#but again be mindful of what you add to your shelves

[cigsaftersuh]

૮ s’mores n strawberries ྀི ა .ᐟ

“do you think we should try the dark chocolate this time?” renjun asked, tossing a bag of marshmallows into his basket.

you nod, glancing over at him with a small smile. “we’ll need extra for the strawberries too.”

the store was quiet except for the soft clinking of your basket against renjun, the two of you moving together, next to each other down the aisles of the store.

“okay, i’ll go grab the strawberries then,” renjun says, glancing at the list in your hand. “you keep looking for marshmallows.”

you reply with a quick nod. “sure. I’ll grab the marshmallows.”

“don’t get lost,” you hear him say as he disappears down the aisle, leaving you alone in the snack section.

you turn your attention back to the shelves, scanning for the marshmallows. as you reach for a bag, your basket bumps into someone else’s.

"sorry about that," you say, glancing up, only to find jeno standing there, his hand still on his own basket.

"no, you’re good," he says, quickly stepping back. his brows lift slightly in recognition. "oh? hey."

you blink, realizing it’s him. "jeno? hi."

he laughs lightly, adjusting the basket in his hand. "this is kinda funny. twice in one day."

"yeah, what’re the odds," you say, smiling. "what brings you here?"

"it’s grocery day. but we’re making s’mores too," he says, tilting his head toward the marshmallows in front of you two. "my friend, jaemin, is here too, somewhere over there, grabbing the crackers."

you glance down at your basket. "same thing, more or less. chocolate covered strawberries and smores. renjun’s getting the strawberries."

"makes sense," jeno says, nodding. "you’re here with renjun?"

"yeah," you say, adjusting the marshmallows in your basket

jeno glances between you and your basket, his expression unreadable for a moment. "sounds like you’ve got a good system going."

"we do," you say, smiling lightly. "jun’s always been good at keeping things organized."

the way you say it, like it’s second nature to rely on him, to give him a nickname, makes jeno pause. it’s subtle, but his lips twitch slightly, as if he’s considering something.

before jeno can let his mind wander off to impossible situations, a figure appears at the end of the aisle, holding a box of graham crackers.

"jeno, we need—" he stops short when he sees you. his eyes flick between you and jeno. "oh, hi."

"hi," you reply, realizing it must be the friend jeno was here with.

jeno gestures between the two of you casually. "y/n. we met earlier."

jaemin glances at you, then back at jeno, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. "right," he replies, smiling now. "nice to meet you, i’m jaemin."

you reply with a smile, ignoring his failed attempt at hiding his smile. “nice to meet you too jaemin”

before the conversation can go further, renjun appears, a container of strawberries in hand. he looks at you, then at the two guys, raising a brow.

"ran into each other again, huh?" renjun says with a knowing smile.

"yeah," jeno replies easily.

jaemin grins as he peaks inside your basket. "wait, are you guys doing smores too?"

"yep," renjun says, sliding the strawberries into your basket. "and strawberries. we’re classier than you."

you nudge him lightly, shaking your head. "ignore him."

jaemin grins. "well just come over then. we’ve already got the set up ready, and it’ll be more fun together."

jeno nods, glancing at you, waiting for your reaction. "yeah, you guys should, it’s way better with more people."

renjun glances at you, clearly leaving the decision up to you.

"why not?" you say, smiling softly. "we’ve got the marshmallows, after all."

"and i’ve got the crackers," jaemin adds with a playful smirk, holding up the box like it’s a prize.

jeno laughs lightly. "guess we’re all set, then”

“see you in a bit?" he asks in a hopeful tone while starting at you.

"yeah," renjun says, nodding. "just let us finish up, and we’ll head over."

the group naturally drifts apart, but there’s an easy warmth lingering as you and renjun finish gathering your things, the promise of a cozy evening already making you look forward to it.

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ㅡ my youth, your kitchen.

with love,

© cigsaftersuh

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[the---hermit]

my physical tbr

While writing my reflections on my 2024 reading goals I realized that I should probably talk about my physical tbr a bit. One of my goals for the year was to decrease my physical tbr, and I did, by a few books, but I am aware I have a very specific way of thinking about my physical tbr and the books I buy so why not waste everyone's time with another long postTM.

