bounce between you and Lando for several moments before he suddenly reaches into his pocket. “If you’d excuse me, it looks like the office is calling me.” 

“A call from the office the day before Christmas! Gosh, you must be very important, Jeffery.” Lando’s low blow to Jeff’s big ego hits true and without another word, the man scampers out of the Starbucks without a second glance in your direction. 

Once he’s gone, both you and Lando dissolve into giggles, your head finding it’s favorite spot on Lando’s shoulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t try to deck you there are the end.” 

“And mess up his pretty lawyer hands? Honey, I doubt he even knows how to throw a punch.” 

tag list @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

[teaboot]

do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

[lackadaisycats]

I hope you know that literally nobody is going to be able to live up to the standard you, V*v, and Glitch have set and your arrogance and exploitation of your fanbase and connections has screwed millions of creatives out of their dreams because Hollywood is a joke that isn't worth telling and wealthy e-celebs like yourself have claimed the indie scene all to yourselves and moved the goalposts into the stratosphere.

Nope. This isn't a zero sum game. There is not some limited, prescribed number of indie trophy slots that a few studios greedily filled up, blocking everyone else out. That is not how it works. Nothing any other creator is doing - short of personally sending hired goons to your doorstep or stealing your credit cards - is taking anything away from you or preventing your success. In fact if an indie creator can manage to demonstrate that they've got something viable going, it may help to map out a pathway for others.

I think I'm not going to bother trying to address whether or not cartoons in return for support from fans - an entirely voluntary exchange - constitutes exploitation. And I'm living in the Midwest driving a 2007 economy car with 200k+ miles on it, but let's just skip past the assumptions that I'm wealthy and connected too.

Instead, let's get to the weirdly myopic notion that the indie scene is held captive by three studios. Maybe YouTube algorithms or Twitter bubbles are somewhat to blame, but in actuality there are so, so many individual people, friend groups, and small production houses out there making independent animation, I cannot possibly name them all.

Here are some anyway:

Far-Fetched Worthikids Satina | Scumhouse Noodle and Bun Punch Punch Forever Ramshackle Noodle Papajoolia | Pipi Angel Hare | The East Patch Jonni Peppers Salad Fingers Monkey Wrench Studio Heartbreak Felix Colgrave JelloApocalypse Odd1sout (started indie, got picked up by Netflix) Allie Mehner JaidenAnimations Lumi and the Great Big Galaxy Cloudrise | The Worlds Divide Telepurte RubberRoss James Lee ENA Godspeed | Olan Rogers Ollie and Scoops Meat Canyon Port by the Sea Kekeflipnote Boxtown Kevin Temmer Weebl Joel Haver CircleToons Long Gone Gulch Atlas and the Stars Animist Skibidi Toilet A Fox in Space Alex Henderson Talon Toniko Pantoja Sr. Pelo Hullabaloo Kane Pixels (started indie, picked up by A24) Homestar Runner Fennah Gods' School Alan Becker Dungeon Flippers JazLyte Psychicpebbles (started indie, Smiling Friends picked up by AS) Piemations vewn Metal Family Dead Sound chluaid Jacknjellify Betsy Lee | No Evil My Pride Cranbersher GeoExe | Gwain Saga Horatio the Vampire Mech West Playground | Rodrigo Sousa The Brave Locomotive Finchwing (+ many other Warrior Cats animators) Quazies SamBakZa Kamikaze: Trial by Fire

By no means a full list. That's just YouTube, and mostly just English language stuff, and I didn't even get to the multitudes of Warrior Cats animation collabs.

The point is, the indie landscape is vast and populated by creators new and old, making all kinds of animated media from skits, to shows, to ARGs, to films. Audience sizes vary as much as the content, stylistic approaches, subject matter, and budgets do. There are no compliance standards, no gateways to entry, no goalposts. There's not even any preset definition of success except what you decide for yourself.

Anyway, instead of nurturing your resentments, consider making something. I assure you, it's a far more rewarding use of your time and energy, and pretty much no one can stop you. ------------- EDIT- Made some additions to the list based on comments. Thanks!

[mirai-lunar]

Pt. 2 Invincible Variants x Fem! Reader

Includes: Mohawk Mark, Omni Mark, No Goggles Invincible, Goggles Invincible, Sinister Mark

Word Count: ~4k

Part 1

Warnings: Dark Content, Violence, Yandere Behavior

Also switched up character order lol

Mohawk Mark

“I can’t believe I lost all my files,” you murmured. 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He asked. “I thought not dying should be at the top of your list.” 

You both were still outside the prison facility. You dusted off your clothes before standing up, turning away from him, and walking off.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

He was now in front of you, floating slightly off the ground. You stopped and responded simply.

“Far away from here.”

As you continued to move forward, he moved backwards, still in front of you as he spoke.

“Feel free to walk. But you won’t get far without shoes.” 

You frowned. Why was he your voice of reason now?

As you took a step forward, this time he didn’t move, you bumping right into him. Irritation flashed on your face and he smiled.

“Calm down...” His arms wrapped around your waist as he leaned in close. “I’ll fly you home after I’m finished.” 

“As if I’d trust you,” you told him. “I don’t know why you’re- Here- But I- Would you stop kissing me?!”

He laughed and pulled just a little bit away from your lips. He didn’t move his hands though.

“My bad. What were you saying?” He asked, feigning innocence. You wanted to rearrange that face of his. 

“What I was trying to say was-”

“Hold that thought.”

In an instant he shot past you, flying back towards the prison. You spun around and squinted to get a better look, noticing electricity shooting through the air in the distance.

“Powerplex?” You whispered. He was one of your patients, so you were aware of his powers.

Both were too far away to know what was going on, but judging by the electricity shooting everywhere and his laughter, you assumed they were battling. 

You sighed. 

“Not my problem.”

Well maybe it was. It was safe to assume your car was destroyed. 

You could attempt the walk back to your home, but you lived far away, and your legs would give out at any minute now. 

And you were shoeless, no less.

The adrenaline had worn off, and you slumped behind a nearby tree, opting to rest instead. If you died here, then… oh well. 

“Hopefully he doesn’t take too long…” you murmured.

~

“Ah shit. Where’d she go?” 

He had got caught up in battle and completely lost sight of you. 

“She couldn't have gotten far…” He murmured, surveying the area in the sky. “But knowing her, maybe she did walk home.” 

He paused when he noticed a familiar body curled up in a grassy area. He flew over, landing next to the tree you were near.

“Hey, you alive?” 

Your eyes peeled open.

“Unfortunately…” You murmured. Either that or you were in hell.

He then picked you up, before taking off into the sky. 

“Alright, point in the direction where you live,” he said. When he didn’t get a response he looked down, noticing your eyes were closing again. 

You weren’t responding. His eyes widened. 

“Shit! Hey! Stay with me!” 

He shook you, and your eyes snapped open. Confusion crossed your face until he spoke.

“Point to where you live.”

You remained quiet for a bit, before pointing to your left. 

“30 miles…Or 48 km that way.” 

He then sped off, and you closed your eyes. You didn’t know how long you were flying, but when he stopped, your eyes opened again. You gave him more directions, and that eventually led to your home. 

Your back door was unlocked and he made his way inside, before gently setting you down on your couch. He crouched low to look you over. You took some time to collect yourself, before shooting him a glare.

“What..?” You said, annoyance in your voice. He groaned. 

“Ugh, you had better be glad I like you. I don’t normally put up with this shit.” 

You frowned at his words. He sighed before one of his hands reached out, resting on your head. His voice was now calm as he looked at you.

“...You okay?”

The frown left your face, your gaze softening. 

“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured. “I would thank you for bringing me home, but you were the cause of all this.”

“I mean you could still thank me.” 

You smiled before replying. 

“No, I don’t think so.”

He raised an amused eyebrow before standing up.

“So…” He started. “Want me to keep you company or…”

You looked away, before looking back up at him.

“If you have nothing else better to do,” you said.

He then moved close to you, and out of surprise you moved back, unknowingly giving him space. He climbed onto your couch, before casually propping his head up with his hand. The two of you now faced each other and you frowned. 

“When you said 'company', I thought you meant anywhere else in my home but here,” you flatly said. He smiled. 

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he teased you. You rolled over to face away from him.

“I’ll hate you again once I get some rest.” 

His arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer, your back now firmly against his chest.

“I should keep you up all night then…” He whispered in your ear. You immediately slapped his arm, not bothering to turn around to face him. He laughed.�� “Alright, alright… Worth a shot.”

Omni Mark

You abruptly shut off the news, faced with a rude awakening. 

Your savior wasn’t who you thought he was.

While he did rescue you, he wasn’t exactly good. That left you with too many questions. 

“I need to clear my head…” you murmured, opting for some fresh air. As you opened the window to your bedroom, you paused, noticing something sitting neatly in your driveway. 

It was your car. 

You furrowed your brows before racing towards your front door. As you made your way outside you circled your vehicle, your thoughts racing. 

Hadn’t you abandoned this car in the city? How did it get here?

“It’s dark out, you know.” 

You froze in place, recognizing the voice. It was him. As you focused on your reflection in the car window, you also noticed his reflection as well. He was floating in the air behind you as he spoke.

“Staying inside is a safer option.”

You remained in place, your back facing him as you gripped your door handle.

“Would that keep me safe from you?” You asked him. As he maintained his calm expression, you looked down. “You shouldn’t be here… I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“...Are you sure?”

You sighed frustratingly. If he really was a bad guy, then why did he bother to save you? Why’d he bring your car home? Maybe you’ve got it all wrong?

“I’m not sure about anything,” you admitted.

You then made your way back to your house, before motioning him to come in. You locked the door behind you and closed all your curtains. 

“I assume you know what’s happening now,” he stated.

“Yes, I know lots of Invincibles are attacking places all over the world,” you said. You looked away for a bit, before looking back at him, determination on your face. “But, I know you wouldn’t do that. You’re here to help out, right?”

He gave you a small smile.

“You know that isn’t true.”

You looked away, your eyes downcast before determination immediately showed back up again.

“Maybe it isn’t. But that doesn’t matter. At least not to me.” You then began to panic. “W-what am I saying?! Of course it matters. I just…”

He saved you. Hell, you had even kissed him. You couldn’t start second guessing now. 

He watched you pace around your room as you considered your options.

“Regardless.” You stopped your rant when he spoke. “I’m only here for you. Hopefully this world hasn’t treated you poorly.”

He brushed his gloved hand across your cheek and you looked away. It was really difficult to hate him. 

“Well, I work a dead-end job and despise my entire existence, does that count?” You asked. He smiled.

“If you want me to get rid of anyone, then just let me know.” 

Your eyes widened. He said those words so easily. He would even kill for you?

…Well there was this one coworker…

“No, you shouldn’t be hurting people!” you told him, panic in your voice. Your dark thoughts had terrified you. “I wouldn’t want you to do that!” 

He then cupped your face, you looking directly at your reflection in his goggles.

“It’s who I am, Y/n. This world could burn for all I care. All I need is you.”

As he embraced you, your heart was now racing. You couldn’t get out of this mess, you were sure he wouldn’t let you. You had loved him at first, but now… you were terrified of him. 

“...Is something wrong?”

Your blood ran cold when he said those words. There wasn’t an ounce of question in his voice, it was more of a calm observation. 

“I’m just tired…” you lied, trying to slow your racing pulse. Your eyes frantically darted around the room as you searched for something, anything, to get you out of this mess. You had let him into your home. You trusted him. 

You… still trusted him. 

All he ever did was love you. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all…

No Goggles Invincible

“We’re gonna have so much fun!!”

He was flying through the air with you in his arms. His flight pattern ranged from spirals, to spins, to abrupt zigzags. Half of the time, your eyes had trouble determining your whereabouts. The other half was spent praying you wouldn’t die. 

“Where should we go first?” He asked. You didn’t know if his question was directed at you or himself. “How about a nice park? Or a restaurant? Oh- Oh! Space is pretty nice! Want to go there?” 

He then zoomed upward, the air beginning to thin at an alarming rate. You gasped as you slapped his arm as many times as you could, trying to gain his attention. Thankfully he hadn’t made it anywhere near space when he paused, tilting his head.

“What’s wrong?”

You then covered your throat with both your hands. Realization crossed his face before he lowered himself back down to a breathable atmosphere. You inhaled loudly before hanging your head low, trying to catch your breath. He watched you with concern. 

“Ah shit, sorry about that. I’m so used to going up there,” he said. “Are you okay?” 

You were not okay. You were doomed. 

He was going to kill you at this rate. And by complete accident. 

“Please… Just put me back on the ground…” you said. He nodded, before descending from the sky. The second he set you on the ground was the second you moved away from him, falling onto your knees. 

“Sorry, this is all kind of new to me,” he said. “I should probably treat my girlfriend better-”

“I am not your girlfriend,” you snapped at him. He smiled. 

“Aww, you don’t mean that. You’re just upset! You have every right to be!” 

He was constantly hugging you. And kissing you. You immediately saw red.

“Don’t touch me!!” You yelled. 

“Aww pumpkin-”

“Get away from me!!” 

“But-”

“Let! Go of me!!!”

He then released you, and the sudden force of you pulling away caused you to fall backwards. As you landed, you cut the side of your cheek. You wiped the area before pulling yourself up, and screaming at the top of your lungs. 

“I am not your girlfriend!! And I hate you!! I hate-”

The rest of the words got caught in your throat when you saw his expression. His smile, and usual optimism, was gone. It was now replaced with a quiet, yet cold stare. 

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He asked you. Even his tone had changed. It was horrifying. 

You didn’t know what he would do to you, but you knew what he was capable of. All of your anger had left you and you shamefully looked towards the ground instead. Maybe your death wouldn’t be accidental after all.

“N..No. I didn’t mean that,” you said. “I was just scared.”

You remained quiet, refusing to look up at him. You were then greeted with a hug, his usual cheerfulness once again back in place. 

“Aww it’s okay sweetie!! I’m sorry for scaring you!!” He told you. You leaned into him, thankful that he was now back to his usual self. 

Once he finished cuddling you, he pulled away to examine the cut on your cheek.

“Let’s get that fixed up, okay?”

“O-okay.”

It didn’t take long. He had easily broken into a nearby pharmacy and grabbed a handful of things. The two of you sat in the middle of the pharmacy, and he dabbed a cotton ball on your cheek. You hissed in pain, and he laughed. 

“Does it hurt that much?” He asked you. You nodded. “You’re really fragile! And really cute~”

As he placed a comically large bandage on your cheek, you immediately thanked him. He smiled as he spoke.

“Mark.”

“What?” You said, furrowing your brows. 

“My name! It’s Mark. Mark Grayson.”

…Huh. That name didn’t ring a bell. 

“Okay then. Thanks, Mark,” you told him. He nodded. 

“What’s your name?”

Well... there was no point in lying to him.

“It’s Y/n,” you told him. He lit up.

“Hi Y/n!!” Anddd he was cuddling you again. “Let’s stick together forever, okay?” 

“...O-okay.”

He was… a handful. You quickly learned that playing along was better than outright refusing his advances. 

You never wanted to see that side of him again. 

Goggles Invincible

“Why would you want to go home dear? You have me.” 

It was difficult to convince him of anything.

You were currently sitting in his lap, your eyes focused on anything else but him. Both of you were far away from all the turmoil now, and the grassy area you were currently in was quiet. 

“I wanted to say goodbye to my family,” you said. “If you say you love me, then I should at least be able to make decisions.”

It was hard to gauge his emotions while goggles covered his eyes. He was currently smiling though. 

“That’s a fair point... A relationship does require input from both parties.” His hand rested on the top of your head. “Unfortunately, I don’t like your family.”

That was his way of saying that he’d kill your family on the spot. You remained quiet as he continued to speak.

“Have anything else in mind?”

What else could you think of? A frown was on your face as you finally mustered up the courage to look at him. 

“I’d really wish you’d go die in a hole somewhere,” you stated. His smile had widened at that response. 

“How cute. If I died, then who would take care of you, hm?” 

“I am capable of handling myself.”

“I highly doubt that.” Before you could protest, his hand tugged gently at your shirt. You froze at the sudden contact. “Your clothes are covered in ash. A change in outfit would be nice, don’t you think?”

You looked away, before nodding in agreement. Your eyes were now hopeful as you spoke.

“I can go home and change-”

“No, there’s a small store nearby,” he said. Well that completely killed off your hope. “We’ll go there.”

“...Alright.”

He then lifted you into his arms before taking off into the skies. The silence was eating at you, but you refused to speak.

“Aren’t you curious about how I look?” He asked you. The thought had never crossed your mind until now. You furrowed your brows, but nodded.

He then paused his flight in midair, before pulling off the mask, the goggles leaving with it. You couldn’t stop your surprised expression. 

He was… pretty good looking. Too bad his personality completely ruined that fact. He gave you a small smile. 

“So, am I your type?”

You frowned. 

“Unfortunately, homicidal people are not my type.”

He chuckled before pulling his mask and goggles back into place. 

“I’m more of a sadist, actually,” he told you. “You know, you were much more open to me killing people in my world. I guess this version of you is more…soft.”

“I don’t know the me from your world,” you stated. “I would never approve of killing.”

“Hm…”

He landed in front of the small store, before setting you down. You noticed the store was dimly lit inside, and you tried the door. 

“It’s closed,” you murmured.

His hand then burst through the front window, shattering it into pieces. 

“Not anymore.”

The thought of breaking and entering didn’t sit well with you, but you needed clothes. You made your way inside, him standing right behind you. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about-

“Can I…help you?”

A new voice made you freeze in place. A worker was looking directly at the two of you, clothes in hand. She seemed to have been restocking.

“I’ll pay for the window! And the clothes!” You exclaimed, your tone panicked. “We won’t hurt you, I promise!”

“Speak for yourself…” He murmured, just loud enough for the worker to hear. She froze at his words, before responding. 

“You triggered a silent alarm when you broke the glass. The police are on their way.”

“I see.” In an instant he was now standing behind the worker, resting a hand on her shoulder. He calmly spoke to you. “Y/n… Would you like me to kill this person?”

“No,” you hissed. “Let’s just get the clothes and leave.”

“That option is boring,” he stated. “How about this? Either I kill this worker right now. Or… I kill whoever shows up to the alarm.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“Of course if you pick the second option then we’ll have to wait,” he mused.

“I won’t let you do that!” You exclaimed.

“You know you can't stop me.”

“Then… t-then I won’t choose!”

“That’s fine… I’ll just kill her. And whoever shows up.”

His hand gripped the worker's shoulder much more tightly as she yelled out in pain.

“Stop!!” you pleaded. He smiled at you, before loosening his grip.

“Make your decision, sweetheart.”

Your heart was once again racing. As your eyes shifted over to the worker, she spoke to you, the look of pure desperation in her eyes.

“Please... I have a family…”

The wailing sirens were now outside the small building. As two officers entered the store, you shut your eyes, his words ringing in your head.

~

You exited the building, clothes in hand, and a thousand yard stare on your face. He casually flicked the blood off his right hand as he spoke. 

“Well, that was fun,” he said. His now clean hand then rested on the top of your head, before he leaned in, kissing the area gently. “Look on the bright side… At least you didn’t have to pay for the clothes.” 

Sinister Mark

“Oh stop acting like a child. I only broke your arm.”

His words were humiliating. 

You attempted to catch your breath, your back against the cold ground. He was sitting on top of you, casually continuing the one-sided conversation. 

“Though I’ll admit, you were tougher than I expected,” he said.  

As he pulled himself off you, you internally calmed, thankful that this nightmare was over. You then dragged yourself up into a sitting position, clutching your broken arm. When you noticed that he was smiling at your misfortune, you gritted your teeth. 

“What’s the matter?” The words had left your mouth before you could even stop yourself. “Too afraid to kill me?”

The smile immediately left his face. In an instant he was once again over you, his hand harshly gripping your throat. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “I let you live because you’re the only thing that’s intriguing on this planet.”

You could barely speak now, your throat burning as you gasped for air. He was not letting up. You clawed at his glove with your one good arm. He watched your expression for a bit, before releasing his hold on you. As you choked for air, he frowned, your words ringing in his head. 

Why couldn’t he just kill you? 

He wanted to bash your head in. It wouldn’t be difficult. But something in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him. 

“…”

He then crouched down, one of his gloved hands resting on your good arm. You froze in place at the sudden contact. 

“Stop being difficult,” he told you. “You know you can't beat me.”

He then pulled you up. Your eyes remained focused on the ground as you gritted your teeth. He was right, it was hopeless. 

“I know that,” you murmured. "But I can’t… I can’t let you do what you want.” 

He grew silent. This was all a game to him. But to you it was… something else.

Your eyes widened when you felt his gloved hand rest gently against your face. And your heartbeat sped as he wiped away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. A mix of surprise and confusion was on your face, your eyes still trained on the ground. 

“You shouldn’t be so quick to throw your life away,” he warned you. One of his fingers tilted your head up, and he looked you over. You frowned. 

“Why… aren’t you killing me?” You asked him. He leaned in, whispering in your ear. 

“Do you want me to?” 

You looked away, considering his words. As you did that he grabbed your broken arm and harshly shifted it, causing you to scream out at the sudden pain. He then immediately let go, and you clutched your arm, a throbbing pain now aching the area. 

“Well would you look at that? You can scream,” he said. “I’ve never put a limb back in place, but I’m sure you’ll figure out the rest.”

Your eyes just looked at him, before you realized what he meant. 

You had feeling in your arm again. He had put it back in place. You were completely silent now, unable to process what was happening. 

“Be sure to keep me more entertained the next time we meet,” He said. As he leaned in, you froze, before you felt his lips brush against your forehead. “I intend to make you scream more. One way or another.”

“Fuck you,” you said. 

He smiled this time, not bothering to respond. He then took off straight up into the sky, before pausing for a split second, and shooting off to the right. Once he had left your field of vision you collapsed to the ground, clutching your arm. 

You couldn’t believe you had survived that. 

Your eyes then searched the ground below, looking for something you had lost during the battle. After some time you found your earpiece, and you hastily put it back into your ear.

“Please pick up, please…” you whispered. “Cecil? Cecil!?”

“Y/n?” His voice, and the slight static, caused you to sigh in relief. “Are you alright?” 

“I encountered one of the Invincible variants. I… couldn’t beat him.” Tears spilled down your cheek now, but you maintained a calm tone as you clutched your arm.

“Jesus, Y/n. You’re alive, that’s all that matters,” Cecil said to you. “Should I send help?”

“No,” you quickly replied. “I don’t know if he’s still in the area. I’d rather be the only casualty if he is.”

“Are you injured?”

“It’s nothing too serious,” you lied. “I just need some time to recover. Don’t send anyone.”

“...Alright kid, take as much time as you need.”

The line went dead, and you pulled the earpiece out your ear before forcing yourself to stand. 

“Next time…” You whispered, wiping away your tears. “I’ll be ready next time.”

~

Posting this on April 1st is wild lol. This took longer than usual to write, but I liked how all the stories turned out.

I only intended for this to have two parts. So I have no idea what I am going to write after this.

[juno-verse]

Explore Me

Summary: Even in your sleep, you tempt her.

Dom!Emily, Mommy!Emily, CNC (Somnophilia), Toys, Edging

A/N: Oops, this was a bit later than I planned. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it. This was kinda rushed, sorry! Let me know if there are mistakes.

Men and minors, please stay away.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It was a cold and dark early morning when Emily finally found her way home. In the unsure hours of dawn, the unit chief immediately made her way to the bedroom, ready to pass out with you in her arms after days of hard work and a grueling case. 

Being the unit chief, Emily was grateful for your endless patience regarding her work. You were understanding whenever she came home at 3 AM, her side of the bed cold and your body comfortable next to hers. And when she did get home on time, you were right there with a warm meal and a sweet kiss. 

Tonight, however, she made a change of plans. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to close her eyes and rest just yet. Not when she has to savor this view right in front of her. 

Because there you were, deep asleep on her bed, wearing only her BAU hoodie with your underwear peeking out. Emily swears you were carved straight from her deepest and darkest desires, that even in your unconsciousness you tempt her.

Your legs seemed to go on for miles, trails she planned to explore. Your face was angelic, serene, and beautiful—quite the opposite of what was going on through Emily’s racing thoughts.

The unit chief was glad she had a break from work tomorrow. Emily plans to use this time carefully—she was going to use it all on you. 

There was a point in time when she despised herself for wanting such unusual things. Emily felt like a depraved woman for wanting to see you on your knees for her, for enjoying it when you show even the slightest amount of submission, and most especially, for craving to take you no matter the time of day—she wanted to take you even in your sleep. 

With the nature of her job, Emily felt like a monster for simply desiring you this much. 

But after sensing her hesitation to do anything remotely intimate with you—to the point that it was affecting her ability to be around you—you had to sit her down. 

The two of you had a long and intense conversation about sex, consent, safewords, and everything else that made sure both of you were comfortable and safe with each other. It helped Emily understand that you wanted her just as much—it reassured her immensely that you trusted her with your heart and body. Even with this one little thing she was about to do. 

And as soon as that conversation ended, it was a long night of newfound passion and discoveries with each other. 

So seeing you like this… Oh, her mind was listing down all the things she wanted to do to you.

Emily took a tentative step but the floorboards decided to creak loudly beneath her weight. The unit chief thought she had to fix that as soon as she saw that you stirred awake and took a slow peek at her.

“Is that you, Em?” You hummed sleepily before closing your eyes again when you saw it was just your girlfriend. 

“Yes, sweet girl. Go back to sleep. I’ll be with you in a bit.” Emily answered with a strained voice as you shuffled around and ended up with your body facing her. A visible gulp made its way down her throat as the hoodie rode up your thigh.

Emily swears you were doing this on purpose. But as you smiled sleepily up at her, her heart warmed at the sight. You mumbled your agreement which sounded like a cute little “Welcome home,” and then went right back to sleep, ever so comfortable in her presence.

She only made her move once your breaths evened out and you were sound asleep once again. 

Sitting by your legs, Emily started to drag her finger up and down your bare thighs. She enjoyed the small goosebumps that crawled throughout your skin and the tiny whimper that escaped you, “Hmm… Em…”

Emily caved right there and then, just a taste, she swore it to herself. 

She maneuvered you gently and placed herself between your thighs. The pretty underwear teased Emily endlessly, urging her to remove them. And so she pulled them down with bated breath, your underwear pooling down by your ankles. 

Emily’s hands explored the expanse of your figure, her palms eager to grasp what skin it could reach for. Your frame felt exquisite in her hand, every crevice of your body sculpted by the gods. Your curves were her favorite thing about you, right next to your smile, your face, your everything.

You were so pliable in her hands whether you were awake or not, you were her submissive gorgeous girl. Emily started on your soft stomach, her kisses were open-mouthed and warm. She tasted a hint of your bath soap on your skin and felt you inhale sharply before relaxing back on the bed.

Her tongue then trailed downwards leaving a wet trail on your lower stomach down to your pelvis, you moaned softly in your sleep and tried to swat at the movement on your lower half. Emily only grabbed your wrist and held it down by your hips. 

At the first swipe of her tongue on your inner thigh, you whimpered her name softly. 

“I wonder what’s going on in that mind of yours, sweetie,” Emily smiled and continued to pepper kisses closer and closer to where your body was aching for it.

“I wonder if your dreams are as wild as this,” she whispered and licked a line from your clit down to your entrance which earned her a loud whine from you. You tasted like heaven on her tongue and the raven-haired woman swears she can stay here for hours if you’d let her.

Emily started to put more effort into her licks, eating you out the way she always does. You were writhing in your sleep—because deep in your slumber, your dreams were not much different than what was happening in real life.

The line between slumber and the real world started to blur when you felt the familiar roll of Emily’s tongue on your pussy. Your body no longer knew whether you were getting wet because of your dreams or because there was a certain someone between your thighs. In your dreams, Emily had her tongue deep in your pussy and her thumb playing around with your clit. She ate you out messily as if she was a woman starved to death. 

“Taste so fucking good…” Emily said against your wetness, mainly to herself, but also because she knew that the vibrations drove you wild. She has explored every nook and cranny of your flesh and bones to the point that she has it all memorized like the back of her hand. But up until now, she continues to be awed by your figure. 

At the feel of the vibrations, you felt your insides clench around nothing and your stomach tighten. You started to move more in your sleep, your hips rolling against Emily’s tongue. And for now, she lets you because she knows you, you weren’t quite there yet. You weren’t that desperate mess she needed you to be yet.

So she sucked on your clit, just the way you liked it, and pushed two fingers into you with no preparation. Your eyes started to move frantically behind your eyelids, searching for the source of your pleasure. Emily began to curl her fingers toward the roof of your insides and felt you clench in response. She groaned against your pussy, her fingers wrapped around your delicious heat.

Some nights, Emily finds herself wondering what being inside you would feel like, how tight and warm and good you would be around a cock. But this is enough to sate her, feeling your pussy grip onto her fingers as if refusing to let them out. 

“Em, please…” You whimpered in your sleep, getting closer to your orgasm, and Emily smiled wickedly at the sound. Her chest puffed up in pride, knowing that even in your dirtiest of dreams, you were still hers. This is how she liked you, begging and desperate, hers. 

When whines continued to spill out of your mouth and your hole started to pulse rapidly around her fingers, Emily halted all of her movements. You cried out in your sleep when she stopped, your body not understanding the abrupt stop to the pleasure.

Pulling out of you, a long whimper spilled out of your mouth. Giving your clit a last lick, Emily smiled at the way it twitched in response, pleading with her to come back. Even with no words, you still knew how to beg for her. 

“You did such a good job, baby.” Emily kissed your stomach and pulled up your panties before leaving the bed to clean up and start her bedroom routine.

And on the bed, you were still breathing heavily with legs still twitching every few seconds.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆⋆⋅☼⋅⋆⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

So when you came to the next morning with wobbly legs and wet underwear, you woke up confused and horny. The dream you had last night turned into a distant memory despite feeling all hot and bothered.

Turning to the woman beside you, Emily had an arm wrapped around your lower stomach, and her face pressed against the same pillow as yours. You smiled up at her and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She sleepily looked for the warmth of your hand in her sleep so you kissed her cheek softly.

Emily looked gorgeous in this morning light, her pale skin gleaming and her lips a light shade of red.

Being this close to her, reminded you of the dull ache between your thighs. You sighed heavily as you weighed your options: you can either take a cold cold shower now and ready yourself for the weekend so you can let your girlfriend sleep, or wake Emily up so she can help you out with your little wet problem.

As you stared at Emily, sound asleep and breathing deeply, you opted to let her rest. After all, you knew how hard she worked these past few days. Making a move to stand up, her grip only tightened on you—as it turns out, Emily decided for you. 

“Stay with me,” she mumbled in her sleep and you didn’t have the heart to say no.

Her hand started to travel up and under your hoodie, her hand settling on your bare waist. Her touch felt cold against your warm skin and you shivered against her. Having her hands on you in such an intimate way was turning you on even more. Even in her sleep, Emily still affects you.

You stayed still for a few moments, trying to calm your beating heart and cool down the heat spreading throughout your body. But when Emily started to trace patterns on your skin, unconsciously and enticingly, the heat turned fervid. The pleasure you were feeling last night carried into this slow morning. You had no way of stopping yourself when she felt this amazing already.

You groaned and sat up to straddle the woman, your center pressing down on her toned stomach. The pressure against your clit made you feel relieved. You started to ride the hard muscles on her stomach, every movement sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach.

You bent down to leave kisses on her jaw softly as you tried to wake her up, “Em, please…” Your wetness seeped through your panties and left a wet trail on her stomach. You were already so close because you woke up so needy.

Emily stirred awake and was greeted with a lovely view once again. There you were on top of her riding her stomach eagerly with your hair still tousled from your sleep and her clothes on you. “Good morning, baby. Need something?” Emily husked out slowly, her voice still groggy from sleep. Her hands gripped your hips possessively, guiding your movements against her stomach. 

“Need you, please…” You whined desperately—Emily smirked, her plan had worked. “Okay, baby. Just keep moving against me.” She continued to push and pull on your hips as she flexed her stomach, hardening them to help you ride your pleasure. You moaned louder at the feel of her hard muscles, you looked down and salivated over her figure.

“I’m close, Emily—!” You cried out as you were nearing your orgasm. Emily suddenly flipped the both of you, leaving you unfinished once again. You looked up at her with tears in your eyes, mouth ready to beg, when she suddenly pushed your panties to the side and shoved two fingers in you with no warning.

The feeling felt familiar but before you could think about it even more, you found yourself being fucked roughly by Emily. Her movements were pulling moan after moan out of you. 

“Couldn’t even wait until I woke up? You’re so fucking needy for me, baby.” Emily grunted as her other hand made its way to grab the dildo hiding in your shared nightstand. “I’m sorry, mommy! I need to cum for you, please!” You whined as you held onto the sheets. Emily chuckled darkly, you only called her ‘Mommy’ when you were getting needy for her and slowly sinking deeper into subspace. 