I mentally divide my physical tbr in very different sections that I approach in different ways. Firstly we have the books I buy during the year, they are not part of the physical tbr in my mind. They are a thing of their own. For quite a few years now my main reading goal has always been reading the books I buy right away. The real goal is to be as mindful as I can about what I buy, which means getting things I know I want to read right away. Of course every now and then I end up buying a "acorn books" (people who listen to books unbound know, but basically they are books you get knowing they will stay unread for a while, like a squirrel collects acorns for winter). These specific books will eventually become part of my physical tbr, and I know that when I am buying them. It is very rare I buy a book I think I will read soon and then leave it to rot on my shelves. Anyway the books I buy during the year are placed on a shelf I have by my bed as that is my immediate tbr shelf, and once they have been read they are crossed out from my list of "book bought this year" and find their place on my main bookshelves.

Then we have my actualy physical tbr, so all the books I own, that I have been collecting from years and years and somehow have not been read yet. All the books that I have dnf-ed and that I still own for a reason or another are not considered in this section, they are a specific group. I don't have a lot of dnfs on my shelves, because they aren't too common and I often end up getting rid of them. But there's a few books I still keep because I might end up giving them a second chance in the future, I haven't fully given up on them. So, my physical tbr is mixed with all my other books, but I have a list on my reading journal, so I can cross the books once I have read them. I rewrite this list every year for two reasons: firstly I might get rid of stuff when I declutter and reorganize my shelves during the year, and I have to add the acorn books I might have gotten during the previous year. And of course I will not write down all the books I have actually read during the previous year. This way every year I have a clear view of what I have finally got off my physical tbr because I either read or dnf-ed it, and at the beginning of the year I havea clear overview of all my unread options, which is very exciting.

This physical tbr has very specific sections. Firstly there should be a graphic novels/graphic non-fiction section, except I have no unread graphic books in my collection. I have conquered that tbr a few years ago (and have regretted it ever since, but more on this later). Then I have a non-fiction tbr and a fiction tbr. The latter has one specific section inside of it, which includes a very specific collection of classic books. They came out as a collection a few years ago, they were a weekly release with a newspaper, and are all classics from the early fantasy, horror and scifi genres. I consider them as a section of their own for two reasons: firstly they have increased my tbr by a lot in a short amount of time, because as I said they came out weekly over a year and I got 51 of these books (fear not I have read almost half of them now). Secondly they are classics, so I need to be in the right mindset to get to them because they are definitely not the most lighthearted read I can go for. When I was getting them I was very well aware I was going to need years to read them all, and to be honest I am fine with it, I know that when I am in a mood for classics I have quite a few options ready for me. My regular fiction tbr is quite short actually, half of it, if not more, is made up of books that were gifted to me, so books I didn't conciously add to my tbr and therefore have not read right away. To be honest some of these I don't even know if I'll ever get to, but for the time being they'll stay on my shelves. The remaining books on this shelf are those acorn books I have mentioned before. As for my non fiction tbr, it's made up of mainly historical non fiction, which is also what I have to read for uni since I am an history major. Which of course means that during the year I get one or two books read in my free time and no more than that. I have to focus on uni books until I am studying, so again most of this section of my tbr will get read in the far future, and that's okay.

This means that most of my physical tbr right now can be seen through the metaphor of the wine cellar bookshelf. You may have heard it online, to be honest I am not sure who is the person who came up with the concept, but I really like it, because it clearly resonates with me. The idea is that you can think of the unread books on your shelves as bottles of wine in cellar. Each book is there waiting for you to pick it up in the right moment of your life when you'll be able to savour it and enjoy it the most. Which also means that a lot of those books will stay unread for years maybe. In the past I have been tempted to try and make my physical tbr as small as possible, but it just can't work for me. I am a mood reader which means I will not force myself to read a book just because it's there, and most importanly I really like to be able to look at my shelves as see options for new reads. And here come my regrets of having completly conquered my graphic novel tbr. I hate that if I am in the mood for a new graphic novel my only option is to go and buy a new one. For some people having a minimal tbr might be very freeing, apparetly to me it's not. I like to have a tbr with books that were picked mindfully, so you will not see me going on a shopping spree and buy random stuff, because as I said I consider each book I buy as well as I can before actually getting it. But also I don't think I'd be happy having shelves of fully read books. I do have a goal of not increasing my tbr too much, and honestly I am pretty sure that ever since I started keep an account of it, my tbr has actually decreased by a few books each year (even though I always end up with a few new unread books at the end of each year). So far this year my physical tbr has decreased of 16 books despite having some acorn books additions.