“Already? You’re gonna cum already just for me?” She asked with a playful tone you were too fucked out to hear and comprehend. “Yes! Yes, mommy! Please!” You answered her as Emily’s fingers were sucked deeper into your pussy. 

“No.” 

It was just one word and your body instantly obeyed, trying its best to stop your oncoming orgasm. A resounding cry came from you, your eyes widening and tearing up as you stared at Emily in confusion. 

“N–No? Mommy?” Your hips slowed down from riding her fingers as Emily looked down at you smugly. “No, you can’t cum yet, angel.” Her fingers stilled inside you as she watched your tight hole pulse around her digits, similar to last night, begging her to continue. 

“O–Okay, Mommy.” You gulped and nodded, readying yourself because you wanted to be good for her. “Good job listening to Mommy,” Emily mumbled as she pulled out her fingers and replaced them with the dildo.

The toy filled your pussy all the way and you whined her name at the stretch you felt. Emily’s eyes loved the way you looked right now: your panties pulled to the side, your hands clutching the bed sheets tightly, and your eyes looking up at her with so much love and desperation. 

When you adjusted to the size, Emily started to move the cock slowly but roughly, every thrust hitting that spot inside of you. With every thrust, came a moan of her name. And within seconds you were begging her to let you cum again, having been edged thrice already but twice to your knowledge.

“Mommy, I can’t hold it! Please, can I cum?” You begged her, your hips uncontrollable and moving in time with her thrusts. “No. Not until I allow you to.” She answered and halted all her movements. Your body arched as you tried to chase her, hoping to find reprieve.

The raven-haired woman moved south of your body and placed her head between your thighs, “I can stay here and do you for hours. So you will wait, like a good girl, until mommy allows you to cum. Okay, baby?”

It wasn’t like you had any other choice but to say yes, “Okay, mommy! I wanna be good.” After all, you have been aching for your orgasm since you woke up this morning.

Emily edged you two or three more times or perhaps more, you had lost count. She had used the dildo, her fingers, and her tongue on you — just to edge you mercilessly. Emily took that time to reacquaint herself again and again with your body, exploring the places she already knew and still enjoyed every reaction she got from you. Emily knows she would never tire of this, of you, and how well you take her.

By the time the dull morning light shifted into high noon, you had tears down your face, your legs were trembling nonstop, and every single touch on your clit made you cry out. 

When you could no longer form words, Emily finally took pity on you. With the dildo inside you and her tongue on your clit, you were overwhelmed with the aching need to cum that it started to hurt. But this time, Emily was more gentle with you, knowing how sensitive you were already. Her tongue was soft on your clit and the toy was gently prodding at your spot.

You started to whine at the pleasure being given to you, already fearing and anticipating the feeling of being edged again. Sensing your hesitation and pain, Emily was quick to soothe you. “Shhh… sweetie, you can cum for me now. Cum for mommy, angel.” 

Your body released the tension it had held for the past few hours, at her instruction. Your mouth dropped open, a silent expression gradually getting louder as you pushed back against Emily. 

“Yes, Mommy, I’m gonna cum just for you!”

Loud moans fell from your lips, her name the only thing you remember as you orgasmed in Emily’s mouth and around her cock. You were blinded for a few seconds, a ringing so profound in your ears that you had no idea how loud you were getting.

“That’s my sweet girl, keep cumming for mommy.”

“You taste so fucking good all the time.”

All throughout, Emily just watched you in awe and reveled in the way you taste. The raven-haired woman swears you taste sweeter every time she edges you. She helped you through your orgasm, knowing how tiring it must’ve been to be edged for hours and have such a strong orgasm.

Emily pressed kisses to your thighs before pulling out slowly. She set the toy aside and gathered you back into her arms. The unit chief whispered praises in your ears, about how good you were for her and how well you took her. You were shaking in her arms, all your limbs felt heavy and limp. Her body served as a way to ground you back down to reality as she continued to take care of you and ease you out of your subspace.

“You did so well, sweetheart. I’ll get you some water and fruits in a bit, okay?” She pressed a kiss to your forehead as she searched for a towel in the bedside drawer to clean you up between your legs. “Was that okay? Was it too much?” Emily asked as she looked at your curled-up form tucked beneath her chin, still worried about you and how it could affect you. “It was perfect, Em. You were perfect.” You kissed her jaw with a soft smile, reassuring her worries.

When you asked her if she did anything to you last night, Emily just shrugged and said she had no idea what you were talking about. But when you answered that she should do it again and use you whenever she wants, who was she to say no to your offer?

[gilbertscurls]

trading places — matt sturniolo

summary: matt gets tired during a roadtrip.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything. You sat in the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath yourself, idly scrolling through your playlist. Nick and Chris were in the back, laughing about something, as they always did, their voices blending with the music playing softly in the background. The car hummed along, its gentle rhythm almost lulling you to sleep.

But then, you glanced over at Matt.

His eyes were focused on the road, but they seemed heavy, the dark circles under them more prominent now in the fading light. Every so often, his hand would flex on the steering wheel, his grip tightening, trying to stay alert.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging his arm. “You good?”

Matt gave you a quick smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, but we’re almost there.”

You weren’t convinced. You could see the fatigue in the way his shoulders slumped, how his blinks lasted just a little too long. The trip had been fun so far—hours of laughter and road trip banter with his brothers—but it was clear Matt had taken on more than his share by driving the whole way.

“You look exhausted,” you pointed out, your tone gentle but firm. “How about I take over for a bit?”

Nick and Chris paused their conversation at that, both looking toward the front.

Nick chimed in, half-joking, “You offering to drive? Because, uh, I’d love to see that.”

You rolled your eyes but kept your attention on Matt. “Yes, I’m offering. You guys can’t drive,” you added, turning back to shoot a look at Nick and Chris, “since none of you bothered to get your licenses.”

Chris grinned. “Hey, we just like being chauffeured around by Matt.”

“Yeah, real helpful,” Matt muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel again. You could see the strain in him now, the long hours of being behind the wheel wearing him down.

“Matt, pull over,” you insisted, your voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “You’re too tired. I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

For a moment, Matt hesitated. He wasn’t one to give up control easily, and you knew that. But his eyes flicked over to yours, catching the concern written all over your face, and something in him relented.

“Alright,” he sighed, signaling to pull off at the nearest rest stop. “But if anything happens to my car—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to your car,” you interrupted, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’ve got this.”

Once you swapped places, Matt moved to the passenger seat, reclining the seat almost immediately. You glanced over at him as you adjusted the mirrors, seeing the way his eyes were already half-closed. He was barely holding on.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice low and sleepy. “I owe you one.”

“Just rest,” you said, your heart softening at how drained he looked. “You’ve earned it.”

Matt closed his eyes, and within moments, he was out cold. You smiled to yourself, turning your attention back to the road. From the backseat, Nick and Chris had resumed their banter, but their words faded into the background as you focused on driving. The car felt different with you at the wheel, but in a good way—you were in control now, and Matt could finally rest.

As the miles passed, the sky darkened, stars dotting the horizon. Every so often, you would glance over at Matt, peaceful in his sleep. It was moments like this that reminded you how much he took on for his brothers, always the one to shoulder the responsibility, even when it wore him down.

And, you realized with a quiet smile, you didn’t mind stepping up for him when he needed it most.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry

[slttygeto]

Oh no, it's Ghostface! HANMA S.

Synopsis: When you ask your boyfriend what he wants for his birthday, he tells you that it's a secret. How is it his birthday but you're the one getting surprised? You don't question his intentions and proceed with your day at work. Little did you know the kind of tricks Hanma had up his sleeve.

word count: 3,7k

pairing: hanma x fem! reader

content warning: dark content, slightly cnc (read at your own risk), slight breath play, gvn k!nk, fear play, rough oral sex (m! receiving), lots of drool, a bit of mindbreak?

The sound of heels clicking on the floor fills the hallway as you approach your apartment door. It had been a long, exhausting day, yet a smile still manages to find its way onto your face as you remember the date. October has never been your favorite month, you can’t exactly pinpoint the reason why but you’re always filled with sadness as the colder season approaches. 

Probably seasonal depression, who knows?

Inserting the key, you push the door open nothing but darkness greets you. It’s rare for the apartment to be engulfed in such suffocating gloom, especially knowing that your boyfriend preferred a dimly lit space. Still, you brush it off, proceeding to remove your knee high boots and place them on the shoe rack.

“Shuji?” you call out for your boyfriend, eyes trying to make out any details but it’s difficult. So you reach for the switch and flip it. Still nothing.

Did the power go out? 

It’s a pretty expensive apartment complex, you highly doubt that the power goes out and Hanma does nothing about it. So you try again, and again and–still nothing but darkness. 

“Shuuu,” you drag the first syllable of his name on your tongue, grabbing your phone to turn on the flashlight. Since it was his birthday, you had half expected him to stay home, but then again he was Kisaki’s right hand and it wasn’t rare for him to receive phone calls from the shorter man asking him to take care of something for him.

However, your body feels a little tense. Your shared apartment with your boyfriend was rather spacious, and there were many spots you disliked walking by during the night because of how hidden they were. You proceed down the hallway with your phone’s flashlight illuminating the path in front of you, sighing deeply when you notice that all of the rooms’ doors were closed and none of the curtains had been opened all day. 

You’re about to point your flashlight towards your bedroom door when you hear something to your left and freeze.

No way. There was no way for it to be Hanma. His shoes were gone, so were his car keys–but this area had a lot of security and no one would be able to walk in unless they had special access to the main lobby. There were no signs of forced entry and every single window was closed–your brain is running a thousand miles a second, and you’re too busy trying to make sense of the noise that you had just heard to react fast. Before you could point your flashlight properly towards that one corner, you swipe your thumb across your screen and click on ‘contacts’.

Suddenly, you’re pinned to the wall with such force that it knocks the wind out of your chest and a gloved hand covers your mouth in an attempt to muffle the scream that rips out of you. You’re dizzy–you’re breathing fast and trying to make sense of what’s happening around you. With teary eyes, you look up and your heart drops in your stomach. A shiny, terrifying ghostface mask is right in front of you and whoever’s wearing it is breathing hard. They notice your trembling lip, the tears coating your lash line and tilt their head to the side. 

Trembling, you think they haven’t noticed the phone in your hand despite the flashlight being the only source of light. Your thumb messily swipes across the screen and finds Shuji’s contact at the top of the list. Press call. 

The sound of a familiar ring tone fills the apartment, your eyebrows furrow in both confusion and fear. Was he here? Maybe he was hurt and needed your help and–

But the longer the phone rang, the deeper it sank that the sound was way close to you. Way too close. 

Your breath hitches as you watch the tall masked man reach into his left pocket. A gloved hand grabs the familiar phone and your name appears on the screen. Before picking up the phone, he pushes your hand up until you’re forced to press the device to your ear and you watch as he mirrors your actions.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” The unmistakable, chilling voice sends shivers down your spine. You recognize the unsettling calmness to it and all your body can do is melt against the wall as your knees buckle. But the tall man isn’t having any of it, and he pins you even harder against the wall. His gloved hand goes from your mouth down to your neck, and the grip is all too familiar that you can’t help but let out a strangled moan. 

Despite the fear gripping your bones, you part your quivering lips to reply.

“Why… Do you want to ask me out on a date?” Your voice comes out small and unsteady, and you sniffle, desperately blinking back tears. A low chuckle escapes the man’s lips as he feels your harsh swallow beneath the grip of his hand.

“Maybe… Do you have a boyfriend?” 

Before you could even manage a reply, you feel him push his knee between your thighs and a loud gasp escapes your lips. “I–”

“Do you?” The emphasis in his voice combined with his knee rubbing against your clothed pussy leaves you breathless. You can’t give a proper reply, not with your head tipped back in pleasure and your hips bucking up when he grazes your aching clit. Sensing that you were enjoying yourself, your boyfriend pulls away his knee and you’re immediately whining at the loss. 

“Shuji–” you can’t see his face or what kind of expression is behind the mask, but you would hope that your desperation moves something in him. However, you forget that your boyfriend is a ruthless criminal, someone with years of expertise in physical and psychological torture. And he makes sure to put it to good use. 

A pained moan escapes you when you’re being roughly pushed off the wall, only for your chest and cheek to get pinned to the cold, hard surface. Your phone falls to the ground and Hanma grabs both of your wrists, pinning them behind your back. You feel powerless as he pushes up the brown leather skirt you were wearing, hissing when he sees that you were wearing the smallest pair of underwear beneath. 

“Did ya prepare for this, doll? Knew I was gonna fuck ya senseless the moment you walked in–” he momentarily breaks character, forgetting the role he’s supposed to be playing and you feel your heart and pussy swell. Being able to distract a man like Hanma was something you took pride in. You instinctively push back against him, brushing your ass against his crotch and hear yet another loud hiss from the man.

“Fucking slut.” The plastic part of the mask feels chilling and unsettlingly hard against your ear as filth spews out of his mouth. Muffled and low, the sound of his voice alone is enough to have your mind reeling at all the things he will say.

“Answer me.” You don’t expect something hard to press against your clothed pussy so soon, your jaw drops at the cold feeling as you struggle to get away from it.

“Shuji!” you cry out for the man, but to no avail.

“Shuji,” he says in a mocking tone, pressing the item harder against your pussy as he grabs your wrists in place. “How fucking pathetic, you’ve already gone dumb just from something rubbing against your pussy?” His voice drips with dark amusement. Hanma knows how to have fun with you, sex with him is never boring simply because the way that his brain works was fascinating–but you had always wondered if you could get a glimpse of a darker side of him. 

However, up until today, he always rejected the idea. Primarily due to the fact that you were his girlfriend, someone whom he cherished with all of his cold and sheltered heart and a person whom he liked to keep away from his business. To the world, he is Hanma–a ruthless killer with a criminal background that could paralyze anyone with fear but to you, he was Shuji. Your sweet, loving boyfriend. 

Your loving boyfriend who always fucked you when he came back from a mission with blood painting his face, your sweet and doting boyfriend who let you ride his face because you found him so hot when there were a few cuts and bruises there. You suggest that he integrates his dangerous side during sex and he refuses, but the idea lingers at the forefront of his mind the longer he remembers the pout sitting on your lips and how eager you seemed with everything. 

So, the first step was to buy a ghostface mask. 

And the second was to fuck you while he wears it. 

“Yes,” you answer, barely catching your breath. “I-I prepared.”

“Oh yeah?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “You wanted me to fuck you?”

“It’s y-your birthday,” your breath hitches when the cold material presses harder against your clit, and Hanma watches as you subconsciously move back and forth against it with a wide grin. 

“Fucking hell, look at you. Do you know what you’re fucking yourself on, slut?”

You whimper, a sign of confusion and Hanma offers an amused chuckle before pressing the mask against your ear.

“My gun.” 

He sees your eyes widening and laughs loudly when you don’t pull away or flinch. Instead, you move your hips back and forth–slow and sloppy, face burning with shame. This had been a fantasy of yours–you’re starting to believe that Hanma has wanted to do this just as much as you did. 

“Didn’t know you wanted it this bad,” he’s obviously caught off guard by how needy you are, but it doesn’t stop him from pressing harder and nudging your clit in ways that have your eyes roll to the back of your head. He watches as shame leaves your body and it’s replaced by pure lust as you chase your high. You’re panting, eyes screwed shut and lips parted to let out the sweetest moans. 

“Yeah just like that–” you can feel his hard on pressing against your backside, but you’re far too distracted to care. “Use my gun to get off. Good girl–my pretty slut.” 

Pleasure courses through your veins like hot lava, it blinds you momentarily and shuts down your brain as you desperately chase your orgasm. You’re certain that the sentences you were blabbering made no sense, you could hear Hanma speaking to you and could make out that he was mocking you by saying “Oh yeah?” “Oh baby, poor you.” but none of it mattered when you were so close to your release. Your thighs tremble, your voice a pitch higher and there’s drool dripping down the side of your mouth. The knot in your stomach feels hot and tightens with each desperate grind against the gun. You’re about to cum, you’re so fucking close–

A pained cry leaves your lips when Hanma pulls the gun away, heartless and cold. 

“Why?! Why–” you sob before flinching when he lets go of your wrists to spank you harshly.

“Are you fucking questioning me?” He grips your hair harshly, pulling your head back and craning your neck at an uncomfortable angle. “You don’t fucking deserve to cum.”

“But–but Shuji–” still gripping your hair, Hanma pushes you down until you’re on your knees and you instinctively turn around until you’re eye level with his crotch. Eager and blinded with lust, your hands reach for his belt and start to unbuckle it but Hanma grips your hair tighter and you gasp at the pain.

“Didn’t say you could touch it yet, did I?” Now that you were on your knees for him, Hanma could confidently say that this was the hottest sight ever. Your makeup was smudged, mascara running down your cheeks and your eyes were blown out with lust. He should’ve done it sooner. 

“Please,” you lean forward, chin resting on his hard on and your hands rest on his ass. “Please,” you drag your nose against the fabric of his pants, before pressing a gentle kiss to his clothed dick. “I can make you feel good, Mr. Ghostface.”

Hanma lets out a muffled “fuck,” before pushing your face against his dick and you take it as a sign to get to work. You make quick work of his belt and pants before pulling down his boxers and watch as his cock springs free. You don’t waste a single second before wrapping your hand around the shaft, gripping it enough to have the man’s breath hitching. His cock was a work of art, and you always found yourself enjoying oral sex with Hanma mainly because you enjoyed having his cock in your mouth. So you kiss the balls, dragging your tongue along the shaft and don’t give the man a warning before letting your mouth engulf the tip. It’s a small move, but it makes the masked man grip your hair tightly and the silence is now replaced by the much anticipated dirty talk. 

“Fuck, do I love when you use your mouth like that,” he sounds so fucked out, drowning in pleasure that you can’t help but let out a moan yourself. The vibrations send shivers down Shuji’s spine and he is quick to remind you to take the whole thing.

“Suck.” Within a few moments, there is spit and drool everywhere. Your hand strokes the parts you can’t reach, and you pull away to spit on the tip whenever you can before bobbing your head up and down on his cock. Hanma, however, is still not satisfied. 

“You’re gonna take the whole thing.” Your eyes widen at his statement, and you pull away to complain. 

“But Shuji–” your heart stops when you feel something cold press against your forehead. 

“Come on, doll.” You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and through teary lashes. “Don’t look away.” 

Your hands tremble as they settle on his thighs for support and you’re glad he doesn’t ask you to put them behind your back. Inhaling deeply, you look up at the man as you start to swallow his dick–inch after inch, the deeper he goes, the harder it is to keep your eyes open or stop yourself from gagging. And when you do and try to pull away, Hanma pushes the gun against your forehead. Finally, you manage to fit all of him down your throat and you’re proud to hear the muffled groan that leaves Hanma’s lips. You could’ve sworn that you saw his knees buckle as well, but you can’t afford to focus on anything else with his cock down your throat.

“Good fucking girl, oh fuuuuck,” he lets out a laugh when you pull away to breathe, coughing and trying to catch your breath before grabbing his cock again. “Oh yeah, someone’s desp–fuck, desperate.” you hum in response, taking him down your throat before repeating the same movement over and over again. Until Hanma’s hips buck into your face and he presses your nose against his pubic hair. You cough and gag, drool spilling down your jaw. You’re smacking his thigh, reminding him that you needed air but to no avail. He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you swear dark dots are starting to form. You were going to pass out, you can’t breathe–

It’s not until your fingers aren’t digging into the skin of his thighs that Hanma lets go of you. He watches as you fall to the ground, a hand to your chest as you try to catch your breath and messily wipe the drool on your chin. 

“Up.” He speaks, and your body responds to his command as if it were second nature. You feel dizzy, and the longer Shuji wears the mask, the more difficult it is to remember who’s behind the mask. A gloved hand grabs your jaw, pulling you close until the lips of the mask are brushing against your own. 

“Tell me,” he says lowly, his other hand traveling down to grab your ass. “How much do you want me to fuck you?” 

“So-so much,” you admit, broken. You can no longer think straight or try to mask the lust. Your body craves Hanma like the moon needs the stars, you’ve never been teased like this–so heartlessly, without being able to look into his golden eyes for comfort and a way to ground yourself. There was no reminder that it was your boyfriend, the one who gives you the softest smiles and whose eyes meet yours when you’re about to cum. Behind this mask was a different man, and you were starting to lose your grip on reality. 

The gloved hand goes from your jaw to your cheek, and you let out a small noise when you feel him wiping something. 

Tears. 

Hanma is well aware of his sick and twisted desires, but watching you cry is on another level. It makes his cock twitch and his heart beats loudly against his ribcage.

“Beg me.” 

“Please.” You ask, desperately. 

“Again.” 

“Please fuck me–please, Shuj–please.” You start to blabber, lips quivering and fat tears streaming down your face. Hanma finally breaks. 

You’re caught off guard as he throws you over his shoulder, letting out a startled squeak when he forcefully pushes the door open to your shared bedroom. He doesn’t give you time to get used to your surroundings as throws you on the bed before grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you down to the edge of the bed. It’s still dark in the apartment, and Hanma doesn’t have enough time to turn the power back on, so he reaches for the curtains and pulls them open so that the only source of light was the street lamp outside. 

He approaches the bed again, hurried and impatient to fuck you stupid. Before he can reach for your panties, your hand goes to his ghostface mask and he doesn’t have it in him to stop you from taking it off of him. 

Finally, you can see his face. He was all sweaty, flushed cheeks and a few hair strands sticking to his forehead not to mention–his pupils were blown out with lust. This was your Shuji, your boyfriend–the ghostface mask was hot, but you preferred this side of your boyfriend. You waste no time to bring him closer to you, crashing your lips against his in a messy, tongues dancing and spit swapping kiss. It’s anything but romantic, your bodies consumed with an animalistic kind of lust for one another. Instead of taking off your panties, Hanma rips them off of your body and muffles your complaining noises with his lips once again.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” Is all he says before pushing your knees open. Your pussy is glistening with arousal, all puffy and swollen from not being touched enough and Hanma leans down to spit on it and give your clit a wet kiss.

“Fuck–” your close your eyes at the feeling, suddenly growing aware of all of the layers on your body that needed to come off. But you didn’t have time for that, and neither did Hanma. So, he pushes up your turtleneck shirt and watches as your boobs spill out. Holding the fabric, your boyfriend proceeds to push your knees to your chest line up the tip of his cock with your entrance.

He lets himself in, slowly and taking in the way your jaw goes slack and how your eyes roll to the back of your head. You had been craving this, you were practically begging for his cock and watching you unravel just from him pressing inside made it nearly impossible for Hanma to hold back.

“Come here,” he leans down to kiss your lips, sloppy and wet as he starts to move his hips. His cock slides in and out of your tight pussy, leaving creamy rings at the base that has Hanma cursing under his breath. Meanwhile, your head is thrown back and you don’t seem to notice or feel anything but the way that his cock felt against your warm walls. 

“Thought of giving me the best birthday gift–fuck, you are my birthday gift,” the tall man starts to blabber, clearly lost in the pleasure and in the feeling of your tight pussy. “This pussy is the best gift I could’ve asked for–” he bites down on your bottom lip, finally getting you to whine in response. Your hands grip his shoulders when he starts to pick up his pace, eyes widening when his tip starts to press against that one spot.

“Yes right there–oh fuck, right there!”

“I got you.” your legs are thrown over his shoulder and a hand wraps around your neck as he maintains his pace, hips remaining in the same angle that has you seeing stars. It’s not until you’re cumming around his cock, crying and shaking, that Hanma can finally lose himself and fuck you hard. He fucks you until you’re crying for him to slow down, watching as the creamy ring that forms at the base is smeared all over his pubic hair and your hand is pushing at his stomach.

“I can’t–I can’t–”

“Take it,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fucking pussy is milking me dry–holy shit.” he curses as he buries his face in your neck, feeling you squeeze around him as you orgasm again. The feeling of your tight pussy along with your nails digging into his back has the man shooting his cum inside after a couple of strokes.

You both lay there in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to catch your breath and party because Hanma knows you need this skin on skin moment. This wasn’t a moment where he could wipe you down, kiss you goodnight and go to sleep–he needed to be present.

“You okay, pretty girl?”

“Hold me,” hearing the desperation in your voice, Hanma lowers your legs and brings you closer to him. He kisses your cheeks, forehead and then your nose. There are tears in your eyes still, but the eye contact with him helps ground you. The love and warmth in them remind you that it’s him, your boyfriend and not Ghostface who had fucked your face senseless. 

“Happy birthday, Shu,” you say as you grab his face and the tall man can’t help but chuckle.

“Happy birthday to me.”

2024 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

[yousavorthis]

wincest/weecest fic rec list!!

hungry til well fed // sharingflannels 25k words

"There's a shared desire between Sam and Dean that is buried deep beneath the surface. The need to consume and be consumed that goes without the other's knowledge until circumstances bring things into the light. Like any form of tension, something's gotta give sometime."

miles to go before I sleep // Trojie 7k words

"Maybe, if he'd grown up without a gun in his fucking waistband, he'd have kept it to … spanking, or something. Yeah. Sam wants to be spanked like a racecar driver wants a bicycle."

Bullet for my Valentine // merle_p 8k words

"Stupid. He is so goddamn fucking stupid. Running his mouth like a fucking idiot, not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that he just practically talked dirty to his little brother, which, Christ – he must be more stressed than he thought if his self-control mechanisms have started malfunctioning that badly. But no, no, he came up with a scenario straight out of a bad slasher film, as if that is something normal people talk dirty about, as if that is something Sam would seriously enjoy. As if – As if Dean hadn’t hunted his own brother through the maze of the bunker, eyes black and hammer raised to strike, not even a full year ago. As if Sam hadn’t, just a few weeks back, knelt at his feet, neck bared, waiting for Dean to deal a fatal blow with a fucking scythe."

Guardian Ad Litem // fraukatzen 24k words

"Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot."

(for you and me) i got no alibi // remy (iamremy) 23k words

"There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants."

turn the other // thecapn 13k words

"Dean Winchester has hit his brother before. In anger. When he deserved it. With his righteous right hand closed into a furious fist, he has distributed what he believes to be justice. It is not just his duty to keep Sam corrected, collecting penance, it is his right. This isn’t that. --- We all have our breaking points."

I will mar myself again // theknife 2k words

""Tell me you're not doing it on purpose." Dean says. There's a tremor in his voice, and he trembles, with rage and with fear and with love, above all. Sam doesn't reply. (Or: After Sam's wall breaks, he starts getting hurt on cases. A lot.)"

Hands Away // objectlesson 13k words

"When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick."

Daddy's Got You // deanbaby 4k words

"Sometimes Sam gets really needy, and the only thing that will settle him is a good, hard, deep dicking from his big brother. Luckily, Dean knows just how to take care of him. All hail Sampussy. No ages are explicitly given, I picture Sam late teens, Dean early twenties for this fic."

sink into me // poetictragedy 4k words

"Sam doesn't understand why Dean has to go out to get sex, when he’s got Sam. (Sammy's sixteen.)"

A Winter Dawn // RockSaltandCherryPie 11k words

"Sam (14) and Dean (18) enjoy winter at a cottage up north while John's on a hunt."

I ain't no lady, but you'd be the tramp // tehdirtiestsock (thatotherperv) 11k words

"a human Lady and the Tramp, with dog-like sex" AKA the original abo fic of all abo fics. yeah. *this is J2 but i thought it was worthy of being included.

Co-Sleeping // 69inthe67impala 5k words

"Sam ends up on the wrong side of a genderswap spell and Dean wants to make the most of it."

heaven is a place // candycanesandlollipops 2k words

"Sam sticks his tongue out, berry pink like the underside of something sweet and alive you’re not supposed to see, and it makes Dean think of pussy lips. Wet and slick. A pale purple circle with a smiley face stamped on it sits in the middle of all that pretty pink. Dean tilts his head up, just a little because he’s tall but his brother is taller, and licks the pill off Sam’s tongue."

7 Minutes // formalizing 4k words

"Sam was not wearing that outfit when Dean dropped him off at his friend’s Halloween party a few hours ago. If he’d been wearing that, Dean wouldn’t have let him out of the house, let alone out of the car and into a den full of horny teenagers drinking cheap beer and listening to the Backstreet Boys croon about romance."

Skirting the Issue // formalizing 2k words

""Should’a been a real nice weekend, y’know? Just the two of us—no hunt, no interruptions. Could’ve made the most of it, but you had to start up with that jealous girlfriend act of yours…" Sam hates every second he's not the sole focus of Dean's attention. Careful what you wish for."

Tap Out // formalizing 1k words

"Sam tries—really, he does. But Dean doesn't believe in pulling his punches, takes him to the ground sore and sweaty every time."

Harvest // formalizing 1k words

"He always did fall too deep in love with things that could destroy him—a fast car on an open road, cheap liquor burning all the way down, and the way his little brother says ‘please’. Sam is sweet fruit coming into season, and Dean has sticky fingers."

Fireworks // formalizing 1k words

"When Sam gets up the courage to ask his brother for kissing advice, he’s not sure what he expects–maybe a little laughter, a strange look, eventually, hopefully, some actual advice."

Pink-Pussy Dream Girl // formalizing 1k words

"Sam is first crush, first time, first love hopeless for his brother."

take everything i want you to (you're mine) // loveinourowngrave 6k words

"Feeling clean is important to Sam. Lucifer finds a way to take that away. Dean finds a way to fix it. (post Lucifer resurrecting Sam in Beat the Devil. Dean finds out, potentially in not a great way, exactly what happened between Sam and Lucifer)."

Fortunate Son // slutbee 17k words

"Dean doesn't understand why Sam is different, why he won't just do what Dad wants him to. If he did, then Dad wouldn't beat him all the time. Dean tries to help him conform, but everything changes when he finds Sam's journal, which lays out all his freaky desires."

Like Mirrors in the Distance // orphan_account 13k words

"Sam chuckled and let his chin rest against the top of her head. “It’s weird,” he said. “The kind of shit you can admit to strangers. We barely know each other, but I could never say this stuff to Dean.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. “It’s because we’re strangers, Sam. When we leave, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” “Yeah,” he said. “I dunno if that’s a comfort or a tragedy.” She rolled her eyes at him and looked back out over the town. “Both, probably,” she said."

Birds on a Wire // killabeez 14k words

"Set between "Hunted" and "Playthings." Dean's not sure when, exactly, everything started to change."

Carry Me Over the Sky // killabeez 10k words

"Follows 2x08, "Crossroad Blues." Dean's running on fumes, and Sam's the match."

The Palm Oasis // fictionallemons 12k words

"John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam. Then a creepy guy from the pool makes an offer Dean doesn’t want to take but Sam won’t allow him to refuse—and the brothers edge over a line they’ve both been wanting to cross for a long time."

everything's warm when your heart grows cold // dollylux 1k words

"Sam comes home after a night out."

sure as the stars // dollylux 4k words

"Dean knew that letting Sam walk home from school alone was a bad idea."

Cry Little Sister // dollylux 2k words

"Sam wants Dean to play with him."

Know when to walk away and know when to run // deirdre_c 4k words

"Dean challenges Sam to a game of strip poker."

Mercy for you, none for myself // deirdre_c 2k words

"Dean enters the Panic Room at exactly the wrong time."

Bright Spark into a Flame // deirdre_c 4k words

"When Sam convinces him to camp out in front of the fireplace, Dean discovers that it's not so bad."

Between You and the Devil I Stand // deirdre_c 2k words

"If Sam can't fight anymore, Dean will fight for him."

and i know that the line is thin // according2thelore 15k words

"“It’s not working,” Dean sits down on the other end of the couch heavily with a whoosh, jostling Sam. Sam almost drops his book, and protests loudly. Dean turns to look at him. “We have to be gayer.” Sam barks a laugh, startled, but Dean’s expression doesn’t change. Sam sits up, putting his book down in his lap. “Gayer?” Sam tries to process Dean’s impassive expression. “Why don’t you tell me what you think that means?” Or: In order to catch a monster killing gay couples in Iowa, Sam and Dean have to dig deep and pull out the performance of a lifetime. Or...y'know. Not that deep. Written for WincestWednesdays July 2024 Event, Week One: "Performance"!"

Like the Real Thing // cianfrie 3k words

"With Dean, it’s always like this. A thousand years of waiting, then one minute to ruin everything. So Sam saves him the trouble. He looks straight ahead and murmurs, “Brady and I were together.” For a second, Dean’s foot lifts off the gas, and the car drifts slightly toward the center line. His arms go rigid, and the engine growls beneath them as he presses the pedal down again. He licks his lips slowly, then nods. “Okay,” he mutters, voice controlled and smooth."

Sams eyes were closed // Boys_just_wanna 1k words

"Two teenage brothers sharing a bed. What could go wrong?"

Matryoshka dolls // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 24k words

"The guy who dropped Dean off in the morning was in his late fifties, a mop of curly black hair and a boxy canvas jacket. Sam followed Dean through the motel room as he kicked off his boots and shucked his jacket. “Since… Dad. You’ve been—” “What, Sam? Since when do you give a shit about this stuff? I don’t go around holding up scorecards for all the chicks you’re not banging, you fuckin’ monk, you’d think the least you could do is—” “He looked like him, dude.”"

A shitty, earnest play starring someone else // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 25k words

"Sam could see himself letting his carefully-cultivated life go totally off the rails at Dean's sudden appearance: skip lectures, bail on friends, hole up with him in his stuffy little dorm room and fuck each other's brains out like they were in the pay-by-the-hour motels of their youth, waste his hard-earned money on greasy takeout and hunt some motherfucking ghosts, all while being hopelessly, unapologetically in love, the way he was before he had anything else to think about."

Acid // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 15k words

"Sam said, "You know I wish you just wanted to fuck me? That would be easy, they've got words for that kind of messed up." That just made Dean's pits sweat. He felt like Wile E. Coyote running into a tunnel painted onto a mountain face, little birds circling around his head. "Uh." "What do you know about Jeffrey Dahmer?" He'd been having a good day."

Yesterday, minnesota // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 29k words

"Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope."

I have to live here // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 30k words

"“Have you been doing laundry? Where are all my boxers?” Dean kept walking right into this stuff. Sam weighed his options and spoke carefully. “Half your boxers are in the second drawer of my dresser. You didn’t like going to get clean underwear, in the morning, so you made me clear out a drawer for you.” He paused. “I’ve got a drawer in your room, too.” Dean looked physically pained. “That… can’t be true.” Sam sighed and went back to his book. “I know you don’t remember, but we had a lot of sex. You’re gonna have to trust me.”"

Worthless cartography // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 15k words

"Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)"

Snooping and breaking things // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 18k words

"Dean kept looking at his ring on Sam’s finger, which was also his finger. To see the ring anywhere but his own hand seemed wrong, and seeing it on Sam’s hand specifically was… intimate. He couldn’t think of another word for it. Not more intimate than inhabiting Sam’s body, but it was close."

salt skin // Trojie 7k words

"It's about permission. Or it's about pain. Or it's about something else entirely, Dean doesn't fucking know. All he knows is, he doesn't have enough trust left in him to just leave any part of Sam in Cas's care."

snuff // chinablue 4k words

"There's nothing good on TV, and Sam's contemplating killing his father again."

Under Sufferance // veronamay 4k words

"From this prompt on blindfold_spn: Sam/Dean, touch-starvation. Besides other things, Lucifer touch-starves Sam in Hell as punishment (Sam did fall in the Pit with his entire body and all...). Once out, Sam cannot bring himself to ask Dean despite how badly he needs it. Dean needs to realize what Sam's problem is, and how to get himself to help, since constant touching doesn't exactly come naturally to him. Set between seasons 5 and 6."

[chleem]

Not a big deal pt3

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work

♡⸝⸝ bit long but enjoy! | p2 | index | p4

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

4 years later

“Drew, Drew Starkey.”

The waiter checks his name off the list, and gestures inside, “follow me then, Mr Starkey.”

Drew follows the waiter in, looking around the place. Hawks rented the entire restaurant for the night, just like every year, to celebrate the new season. It's his third season with Hawks, so he knew the procedures well enough now. 

Tonight will just be free food, bonding with teammates, etc. Could you say he was looking forward to it? No. He would much rather stay home, especially this year. 

Why especially this year? Because of his new teammate, Luke. 

It wasn’t hatred or anything; in fact, they had amazing chemistry on the court. Communicating through nods or glances, as if they’ve known each other for forever. Really, the coach was shocked at how good they did during preseason; he’s now convinced there’s a chance of winning. 

Luke seems to have matured, anger issues not the same as before and actually willing to listen to advice. He was friendly towards Drew, and overall, did not look so bothered about losing the championship during college anymore. 

It was Drew who felt uncomfortable around him. Why? Well, he fucked his virgin sister, who was 18 at the time. Worse, whenever Drew stares at Luke for too long, he sees your face. Your eyes, nose, lips, everything. 

“Nice suit, man,” one of Drew’s teammates and best friend, Jay, compliments him, as the two approach each other first. Every year it was required to wear formal for this occasion, since high executives would be here to celebrate too. Drew, has worn the same black suit for the third time now. 

“Yeah, same with you,” Drew smiles, the two of them engaging in a small hug. “Um, are we seated together?”

“Yeah, over there,” Jay points over to a table near the window. Each table had a maximum of six people, and already two of their teammates were there. “Man, we should some drinks first.”

“No need to remind me,” Drew replies, as the two of them head to the bar area. The goal is to get drunk enough so that the executive's’ speeches would sound interesting, but sober enough to make basic human interactions.

“So, you came alone this year too?” Jay asks, ordering a whiskey, which Drew also signals for. 

Drew smiles sourly, his friend reminding him about his single status again. Plenty of hookups throughout the years, but never a proper girlfriend due to his busy schedule. “Y’know me. Too busy for that shit.”

Jay nods, as the whiskeys are presented in front of them. Drew immediately downs his, while Jay just takes a small sip. “Well, I’m seeing someone, if you’re wondering.”

“No shit,” Drew laughs, thinking his friend is kidding. Jay smiles down at his drink, probably thinking about the girl. Oh. He really is seeing someone. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Her name’s Phoebe.”

“…and?”

“Yeah. That’s all I’m telling you.”

Drew shakes his head, ordering another whiskey. So much for being friends. “She has a sister, by the way,” Jay speaks up. Oh. Drew knew where this was going. “She might be the perfect one for you.”

Jay’s setting him up. Again. His friend has failed every single time, and it seems like he wasn’t gonna give up. “Hey man,” Drew pats Jay’s shoulder, pursing his lips. “Just quit, okay? I don’t date. Y’know that.”

“When’s the last time you’ve dated then? Have you ever even had a girlfriend?”

Drew frowns, taking his hand off his friend. “Just, no. Please.”

Drew hears a sigh from beside him, and when his second whiskey arrives, he sips on it slowly. “Fine. I just think, that you would be very happy in a relationship.”

Drew smiles against his cup, finding that statement ridiculous. Society was weird, thinking that if one stays single for too long, it meant that they were…depressed in some way. It was tiring. 

“Hey, Luke’s here,” Jay suddenly comments. Drew turns around, scanning the place for Luke. 

Sure enough, there he was. 

And fucking hell.  

His eyes land on you, standing beside Luke. 

Was it even you? He wasn’t so sure. From far away, it did look like you. 

“We should go greet him,” Jay elbows Drew. 

Drew did not want to greet him. He is very comfortable here, right next to the bar. 

But Jay urges him, leaving him no choice but to walk over. And until Drew was standing directly in front of Luke, was he sure that it was you. 

Fuck. 

Four years later, and Drew’s body still has reaction towards seeing you. It brings him back to the first night he laid eyes on you, thinking how innocent & pretty you looked in a crowd of drunk and chaotic college students. 

You look…amazing. Drew was pretty sure his eyes were widened to the maximum point right now, his brain trying to process the sight of you. Especially, the red dress you were wearing, that's making his imaginations run wild. 

No. He must be dreaming right now. After four years, he sees you again? No, this shit only happens in movies, red-string type shit. Was he getting drunk already?

“Um, Drew, you okay?”

Drew quickly averts his gaze back to Luke, his grip on his glass cup tightening. “Yeah, yeah, um, who’s this?” Does he sound cool right now? Because he wasn’t so sure if he was playing his usual chill self. 

Luke wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Meet my sister. Y/n. Y/n, this is Drew and Jay. My teammates.”

Shit. So it is you. The girl that Drew can’t seem to forget, the girl that haunts his wildest fantasies for four years now. 

When Drew makes eye contact with you, he expects you to have some sort of reaction. But you don’t. In fact, you just quickly glanced at him, a polite smile on your lips. Do you even remember him? “Nice to meet you,” your voice causes Drew to freeze yet again, his mind going back to that night. Your moans, your laugh, your-

“Dude,” Jay elbows Drew yet again. “Aren’t you going to shake her hand?”

It seems like you already shook Jay’s hand, and it's Drew’s turn now. 

He licks his lips embarrassingly, and he shakes your hand. Yep. No doubt it was you. He remembers clearly about the way you scratched his back that night, the tug of your hands in his hair, and your fingertips on his abs-

“Um, kind of need my hand back,” your voice cuts him out of his thoughts. 

Oh. He was still holding your hand. He retreats it reluctantly, feeling his ears heat up. Gosh, why is he so flustered right now? He feels the stares of Luke, or more, like glares. “So…where are we seated?” Luke asks. 

“Near the window.”

“Great. Um, we’re not late, are we?”

“No one really cares.”

Luke and Jay continue to engage in small talk, whereas Drew just gives up on listening. Not just give up, he literally was unable to engage in anything right now. It feels like he's in a dream.

He can’t tear his eyes away from you, absolutely captivated by you. By this matured, attractive presence you gave off. You were just standing there, trying to appear interested in this small talk. 

And a question he kept repeating in his head was: do you remember him, like how he remembers you? Do you still think about him from time to time, like he does about you?

You definitely can feel Drew’s stare, his stare making you feel as if you were under a microscope right now. You turn and meet his eyes, and he panics, yet again. 

Your eyes tell nothing, of whether or not you remember him. And the small smile you give him confirms it; you forgot about who he was. Fuck. Now Drew felt like the biggest fool to exist. 

“If everyone could get back to their seats! The food will arrive shortly,” the host announces through a loud microphone. 

“Let’s go then, I’m starving,” Luke squeezes your shoulders, to get you moving. 

“Same,” you look away from Drew, and let Luke guide you over to your table. 

Drew immediately gulps the rest of his whiskey down, loosening up his tie. Fuck. This was going to be a long night. 

——

Drew wasn’t one to eavesdrop. In fact, he hated eavesdroppers. Why are you listening on someone else’s private conversation?

Well, Drew hates himself very much right now. 

You sat near the window, at the very end of the table. Across from you was Drew’s other teammate, Kirk. He sat next to Kirk, and across from Luke. The whole night, it was very obvious that Kirk had a thing for you, asking you questions about your life, hobbies, etc.

So now, Drew knew that you’re currently studying law in college, you hate tomatoes but love ketchup, you like museums, you have a horrible sleep schedule, you want to adopt a cat, you hate the cold-

“You’re single, right?”

That makes Drew choke on his food, causing the table to pause and stare at him. He coughs, feeling his whole face going red. “You okay, dude?” Kirk chuckles, patting Drew’s back, as if it’s any help. 

Drew nods, trying to suppress his coughs with the help of water. While drinking, he glances at you, who looks at him with worried eyes. He puts his cup back down, clearing his throat, “so, are you?” 

He ignores the skeptical stares from Luke, his eyes only focused on you. Please, please, say yes. 

You turn away from Drew, just as Luke suddenly speaks up, changing the topic, “can we get another round of this lobster? Its fucking delicious.”

What? Drew’s gaze stays on you, seeing how you bite down on your bottom lip, eyes glued to your plate. Was it, a violating question? Drew had no idea, but seeing how quickly your mood changes, it leaves a bad scar on him. 

——

Huh. you’re staying at the same hotel as him. Well, not just him. The entire team, actually. Luke must have arranged it for you. 

Drew stands behind you, hands in pockets, trying to look as if he wasn’t bursting with joy. While waiting for the elevator, you lean on Luke’s shoulder, your body ready to give up. 

The elevator opens, and the remaining people all squeeze towards it. 

You eventually get squeezed into the corner, with Drew close by. Super close by. With no space at all, Drew is forced to lean into you, his arm against the wall to support him.

This close proximity was driving him insane. 

He feels your breast press closely to his lower chest, your face planted really close to his neck. From this proximity, he certainly can smell your perfume, shampoo, everything. He looks down at you; and surprisingly, you were already staring up at him. You send him a lazy smile, your eyes squinted up at him. 

Cute. He sends you one too, although his smile might be bigger. 

The ding sound is heard, and most of the people inside rush out. Drew was disappointed; he wanted to stay like this for a bit longer. 

He gets himself off of you, now that there’s more space in the elevator, leaning against the wall. He wants to look at you (he already stared a lot during dinner though), memorize more of you before he goes to bed, but Luke turns around and faces you. Drew bites his lip, staring into the ceiling. “Told you tonight was fun, right?”

Okay, now Drew needed to eavesdrop. 

“The guy in front of me was asking too much.”

Yes. Fireworks went off in Drew’s head. “Yeah, Kirk’s a dick. Don’t, don’t date him,” Luke…jokes? Drew wasn’t sure. “Or, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” you chuckle, which makes Drew glance at you. He makes sure to get a quick look of your smile again; fast enough so Luke doesn’t notice. 

“Do you at least feel better now?”

“…yeah.”

“…I know you’re lying, y/n,” Luke disappointedly says.  

No reply heard from you; the ding of the elevator ending the conversation. Drew looks at the screen; the 18th floor. “Goodnight,” you say to Luke, pushing yourself off the wall. To Drew’s surprise, you wave at him. “Goodnight,” you repeat, the same lazy smile on your face. 

“Goodnight,” Drew replies, the smile appearing on its own.

The door closes after you leave, and Drew gets hit with a sad realization; he might never see you again. And he hates that thought. 

Four years. After four years, he gets another chance to see you. And he’s just gonna let you walk away? Just like he did the first time? 

He gets mad suddenly; remembering the lack of interactions the two of you had the entire night, all stolen by Kirk. Luke’s right, Kirk’s a dick. But also, a lucky bastard. He got to sit directly across from you, as well as talk to you. Lucky son of a bitch. 

“Are you… gonna get out?”

Drew snaps out of it, looking up at the elevator screen. 24th floor. Luke is holding the door open for him, wondering why he hasn’t stepped out. “Sorry,” Drew murmurs, walking out. Luke follows him, as the two of them had rooms right next to each other. 

“You okay, man?” Luke laughs, walking beside Drew.

“Yeah, just drank a bit much,” Drew shrugs, scratching the side of his face. 

Luke gets to his room first, “see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Drew takes his room card out, pressing it against the door. He gets in without another look at Luke, closing the door behind him. 

Huh. So this is how tonight was going to end? Him alone in his hotel room, consumed with the thought of you? (As if he hasn’t been thinking about you for the past four years already) Even Drew was disappointed in himself. 

“Fuck,” he curses, still standing in the entrance of his room, running his hands through his hair stressfully. “Fuck.”

—— 

After knocking on 17 doors, this one might be yours.

Drew stood at the entrance of his room contemplating for ten minutes, whether or not to go see you again. After long chains of thoughts and scenarios, he made up his mind: he’s going to see you.

Problem: he didn’t know your room number. So, he spent almost twenty minutes on the 18th floor, knocking on each door hoping it would be you. 

And now, on room 1818. He was mentally & physically tired, but he wasn’t going to give up.

He presses on the doorbell, twice. He waits for a few seconds that felt like minutes, tapping against the wall impatiently. Just as he gets ready to move onto the next room, the door opens. 

He looks up, and his eyes widen. 

You. You’re as shocked as he is, wondering why someone would knock on your door at such a late hour. 

He first notices your slightly wet hair; droplets dripping down your neck. Your makeup is off, and he just finds you even more beautiful than before. His eyes naturally wander down to your body; finding you in a white lingerie dress. 

Fuck. His brain is malfunctioning yet again.  

“Hello?” He hears you chuckle, which makes him bring his attention back to your face. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, um, Drew. I’m Drew, from earlier, the dinner?”

“…I know. Can I help you?” You ask him yet again, a polite smile on your lips. You quickly glance down at his body; he’s still wearing his suit from earlier. He must’ve not showered yet, despite it being almost two hours after. 

“Um,” he awkwardly licks his lips; All the lines he rehearsed back in his room are now gone. Drew realizes that he’s still standing in the hallway, and he didn’t want to talk to you while standing out here. “Can I, can I come in?”

You furrow your eyebrows, your face clearly showing discomfort. 

He mentally panics, and hurries to add, “I want to talk to you, and it’s rather private. And, important.”

You think about it for a few seconds, listing out the pros & cons of this man coming into your room. You look into his eyes, seeing a sense of urgency and yearning in them. Okay. Maybe he can come in for a while. 

You step out the doorway, opening the door wider. “Sit on the couch, I’ll prepare…tea? Wine?”

“Anything’s fine,” he says, walking in. You close the door behind him, and when he spots your shoes by the door, he takes his off too. 

As he makes himself comfortable on the small couch in front of the bed, you grab your cardigan that rests on one of the dining room chairs, putting it on.

You open the hotel fridge; finding red wine in there. Opening the cupboard, you reach for two glass bottles, and walk towards Drew. He’s taken his suit jacket off, his tie hanging loosely by his neck, his sleeves rolled up. And he’s manspreading, a  position you find to be very hot. 

You have to admit; Drew was attractive. Even more attractive than your ex. Actually, the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. And, he’s got a charming personality to match it. 

But he’s oddly familiar. During the dinner, your gaze can’t help but always drift over to him. Have you seen him from somewhere? Crazy, you can’t seem to remember where you’ve seen him before. An ad? Tv? Huh. 

“So?” You start, sitting beside him. You try opening the bottle, but the cork was screwed on too tight. 

Drew takes it from you; his hands brushing yours. You watch him effortlessly get the cork out, the pop heard in the room. He pours it into the two glasses, and sets it down. He sends you a small smile when he notices your stares. “Wine?”

“Well, you said anything’s fine,” your lips curl up on their own, as you reach for your wine glass. He offers to clink against yours; and you do, the two of you maintaining eye contact while sipping. After, you put your drink back down on the small coffee table. “Why a late night talk?”

Drew licks his lips, glancing down at his lap. He seems to have trouble forming words, fidgeting with his fingers. You lean back into the couch, curious as to what he’s thinking about. 

After seconds that felt like minutes, he said, “You study law?”

Due to the unexpectedness, you chuckle, “yeah. Why?”

He shrugs, “Suits you.”

What is he even saying? “What?” You giggle, at his response. 

You don’t miss the tip of his ears going red; even he thinks his response is funny. “I mean, law sounds fun, and you look like lawyer material.”

“Awesome,” you smile at him, trying to hold back your laughter. “And you look like basketball player material.”

His smile mimics yours; just more awkward. 

He seems to not know what to say, despite telling you that he had something to say to you. Weird. So, you help him, by asking, “are you nervous about the new season?”

His eyes light up, “My third season with Hawks now. But, still nervous.”

“Third season?” He nods, and you reach for your wine yet again. “Hawks fan?”

“Always been the dream,” he admits to you, “grew up watching them, and when they offered, I just had to say yes.”

“Or because no other team offered?”

Shit. That sounded wayyy too rude. But that was your humor, and also your way of talking. Does he find it offensive? Wait, anyone would find that offensive. You should apologize-

He laughs lightly, taking a huge gulp of his wine. “Come on. Give me more credit.”

So…he isn’t offended by your words? You shrug, “never seen you play.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you, leaning back on the couch. “You’re lying.”

“Didn’t even know you until tonight.”

“Liar,” his voice drops low, but a smirk is seen on his lips, as if he’s catching you in a lie right now. But you were being honest; you really didn’t know him until tonight. 

Unless…maybe there’s a reason why he looked so familiar to you? Ugh, why can’t you remember where you’ve seen him from?

“Really,” you say, looking into his blue eyes. 

His eyebrows furrow even deeper, trying to figure out if you were being honest or not. You were. Eventually, he leans forward and pours more wine into his glass. “I believe you,” he murmurs, before sipping on the wine. You watch as he gulps it down; his Adam’s apple moving. “But surely, you’re…a fan of Hawks?”

You shake your head, which makes Drew chuckle. “I…know nothing about basketball.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s my brother’s passion, not mine.”

“Okay,” he adjusts himself on the couch, his body now fully facing you. “Then tell me about law, or stuff like that.”

“‘Stuff like that’?”

“I might bore you if we keep talking about basketball. So, I’ll listen to you.”

“And law isn’t boring to you?”

“Not if you’re talking,” He sends you a warm smile. Woah. Butterflies that you haven’t felt in forever are now forming inside of you. Butterflies that feel different compared to the ones with Zack. “Come on. Tell me. Like, what’s…what new laws have been enforced?”

You laugh; his perception of law is cute. So, that’s exactly what you explain to him, just in simpler terms. His eyes, lips, body tells you that you’ve got his undivided attention; something that makes you smile while talking.

Huh. Weird how this stranger is willing to listen to you yap about laws & everything, as if what you’re saying was as simple was pie. Huh. 

——

“Yes! He said that to me!”

“The audacity,” Drew laughs, making you nod even more. 

You’re telling him the story of your classmate, who’s also your academic rival. Once he accused you of sleeping with the professor, that it’s the only reason why you’ve got such good grades. Thinking about it now, it just sounds funny. “It wasn’t true but he was so sure,” you laugh, recalling his red face while confronting you. 

“He’s a fucking loser,” Drew continues to add, reaching to pour more wine into your glass. The two of you realize that it’s now empty, and you just shrug at him; not really bothered by it. 

You take the chance to glance at the clock; it was two a.m already. The two of you have been talking for more than an hour. You suddenly remembered that Luke told you about an early schedule the team had tomorrow, yet Drew was still sitting here, getting tipsy with you. 

“It’s..getting late,” you bring up, pointing at the clock. 

Drew turns to it, and his eyes widen. But he turns back to you, shrugging. “I guess?”

Is he not getting what you’re hinting at? So, you just tell him, “Luke told me you guys are doing something early tomorrow.”

Drew stares into your eyes, in a way that gets you nervous. But then he looks away, and nods, biting down on his lip. “Um, yeah, totally forgot.”

You smile politely at him, even though deep down you didn’t want him to go. You liked his company, and although it was mostly you talking, he didn't make you feel bad for it. Drew’s…very comforting. 

He grabs his suit jacket, the both of you getting up. “Now I can confidently say, that I know y/n.”

“What?” You smile, wondering what he was saying. You watch as he walks to the doorway, putting his shoes on. 

When he’s done, he opens the door, turning back to you. “A very successful lawyer, that handles cases for the president or something.”

You laugh; that only happens in your dreams. You lean against the doorway, staring into his eyes. You really didn’t want him to go. 

He leans towards you; giving you a hug. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and you hug his waist. Your nose is now filled with the smell of Drew; just like in the elevator earlier, a mix of cologne & alcohol. 

Drew slightly pulls away, just so he could look at you. You do the same, staring up into his eyes, then his lips, then back to his eyes.

He also glances down at your lips, his eyes squinted. 

Then, he kisses your cheek. 

Then, you stand on your toes, planting a light kiss on his cheek too. 

Then, he kisses the corner of your lips. 

Then, you kiss his jawline. 

You look into his eyes, giving him a smitten smile. 

And just like that, Drew couldn’t hold back anymore; he kisses you. The kiss is hungry, passionate, intense, and…

And way too nostalgic for your liking. 

Wait. Wait. 

You pull away from him, feeling a bit overstimulated. Not just from the kiss itself, but…but because of what it reminds you of. 

No fucking way. 

It’s all coming back to you now; this was Drew. The Drew. 

The one you lost you virginity to, the one that didn’t want you.

Wait. Was this even the right Drew? He looks pretty similar to the one you remember, talks similarly, and strangely, also kisses the same. 

“Is something wrong?” His deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts. 

Fuck. No. No, it’s not the same Drew. Because, what are the chances of this being the same Drew that took your virginity? Awfully poetic, if this happens to be the same person. Maybe, Drew is somewhere in West Carolina, coaching for some basketball team. And this Drew, was just some doppelgänger. 

Okay. Yeah, this, this is just a coincidence. You’re just feeling weird because you broke up with Zack a few days ago. Not a big deal. Just, enjoy having this one-night stand with this attractive man. 

You smile, shaking your head. “Just kiss me already,” you murmur, leaning into him. You kiss him lustfully, and he returns it, his hands touching all over you. 

He backs you up into the room again, all while his lips are on you. You giggle at his urgency, the door slamming shut behind him. 

“Don’t you have to get up early?” You giggle, pulling away. 

“I think…it’s not that important,” he throws his suit jacket on the couch, kicks his shoes off, and kisses you again. He kisses you as though it might be the last time he does. 

You pull away, just to push him onto the bed. His head lands on the pillows, and he readjusts himself so his back’s against the headboard. He puts his arms behind his head; and suddenly, you’re hit with the same nostalgic feeling. 

But you ignore that feeling; it’s in the past now. 

He gives you a lazy smirk, as you hover over him, straddling his waist. You can feel his erected cock pressing against your folds. Fuck. 

You lean down and kiss him, a euphoric feeling that you might never get over. Your hands are busy; undoing all his buttons in a messy order. He helps you; slightly sitting up and throwing the shirt to the side. 

Wow. His body? Sculptured by god himself. “Damn,” you voice out, the words just slipping out. Maybe mostly because of how tipsy you were. 

He kisses your collarbone, murmuring, “damn?” There’s a slight chuckle and tease to that, which just makes you smile. Your hands go up to his face, cupping it and forcing him up to stare at you. His eyes…most mesmerizing shade of blue. 

Again, you ignore the nostalgic feeling, that similar look in his eyes that the Drew gave you, four years ago. The similarity is uncanny.

“Such pretty eyes…” he murmurs, sharing the same thoughts you have.

His hands slide your cardigan off, discarding it somewhere else. His eyes go down to your neck, leaning forward and sucking on it. 

Your head leans back in pleasure; his tongue was skilled, you had to admit. He sucks, bites, licks the area, his hands kneading your breasts through the thin material of the lingerie. His lips are warm and soft, compared to the necklace on you. You shamelessly moan out how good it felt; which just drives him crazier. 

Drew’s lips slip lower, sucking on your nipples through the fabric. 

“Shit, Drew…” you moan, your hands slipping down his shoulders, running through his abs, and then to the belt. Your hand brushes his boner; fuck. You want him now, the wetness in your underwear proving it. 

He smirks against your skin, before pulling away. He glances down at your hands tugging his belt, “didn’t know you were the impatient kind.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him back down on his back. “Just shut up,” you groan, even though the smile was apparent on your lips. You back yourself off his waist, until you were on your knees between his legs. You undo his belt as if you’ve done it before, tugging his pants down. 

Holy fuck. You’re salivating at the sight of his dick, fully up and proud. 

You just want to wrap your lips around him, letting him use your mouth to satisfy himself. You palm his length through his boxers, leaning down and planting soft kisses along it. 

He knows you want to give him a blowjob. He can see the thirst in your eyes. He wants it too; but he stops you, his hand going to wrap around your wrist. “Fuck,” he groans, as you look up at him between his legs. In his perspective, it was a very hot sight to see. But it won’t be as hot as what he’s about to purpose to you. “You… I, I wanna taste you too.”

You cock your head to the side, slightly confused. “So you don’t want me to suck your-“

“Yes, I do but I wanna eat your pussy too-“

“What, what, are you saying-“

Oh. Oh. “69?” You gasp, a slight curl on the corner of your lips. 

His lustful and excited eyes confirm it, “you up for it?”

Your pussy is screaming ‘yes!’ But your brain is hesitant; you’ve never done the 69 before. With Zack, he’s tried missionary, doggy, cowgirl, spooning, etc, but never the 69. 

Hell, why not? Sounds interesting, and with Drew, it might feel heavenly. 

“Teach me,” you say, sitting up. 

His eyes widen; either from your approval or your unknowingness to this position. But seeing how intrigued you were to try this, he smirks, nodding. He adjusts himself on the pillows, “you’re in luck, I’m a great teacher.”

“Really?” You lift your dress over your head, now, only left with your underwear on. Drew licks his lips at the sight of your breasts, and when you glance down to his boxers; you see pre-cum already soaking it up. 

“M-hm,” he’s clearly lost in the sight of your nakedness. “Back yourself onto my face.”

The way he says it; just makes you even more horny. 

You do just as he says, not before sliding your underwear off. You keep looking over your shoulder; spreading your legs as you plant your pussy on his face. You make sure to not fully sit on him; afraid that your weight might suffocate him. 

You feel his hands on two sides of your thighs, gripping it tight and pulling you further down. “Relax, babe,” he coos. “Just, sit on me, I can take it.”

“You sure?”

“More than ever.”

And you sink your ass onto his face; until you can feel the tip of his nose poking your entrance, his hot breathe fanning it. Oh shit. “Look, you’re wet already,” he teases, licking the side of your thighs, very close to your pussy. 

You groan at the feeling, but Drew quickly reminds you to stay on task, “Lean forward.”

You do; leaning your upper body down till his dick was right in your face. You hoist your upper body up with your elbows, creating a bit of space for you to suck his dick comfortably. You pull his boxers down; and moan at the sight.

“Ready?” He murmurs against your pussy. 

You pull your hair to the side, “m-hm.”

You wrap your lips around his the tip of his dick, at the same time, he starts licking your folds. You moan around him, your mind consumed with the pleasure of him making out with your pussy.

You force yourself further down on his cock, the salty pre-cum taste on your tongue. His tip hits the back of your throat; gag reflexes triggering slightly. He was big, so it was a bit struggling to fit him entirely into your mouth. 

“Taking it like a good girl, huh?” He manages to groan out, his breath fanning our pussy. 

You just moan against his length; starting to bop your head up and down along it, occasionally sucking or biting. Your hand goes to massage his balls; which causes him to moan loudly. Shit. That motivates you to continue massaging his balls, knowing now that it’s what he likes. 

He moans against you, while his tongue keeps thrusting itself into your pussy. Fuck, this all felt…so surreal. Is one even able to feel so much pleasure at once, just through oral sex?

The room is now just the sounds of the two of you, moaning and grunting, the bed slightly shaking. 

You feel yourself coming close, as Drew continues to make out with your pussy. “Fuck…I’m close, Drew,” you breathe out, bopping your head slower now. 

“I’know,” he murmurs, his tongue going slower too. “Just, continue with that, ‘kay?”

A sudden slap to your ass causes you to moan out of surprise, but also a reminder for you to continue wrapping your lips around his dick. 

You do so; but only about half-way. With your orgasm coming close, your mouth was close to giving up. Eventually, you pull your mouth entirely away from Drew, wanting to focus on your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans, and just when you get ready to come over his mouth, his tongue stops, and you don’t feel his head nuzzled in your ass anymore. You glance back, curious as to what happened. His grip on your thighs loosens, but still resting there. “Lemme take over, yeah?”

You had no idea what that meant. But, you don’t object to it, nodding your head. 

In a second, he lifts you off of him, and gets off from his comfortable position on the bed. “You got a condom?” He asks, standing up. 

“In my purse,” you point over to the black bag on the small kitchen counter; the one you brought to dinner. 

He gives you a teasing smile, while he walks over to get it. “So you knew you were getting laid tonight.”

Well, you always needed to be prepared, right? You lay yourself on the same spot Drew was just in, warm and smelling just like Drew. You prop yourself up with your elbows; eyes looking at his back as he rummages through your bag. He has a nice ass, by the way. “Couldn’t hurt to have it,” you reply lazily. 

He turns around with a condom, ripping it open as he walks back to the bed. You watch as he positions himself between your legs, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He leans forward and kisses you, a very sloppy kiss. 

You’re taken by surprise when his fingers enter you; causing you to moan into his mouth. “Fuck,” he curses against your lips, his fingers thrusting in. He adds a third digit, which is close to sending you over the edge. 

He stretches you out, while his lips now move to your breasts. You arch your back in pleasure, moans showing him how good it felt. 

His fingers pull out, and you watch as he aligns his dick with your entrance. Fuck, no matter how many times you see him, it’ll always shock you with how big he is. 

You make eye contact with him, which makes him send you a lazy smile. “You good?” Teasing but also caring is heard in his voice. 

“Will…I fit?” you ask unsurely. 

He chuckles, placing a small kiss on your jawline. “Don’t worry; you’ll fit. And it’ll feel good.”

You nod, trusting him. 

He enters you slowly, making sure you can adjust to his size. You moan when his dick is fully nested inside of you, your hands scratching his back. He leans his forehead gently against yours; the both of you catching your breaths. 

He feels you relax under him, and intertwines his fingers with yours. His head pulls away, and for a few seconds, it’s just him staring at your face. You watch as his eyes linger to every spot on your face. 

“Hey,” you softly say, which comes out more flirtatious. 

“Hey,” he returns the greeting to you, sounding breathless. “You’re pretty.”

That makes you smile, and you pull him back down to kiss him. He kisses back, while thrusting into your core. You moan, even though his thrusts were slow. 

“Faster,” you moan.

“Yes ma’am.”

Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. The way his deep voice adds to that line, gets your pussy closer to coming. And a man of his words, he picks up the pace, slamming into you. 

The bed shakes even harder now, the moans the two of you produce are shamelessly loud. He trails small kisses along your neck, sucking occasionally. 

And as crazy as this thought was; you knew Drew was going to be the best sex you’ve ever had. Might even be better than the night you lost your virginity. He knows all the ways to feel good, to make you feel good. 

With each thrust, you feel yourself coming close again. “Shit, Drew. I’m close,” you groan, tightening yourself around his dick. 

“I’know babe,” he kisses the corner of your eye. “Cum on my dick; I got you.”

He continues his fast pace, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, until you feel a knot in your stomach go undone. 

You cum all over his dick, your body giving up now. Drew helps himself, and you feel him twitch inside of you too. His pacing slows, and you feel warm cum entering his condom. 

“…You squirted,” you hear him chuckle, as he rests his head on your shoulder. 

Oh shit. How embarrassing. You didn't know you were even capable of squirting. Is Drew grossed out by that? Based on his tone, he might not be, but then again-

“That’s…really fucking hot.”

You feel your cheeks go red just because of his compliment, letting go of his hands. You cover your face out of shyness, “shut up.”

You hear him chuckle again, “really…you’re very hot. And beautiful.”

He holds down on your waist as he slowly pulls out of you. You hear him walking across the room; probably to discard his condom. The warmth of him is gone; but a dip on the side of you tells you that he’s laid down on the bed with you. 

This man was unbelievable. First, he shamelessly looks at you during dinner, not engaging in any way with you. Second, he comes into your room in the middle of the night, claiming he’s got ‘important’ stuff to tell you. Third, he listens to long, boring stories about your life. Fourth, he fucks you so good you squirt. 

Unbelievable. 

You pull your hands away from your face, and you turn to face him. He’s already staring at you, his arms resting behind his head. 

The two of you just lay in silence; your eyes dancing all over his facial features. He really does look like the guy you lost your virginity to. Same face, same eyes, nose, lips. The resemblance is…uncanny. 

“You…” you want to ask him if he’s Drew. The Drew from four years ago. 

But you don’t. For some reason, you just can’t. You can’t bring yourself to ask him.

It was a horrible memory; crying at home for days, just because he rejected you. Crying over a guy that you weren’t even together with. It was a stupid memory, that you kept deep in your heart. Eventually, that memory was pushed to the very back with Zack’s help.

“…we just did 69,” you say instead. 

That makes him laugh; sending butterflies to your stomach. “Yeah, we did.”

You’re feeling a bit sleepy now; the tiredness of the sex washing over you. Drew suddenly gets up, and for a moment you think that he’s leaving. 

But he wasn’t; simply grabbing some tissues on the coffee table. He spreads your legs, and starts wiping the cum off it. “What a gentleman,” you sarcastically comment, even though you were happy he’s cleaning up after; Zack never does.

“The bare minimum, y/n,” he tells you instead, before getting off the bed again, throwing it away. 

Huh. You didn’t know; you’ve ever only been with Zack. 

He lays down beside you again, but not before pulling the blanket over you. “Tired?”

“Very,” you murmur, your eyelids feeling heavy. You don’t know why you said it, but you just did, “you can stay here.”

“Wasn’t gonna leave anyways,” he replies back almost instantly.

Warmth spreads throughout you, the comfort of Drew just laying beside you was enough to make you fall asleep. 

And you do drift off to sleep, with the last thing on your mind being Drew. 

Soon enough, Drew falls asleep too, but not before hugging you closely to him. 

-------------------------------

word count: 6.8k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: damn they freaky (69 after four years...freaky bitches)

anyways, this is the longest chapter i've so far ...but i hope you enjoyed part three (there will be part 4!) ignore any mistakes...got real tired towards the end. i want to thank everyone who reads my work, u don't know but means a lot to me<3 also thanks to the person that also thought of the time skip idea...tysm! so...will y/n and drew open up about the past?

elevator | other | index | pt2 | pt4

[monopersona]

Certified Silverfox

When Sylus shows up for report cards in a black turtleneck and glasses, half the school loses its mind. Again. Aria wants to disappear. Her little brother laughs. Her mom finds it entertaining. Her dad? Just vibes, leaving chaos and thirst traps in his wake. A slice-of-life comedy with cool dad, PTA drama, and a marriage that still feels like flirting, years and two kids later.

Sylus x MC. Parenthood. Domestic fluff and semi-crack. Aria is a dramatic teenager and Kai is an admirer of his dad. 864 words.

A/N: Hi hi hi! 2 fics in one day because I am on a roll today. This idea came up last week and has been at the back of my mind so I couldn't help but write it. I hope you like this one!

You can read on ao3 here

Series master list here

Aria knew this was going to happen. She had begged her dad not to come pick up their report cards this semester. She was in eighth grade now, practically an adult. She could’ve handled it herself! She even practiced what she’d say to her and Kai's homeroom teachers (“So sorry, my parents had a last-minute emergency”), but no. Of course not. Because her dad had to roll up in his annoyingly sleek car, step out like he was about to go into a film set, and proceed to direct her personal nightmare.

The moment he walked toward the school in his black turtleneck, long coat, and rimless glasses, the vibe shifted. The whispers started immediately.

“Oh my god, is that Aria and Kai’s dad?”

“I hear he's, like, a big time CEO or something..."

“Is he single?!”

Aria groaned and sank low in her chair. She didn’t even want to look outside anymore. What was the point? She knew the PTA parents—many of whom are her friends’ moms—would suddenly discover a burning passion for “volunteering” whenever her dad was due to show up at school events. One even brought cupcakes “just because” and spent ten minutes asking about his skincare routine the last time the school held a family event. Which was rude, considering it was actually her mom’s. His wife!

Now he was again, striding through the school halls like he wasn’t single-handedly activating the thirst radar of every mom (and some dads) within five miles.

Kai, of course, thought it was the best day ever. But that’s because he’s only nine and stupid.

“Did you see Mr. Carter smile at Dad? He called him sir!” A starry-eyed Kai whispered as their dad shook hands with the principal like he owned the place. “He’s like a K-drama character. The mysterious CEO with a tragic past.”

“Shut up, Kai.” Aria hissed, dragging him down the back hallway to avoid the growing crowd of “casually loitering” moms and their very obvious phone cameras. “This is a disaster. I told him not to show up. I begged him!”

Kai just shrugged, completely unbothered. “He’s literally picking up our report cards. It’s not like he walked in shirtless or something.”

“That’s not helping,” Aria snapped, cheeks flaming. “I’m never showing my face again.”

Kai grinned. “He looks like he’s about to save the world and make it to our soccer game on time.”

Aria groaned louder. “Stop talking.”

Their dad, meanwhile, was busy being the human embodiment of cool dad energy, casually charming every school staff, saving her science teacher from tripping on spilled water, and picking up the report cards like he hadn’t just caused a minor school-wide heart attack.

By the time they got into the car, Aria had reached critical levels of secondhand embarrassment. She flung herself into the passenger seat and crossed her arms with a dramatic huff.

Sylus glanced at her. “Something wrong?”

“You know what you did.”

“I picked up your report card. And your science project. Which, by the way, smells like vinegar.”

“It’s a volcano. It’s supposed to.”

“Sure.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You wore perfume.”

“I always wear perfume.”

“You’re the worst.”

Kai was already in the backseat, unwrapping a lollipop he got from the front office. Probably because Sylus smiled at Mrs. Finch. “She said I was polite,” Kai said proudly. “And that I look just like Dad.”

Aria muttered, “It’s already starting.”

When they got home, their mom was at the kitchen counter, scrolling through her tablet. Sylus handed her the folders.

“All done.”

She peeked inside, flipping through the grades while he grabbed a bottle of water and the kids headed for the couch.

“Nice work, both of you! Kai, you crushed math. And Aria, your social studies teacher says you’ve got ‘excellent leadership qualities.’”

Aria dropped her bag and sighed. “Mom, please. Don’t ever let Dad go to school again.”

Lili looked up with a perfectly innocent smile. “Why not? I heard he’s now officially known as the Certified Silverfox.”

Sylus choked mid-sip. “I’m sorry. The what?”

Aria spun around, horrified. “Mom!”

“What?” Lili blinked, the picture of fake innocence. “You’re the one who came home ranting about it last semester.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean you should say it out loud!”

Kai, squinting, asked, “What’s a silverfox?”

Sylus just stood there, grinning like this was the best day of his life. Lili, smug as ever, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It means the parents think your dad is handsome and distinguished.”

“I didn’t even talk to them,” Sylus said, sipping his water again. “Just said hello.”

“Exactly,” Aria groaned. “That’s the problem.”

Lili turned back to her tablet, unfazed. “Well, I happen to think I’ve got the best-looking man in the PTA.”

Kai nodded solemnly. “I hope I turn into a silverfox too.”

Aria buried her head in a cushion. “I need a new family.”

But later that night, curled up on the couch while her parents bickered softly in the kitchen about who actually bought the almond milk, she found herself smiling. Even if her dad was embarrassing. And, according to the tragically misguided people of her school, stupidly attractive. Ew.

[emilys-bangs]

Can I request #31 from the Marigold fluff list. With Married Em and Reader? Emily giving reader massage after a long day with the kids.

Thank you for requesting!! :) Join my celebration here <3

Tags: established relationship, mom!emily, mildly suggestive

Word count: 0.8k

Having twins is hard. Having twin boys is downright exhausting.

Every part of you aches. Your arms are sore, your bones creak, and if you have to bend down to the floor one more time you think your knees will crumble to pieces. It must show on your face, because the moment Emily walks through the door she orders you to bed. 

“Or take a shower. A bath. Just go and relax,” she insists. The command is softer than it should be; the sight of two toddler boys curled around her neck undeniably cushions any sharp edges usually on display.

“What about bedtime?” You yawn.

“I think we’ve got bedtime covered.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Please. I love you, but,” she places a singular kiss on your mouth, “get out of here.”

“Out’f here,” James parrots sagely, always eager to copy whatever Emily’s saying.

You wrinkle your nose at him, catching Emily’s small smile when he giggles. “Well, if you insist.”

“If I had any spare arms I’d shoo you away.”

“Shoo?” Theodore pipes up from under Emily’s chin.

“Shoo.” Emily says softly, brushing a kiss on his hair. “But it’s not a very nice thing to say, so maybe don’t say it. Unless it’s a situation like this one. Where someone’s being very very stubborn.” She levels you a pointed look.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes.

Emily laughs and leans toward you. “C’mon, loves, say goodnight.”

You get two soft g’night’s and spit-wet kisses on your cheeks before Emily whisks the boys away, already talking to them a mile a minute (and what have you gentlemen been up to this evening?). James’ voice threads through hers as he answers, bright and still buzzing with energy, fading away the further she takes them into their room. You take yourself to yours, steadfastly ignoring the nauseating mess in the living room and deciding to fix yourself a bath.

Despite your initial protests, you shut both your bedroom door and the ensuite door, muffling the noise that spills out into the hallway. You love your kids, and you love that they feel safe enough to express themselves, but you’ve been smothered in their racket ever since you picked them up from preschool. All the fuss and the noise gets too much by the time night falls.

Emily likes taking her time with bedtime, so you indulge yourself. Epsom salt, essential oils, and frothy bubbles all make their way into your bath. You bury yourself under nearly scalding water and stay there until your fingers prune, enjoying the silence and the way the water presses on your sore muscles. When you hear Emily padding around in your room you pull yourself out, steam rising off of your skin as you change into your pajamas.

Cold air slaps your face as you walk out of the bathroom. Emily is sprawled on the bed, reading, and there’s silence. Blissful silence.

“I wasn’t aware we owned a sauna.” She teases, putting her book down when she sees you.

“That felt good,” you groan, ignoring her ribbing and falling face-down on the bed. “I think I pulled two muscles today.”

“Where?”

You touch your shoulder, then the slope of your neck.

The bed shifts. You lift your head up and feel as Emily settles herself on the backs of your thighs, leaning forward against your back. “Can I interest you in a massage service?” She murmurs into your ear, dropping a kiss on the shell of it.

Your body tingles.

“Get to it, Prentiss.”

Her soft laugh beats against your skin. You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything: the crisp, cold sheets under you, the pressure of Emily’s body on yours, her strong fingers as they knead over your shirt. She works your muscles, digs her thumbs in until a knot comes loose.

You groan, face falling into the mattress.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.”

“Your back is riddled.” She chides. Her voice slides over your skin, warm velvet even though you’re taking a scolding. She gets your shirt off of you, then traces the path of your neck with her fingers. “Jeez, babe. How’d it get this bad?”

“Mm, your kids.” You’re fusing with the bed. Becoming one with the mattress. Emily’s hands are hot, melting away the tension from your shoulders and neck. She’s working magic—dropping kisses, unloosening knots, reducing you to a puddle of contented sighs.

“Can I”—a kiss to your jaw—“apologize on their behalf?” One to the slope of your neck.

“That depends.” You’re breathless. “What does your apology entail?”

“Only good things, love.” Her voice is thick with promise. She turns you on your back, manipulating your pliant body until her coal-dark eyes shine down on yours. “Can I show you?”

She’s warm with the light of your bedside lamp. Outlined in gold, you can see the pulse beat in her throat, steady.

You reach a hand up and thread your fingers through her hair. Wordlessly, you tug her down, down, your arm heavy around her neck, body already arching up. Emily’s grin flashes, a glimpse of pearly teeth there and gone before they sink into your bottom lip.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn

[ramhaiba]

𝖡𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖲𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗎 𝖦𝗈𝗃𝗈 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

SNEAK PEEK

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT a/n: this fic is a lot darker than normal of my work contains: noncon sexual themes, manhandling, breaking up, biting, oral (f receiving), baby trapping, modern au

The truth is, you should have broken up with Satoru Gojo a long time ago. Two years ago, the thought of even considering taking a break from Satoru would have sent you into a coma. Why wouldn’t you want to be known as ‘Satoru's girl?’ Being with a guy like him would cause no one to dare look at you in the wrong way. 

Besides, he buys you things that cost more than your rent, and will refuse if you dare to give it back to him because you ‘don’t need such expensive things.’ 

So what exactly is wrong with dating Satoru?

Obsession. 

“You’ve been spending so much time with your friends...sometimes I think you forget who your boyfriend is”

“Jealous? Me? Baby, it’s only because I care about you”

“You know I don’t like it when you’re away, it hurts me. Do you want to hurt me, Y/n?”

“You look great in that dress. But I feel like I should be the only person to see you in it. Why don’t you go change so you don’t embarrass me” 

And the list goes on and on...and on…

If it wasn’t his words that would send you to this point, his constant touching, rubbing, groping, and kissing in public just to scare any guy in your five-mile radius away was something you couldn’t ignore anymore. 

The final straw is when you heard furious knocking on your door, knocking so loud that you could have sworn that whoever was behind it would just kick it down, surprised that you could hear it with the storm outside. Unlucky for you, you were middle of a shower, not expecting to be bothered in the middle of the night. You were forced to wrap a towel around your torso, covering your chest to your upper thighs, and rushing down the stairs to open the door.

You slowly open the door for your boyfriend,  his chest heaving as the rain pours down on his white hair. 

“Satoru- wh-what’s wrong.” you stuttered, clenching the towel wrapped around your body.

“Bastard ” he muttered, stepping inside, letting his wet footprints stain your floors. 

“What? Satoru, why are you even here- it’s late” you questioned, in disbelief. 

“Tell me-tell me that he didn’t fuck you, Y/n. Please” Satoru begged, his hands gripping your shoulder as he forced you to the wall, blue eyes without a trace of sanity.

“Wh-what the fuck are you talking about “ you yelped, unaware of what put your boyfriend into such a manic episode.  

“Is he still in the house? Huh? He is right?” Satoru started laughing, his head leaning into the crook of your neck, 

God- at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if he bit your neck off.

“Satoru, you’re starting to scare me. Please just tell me what’s wrong and I can help you” you responded, trying to caress his face, only for him to pin your hands above your head. 

“Nanami, you’re fucking him, right? Suguru saw bring you to your house. Holding hands or some shit. Looking too friendly” Satoru hissed, just the thought of you being touched by hands that didn’t belong to him sent waves of fury into him. 

You didn’t even question why Suguru was watching you when he had no reason to be in your area- 

Thinking back at it, you wondered if Satoru begged asked Suguru to watch you while he was too busy to do it himself. 

“Nanami only came over because I asked him to help fix my door” you answered. 

“Then what? You rode his dick as a reward?” 

“Satoru, I would never” you argued. 

“Then show me… Prove to me that you’d never betray me” he erupted, clicking his tongue 

“Please” he added.

That’s when Satoru stepped away from you, knowing what you have to do, your hands shakily let the white towel around your chest slip off, falling onto the floor, using your forearms to cover your breast and pelvis. You turned your head to the side, finding it unbearable to watch his degrading facial expression as he examined every inch of your body, tears of embarrassment threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

“What’s this,” Satoru asked, eyes hooded, his fingers prying your thighs apart, tracing over a faded bite mark. 

“It’s from you, remember” you answered, voice cracking. Suddenly, you felt Satoru’s hands pull your face towards his, blue eyes locking with yours, refusing to let you look away, “want to bet on it?” he questioned. 

You watched hopelessly as Satoru’s lips trailed down your chest to your inner thigh, his knees on the ground, stopping at the bite mark, his pupils dilating as he took a good look at it, before sinking his teeth right into it, causing you to yelp, tugging on his white hair, silently begging him to stop. And when he finally did, he pressed a wicked kiss on it, pulling back to analyze it, 

“I knew it”

He smiled as he looked up at you from between your legs, pressing his chin on your thigh, “It’s a perfect match on my teeth, I knew you’d never cheat on me baby” he smiled. His hands rubbed your waist as your tears fell from your eyes, heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline.

 Satoru didn’t mind you were crying, in fact, he thought you were always at your prettiest when crystal-clear salty tears dripped down your heated cheeks, eyelashes damp. 

Full version

[maladaptivewritings]

Head-canons about Ghost

Including: Appearance, domestic life quirks, and more

Simon Riley is an elusive man, unknown appearance and private life. If he were to have a life outside of the military, so to combat this predicament, this is my list of HC's and some reasonings.

Appearance

His hair is a perpetually in the awkward growth phase, he gets a buzz right before deployment. He doesn't get it cut when he returns, just letting it be. The only routine self-maintenance is shaving his face, he hates the feeling of facial hair against his mask.

Speaking of hair, his hair is a mousey blond. Growing up it was closer to bright blond until he was around fifteen; when he was assumed dead he dyed it a chestnut brown. The first time it was dyed it stained his ears for over a week, he didn't know if he would laugh or cry.

Dark eyes, like devoid of light unless the sun hits it perfectly. You'll feel him watching you from a mile away. When the light does hit it, they are a stunning ochre.

His sleeve was done during a slightly manic moment, when he returned from one of his first long missions. He did it in two sittings, most of the flames were done in the second.

He's 6'3, barefoot and 6'5 with his gear on. He wasn't tall growing up, shooting up the summer he turned 17.

Scars, the majority clustered on his hands. Picking at scabs in the field, he fidgets on the little knicks and gashes if left alone on rounds. He doesn't really he does it. His oldest is a gash on his brow, no fun story just tripped as a child, got cut when his dad started throwing shit busted his face.

His Skin is a strange neutral tone, if he were to go out in the sun he'd tan easily. If he were to tan, it would reveal freckles across his nose bridge.

Thinking about his nose, it's crooked and bent from many uneven breaks healing over time. Scar from his lip just barely reaching it.

Domestically

He hates grocery shopping, but refuses to be a hermit. He know's that he could get them delivered, but he’s too stubborn and will show up to a small corner store wearing sunglasses at night with a mask and headphones. The clerk knows not to question it at this point.

Doesn't often drink beer or wine, whiskey of course is his vice. Though if dragged to the bar he will order tequila shots, and if he actually for once gets drunk he'll order a cocktail. (Soap has a photo of Simon drinking a fishbowl)

Smells like cigarettes no matter what, He will wear cologne when home from deployment and he's mastered how to pair it. No one knows this or cares, it's his little secret. The cologne he often wears is a sweet orange, with vanilla. Laswell got it for him, She saw his traumatized ass and decided to try and help.

Refuses to go to therapy, depending on how long he's home for he may meet with Price for 'coffee' every few weeks and chat. Simon thinks Price does this with the other guys. He doesn't.

Orders food atleast once a week, normally Thursdays. Theres a pub a block away he will pick it up from on his jog, same meal every time and same time every week.

Has the cilantro tastes like soap gene, Gaz does make fun of this.

Has no clue how to feed himself when he gets back from deployment, will either snack all day or not eat at all.

Weirdly into dinosaur movies, you'd think it was a bit but genuinely loves Jurassic park.

Specifically likes rock bands that most hate because they don't fit the mold. This is mainly being petty and liking what his father would hate.

Deployment Simon

The mask is soaked in hydrogen peroxide before he left, he cleans and mends it himself. He can sew, just not well. The skull is attached with fishing wire.

Hates coffee, would rather deal with the caffeinated gum. Soap once got him a Frap as an experiment one time when they're on base. He loves them.

Traumatized as fuck, he legit will dissociate when moving locations. Price only knows, neither says anytime about it.

Dry Humor to cope, most of the jokes came from his old history teacher in secondary school. He was a former soldier during the Falklands war, his time in the military was brief because his leg was severely injured. The only good role model Simon had.

Never personalizes gear, especially guns. Finds it dumb when he see's it being done.

In his mind will make jokes about whats going on. This had led to him accidentally saying "chat clip that" after he beat his personal record for kills before being noticed. Soap will not let him live this down.

His expectations of living to see tomorrow goes from 100 to 0 real quick, willing to take tasks no one else wants. If it weren't for Riley joining on certain missions, he'd definitely be in a pauper's feild.

Mentally,

Should be on so many mood stabilizers, claims it would just be a nuisance. Medicates with energy drinks and cigarettes.

High-functioning autism, undiagnosed.

C-ptsd, obviously

High-functioning depression and anxiety.

Talks to Price, sometimes Laswell about everything going on. He doesn't realize that he's venting.

No one lets him drive, too many suicide jokes.

Very petty, Cat-of-a-man. Will force himself to like things that his father would hate, as well as to prove a point to others.

Only has like a handful of colorful things in his office and home. Most its gifts from the rest of the guys or cards from the lady across the street who he may shovel the snow for.

One-Sided beef with southern U.S. Only due to Graves anymore, but he does appreciate Sweet-Tea.

[g4rvez-r3id]

(Not) A Jinx

S7! Spencer Reid x Clumsy!Barista!Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer has been going to a new coffee shop recently and that’s where he finds you — a clumsy barista who screws up orders and asks for help all of the time. After a confrontation with a customer, Spencer sees you and assures to you that you’re not a jinx like you seem to think you are.

Category: Fluff, with a hint of angst

Warnings: reader is a barista at a coffee shop (not a very good one) i love projecting, based on a semi-real situation, reader is overwhelmed/has a breakdown, spencer being a comforting softie, crying, cute nickname used (cutie), i think that’s it- otherwise fluffy

Author’s Note: i love projecting into all my fics hehehe/ divider belongs to bestie erika @esote-rika (as all cute dividers i use are) i hope you enjoy this, it’s based on a semi-real situation i go through at my new job lmao (i hate making drinks)

Spencer had just recently started frequenting this new coffee shop a few blocks from Quantico. It was quaint, the pastries were delicious, coffee was self-served and usually very busy around the time he’d go. And though it’d be busy, he still enjoyed it.

By now, all of the workers knew his name as well as his order. A large coffee with a lot of sugar and a blueberry muffin. He’d even indulge in a warm croissant for Garcia every now and again.

To say that he found his new favorite place was an understatement. A quiet place he even decided to gate-keep from the rest of the team so they wouldn’t hog all over what he’d created for himself. It was also the place where he’d met you.

Not that long ago, you’d started working at the coffee shop. You’d taken his order a few times and spoke shyly to him whenever he’d show up, he found it endearing about how timid you were, it reminded him of himself when he was in his early twenties.

The one thing he’d noticed whenever frequenting this coffee shop was how much you’d been on the registers as a cashier. Specifically on Mondays and Tuesdays, not that he was keeping track or anything. He’d never seen you in the kitchen, prepping food or even prepping the long list of ingredients for an iced latte. And when he did, your coworkers were quick to send you to the registers to take orders. He’d figured that maybe you were just always set to cashier whenever you’d come in or maybe you already had enough people handling drinks.

And then he’d come to the realization to why he didn’t see you working on drinks that often. He’d had gone in to get his regular coffee and blueberry muffin this morning during a rush hour. He was actually still waiting on the blueberry muffin when he saw you.

You’d been moving a million miles per hour anxiously as you looked on your screen, frantically muttering to yourself — “How the hell do I make an iced caramel macchiato again?” “What the hell is an americano?” “Wait, was that four or five pumps for the large cups?” People had been watching and waiting for their orders, staring hard— even glaring at you as you tried making four orders at a time.

There was then a point where you eventually gave up trying yourself and asked for help. You said sorry for bothering them and your co-worker had just given you a deep sigh and helped you anyways.

As you tried your best to help her without getting in her way, a man who obviously wasn’t patient enough to wait any longer quickly chided in, saying he’d been waiting for his iced coffee for nearly fifteen minutes now. You politely tell him you’re working on it and you’ll get it out in no time. The man rolls his eyes but nonetheless waits.

And then once you got him his order with shaky hands. Once he was gone, you’d returned to the other orders and within a minute, the man marched right back in towards your area and shouted something about how the drink was disgusting and how badly can you screw up a simple iced coffee?

He could see the defeat in your eyes as he called you ‘stupid’ and decided to chime in with a firm grip on his coffee cup. “Sir, I don’t mean to cut in but I happened to overhear and as much as I understand your frustration, she’s new and maybe you could… I don’t know, give her a break? She’s just learning.” Spencer was never one to speak up. He hated to, but for you? He’d felt the need to. Especially when he saw you working very hard and even shaking to the point where he worried he may need to call a doctor before you pass out on the floor.

“Listen, pipecleaner,” The man scoffs at Spencer. “Why don’t you just back off? This doesn’t concern you.”

Spencer ever rarely pulls this card, but again, for you — he pulls out his badge out from his pocket and flashes it towards the man. “Actually, sir, I’m with the FBI and since I am with law enforcement, I can report and say you’re causing a disturbance to the store and verbally harassing an employee to her face. That could get you banned from the store, maybe even the police will be involved. And you don’t want to risk that over a simple iced coffee incident, do you?” The man looks at him dumbfounded and slack-jawed and when Spencer turns to you, your cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as you stare back, a little frazzled at the fact that he’d stood up to a customer for you. Sure, you had disgruntled customers in your life every now and then, but rarely did anyone stand up for you.

The man grumbles something under his breath and inevitably decides to leave the store and you look at Spencer, grateful and eyes widened, “Thank you.” Spencer nods, with a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, he was being a jerk.”

And the conversation ends there, you go back to trying to make drinks and Spencer finally gets his muffin but before he can leave, there’s a large clatter heard and he turns over to see you looking at the ground at the three coffees you’d just made and you frown, almost as if you’re on the verge of tears.

Your co-worker, who looks like she’s ready to wring your neck out, speaks to you calmly and tells you that she will handle the drinks and to just go on your break. You figure that’s the best thing you can do at the moment, without screwing anything else up. So, you walk out from behind the counter with your head in your hands.

And Spencer watches the whole thing and decides to follow you outside. He doesn’t know what it is that draws him outside to you, he was ready to leave. He got what he needed and didn’t need to be there any longer. But he was willing to spare a moment or two when he saw how distressed you were.

Once he entered outside, he saw you kick a chair over and quickly flinch when you kicked the chair too far towards the table and the umbrella outside had fallen on the cement and you quickly picked up the umbrella before anyone else witnessed you kick it over and you shut your eyes as you squat down and Spencer frowns as you let out a heart-wrenching sob that aches inside him. And you cry and cry and cry.

He doesn’t really know what to do, but he knows you’re upset. He stands there awkwardly, contemplating on going to bother you when you clearly don’t want to be bothered. But he musters up enough courage to walk towards you and clears his throat as he simply says — “Hi.”

You gasp and look to him before quickly wiping away your tears that cascaded and stained your cheeks. You take a moment to calm yourself down before wiping your hands on your apron. “I’m fine. Sorry.” You say, still looking at the ground and avoiding his eyes as you stand from where you’re sitting.

“I didn’t mean to just… invade your—” Spencer pauses, not knowing exactly how to refer your current breakdown. Would it be offensive to you if he did call it a breakdown? “Are you okay?” He manages a more simple approach, a friendly approach.

You exhale, hands on hips as you look up at him— “I’m normally not this bad, I swear. I just… today’s just been really overwhelming and I hate making the drinks, which is very ironic considering I work in a coffee shop and literally all they have me do is just be on the registers since that is the only thing I can’t manage to screw up and I really need this job because I need the money and I’m just so so tired all of the time since I work two jobs and I’m just… ugh.” You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands and look at the man and sigh more, “I’m so sorry, I’m very prone to ramble and to drone on and on and on, feel free to tell me shut up any time.”

Never, Spencer wants to say. I, too, am prone to rambling. And it’s refreshing to be on the opposite end of a good ramble.

“It’s okay,” He tells. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day.” You sigh, “It’s not your fault. I really do appreciate you sticking up for me, you really didn’t have to.” Spencer shrugs a bit, “It’s really no problem. And he was being a jerk.”

“I kinda deserved it, though,” You say and Spencer furrows his brows in confusion because why would you think that? “I’m not that good at my job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s ridiculous—” Spencer tries but you shake your head, disregarding his input. “No, I’m not. Every time I’m alone on drinks, I always have to ask for help. I always ask for help when I shouldn’t have to. I’ve been here two months, I should know all of this stuff by now. Why do you think I’m always on the register? I’m just a big fat jinx. I get in the way.”

It then clicked to him now. Your co-workers decided to continuously put you on cashier because they didn’t want you in the way. And when you tried, it ended up going awry. Spencer frowned, he believed you’d tried. No matter what, you were still trying to do your job. He pitied you, you didn’t deserve to feel like this about yourself. Because as far as he was concerned, you were trying. And not a lot of people did that. They often admitted defeat before they even had the chance to try.

You turn away from him so as not to look him in the face. You’d just poured your whole heart out to the man about how you felt about your job and he was a complete stranger. Somehow, it’d felt a little embarrassing but it was easier opening up to a total stranger than to someone you already know, at least to you.

“I don’t think you’re a jinx,” Spencer spoke up. “You’re still learning. It’s not your fault. Everyone works in different ways. You know, working styles typically fall into four unique types — idea oriented, logical, detail oriented and supportive.”

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, “And what type do you think I fit?” You wonder with a cross of your arms, intrigued by the conversation. He gawks at you for a moment before thinking to himself. “I think you’re the supportive type. You’re empathetic and people oriented. At least from what I’ve seen when you take my order. You really do try, even if you don’t think you do. You are. At least you’re trying. That’s more than what other people do.”

You stare at the man interestingly, studying him almost. He was nice to you, you were just as much a stranger to him as he was to you. “Thanks.” You smile. You stare at each other for a minute before Spencer pauses — “So you said you’ve only been working here a few months?”

“Yeah, I can’t really afford living in this economy nowadays. Had to get two jobs to live.” You reply and Spencer nods, “Yeah, I’ve only seen you a handful of times, so I… I just happened to notice.”

He wasn’t going to add onto the fact that he watches every time that you do work, he notices when you scrunch up your nose when you’re focused, he notices that you sing to yourself every once in a while or that you walk around like you’re on a mission.

“Really?” You ask.

Spencer nods, “Yeah, trust me, you’re not an easy person to forget. That and I do have an eidetic memory, so it’s easy not to forget.”

“So, like… a photographic memory?” You ask and Spencer winces as he corrects— “It’s not quite the same, considering eidetic memory is a more short-term form of memory while photographic memory, on the other hand, is thought to be a more long-term form of memory.” You chuckle a bit, already admiring little quirks you’ve never seen before. Especially not in a man as delicious as him.

“S-Sorry, I… I tend to ramble.” Now, he was the one apologizing.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just poured my heart out to you not that long ago.” You chuckle again and look around. “I should, uh, probably get back to work. I only get ten minutes.”

Spencer nods with wide eyes, “Yeah, uh, I should go, too. I… I work, too. At the BAU in Quantico, in fact.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, another interesting thing to mark down in your mental note. “FBI?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I, uh—” Before he can even go into detail about what he does for a living, someone calls your name and informs you to come back in since you’re ten minute break was now up.

Man, time flies when you’re speaking with a handsome stranger that doesn’t think you’re a jinx.

You turn back to Spencer with an awkward chuckle, “Well, I should get back. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I hope to see you again soon, too.”

You wave at him goodbye and begin to walk back towards the doors. “Uh,” You hear Spencer and whip your head back around to see his gears turning in his head. “If you ever… want to, uh, go get coffee— at another place, that is… sometime, would-would you… be up for that? S-Sometime?”

You smirk at him and his attempt of asking you out. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You say and Spencer gives you a crooked smile. You go to push the door open, only then realizing it’s a fucking pull door and pull it open and walk back in without another word, leaving Spencer with a large smile on his face the rest of the day.

He’d gone back to the coffee shop the very next morning and ordered the usual. Only this time, he’d saw a little message written on the side of his cup. Your phone number etched with a heart and your name right next to it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

ㅤ♡ Y/n

call me sometime, cutie!

Needless to say, Spencer kept going to the coffee shop. And it wasn’t just for the coffee anymore.