I don't know how to conclude it, I get that a lot of people feel stressed by the idea of having a lot of unread books, but I think I have found my personal system and it works very well for me. Keeping a list of the unread books of the start of the year, from which I cross off my reads has been very helpful. And keeping a list of the books I am buying during the year, to again cross off what I am reading has also been incredibly good to stay mindful of my additions to my shelves. Overall as I said I think in the last four or five years I think I really found a system that works for me, which also means that I came to the conclusion that I will be not doing any more tbr challenges, or specific years tbr lists to get books read. I am too much of a mood reader to do so. I will keep an account of what I am reading, adding and taking off my shelves, because that is what works best for me.

[itneverendshere]

can we see rafe with a pouge reader and they are dating. they go out to go grocery shopping and rafe sees that she has a calculator out and watches as she picks up an item then types it in the calculator and then puts it back and chooses a cheaper option and he has to tell her that she doesn’t need to do that

birds of a feather - rafe cameron

word count: 2.9k belongs to this universe

The grocery store is quiet for a saturday afternoon, a rarity that makes the experience almost peaceful. Fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead as Rafe pushes a cart lazily with one hand, his other hand draped comfortably around his girl, you. 

He catches your eye and smiles, relishing the way you always lean into him, your bodies fitting together perfectly. Dating you was like finding the missing piece of himself—something he always knew he needed but never thought he’d find, let alone on the other side of the island.

Rafe grabs a box of cereal, tossing it into the cart without a second thought. “You good on milk, babe?” he asks, scanning the shelves for anything else that might catch his eye.

You nodded absentmindedly, focusing elsewhere. He notices that you are holding your phone in one hand and have a small calculator app open. His brow furrows as he watches you pick up a box of pasta, glance at the price, and then quickly type something into the calculator. After a moment of calculation, you place the box back on the shelf and reach for a cheaper brand.

Rafe's heart clenches. He hadn’t really thought about the differences between you in this way before. He knows you don't have the same privileges he does—didn’t grow up in a life of luxury as he had—but it’s moments like this that make him feel like a fucking entitled douche. 

He watches you do it again, this time with a jar of tomato sauce. You compare the prices, calculate the difference, and opt for the less expensive one.

“Hey,” Rafe stops you as you reach for another item. “What’re you doing?”

You blink, as if coming out of a trance, and look up at him with almost embarrassed smile. “Just trying to make sure I stay within the budget. Groceries can add up, y’know?”

He can’t stand the idea of you worrying about something as basic as food. Sure, he understands budgeting—everyone has to do it to some extent—but this? This was different. This was a mindset.

He gently takes the phone from your hand and slips it into his back pocket, keeping your hand in his. “You don’t need to do that. I’ve got you, okay?”

“Rafe, I—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, “You don’t have to worry about the prices. Just get what you want. We’re fine.”

You are grateful—God, you were always grateful—but there’s something else, something that has kept you up at night.

You hate relying on him. Not because you don’t trust him or appreciate everything he does for you, but because it reminds you of the whispers you’ve been hearing ever since you started dating. 

You can almost hear the voices now, like a nagging reminder in the back of your mind. “Gold digger,” they’d hiss. “Dirty Pogue. Look at her, clinging to him for the money. She’s got him wrapped around her finger, totally pussy-whipped.”

The rumors had messed with your head the first time you’d heard them, and even now, they still hurt, despite knowing they weren’t true. But the worst part is that a small, insecure part of you hates there might be some truth to what they said. You didn’t want Rafe to feel like he had to take care of you, or that you were using him for his money. You love him too much to ever want him to think that.

You glance at him, watching as he casually tosses another item into the cart without checking the price, without even a second thought. He’s so at ease, so unbothered by the things that you had worried about during your entire lifetime. You can’t help but feel guilty, like you’re dragging him down, making him take on responsibilities that should be yours alone. 

A you walk down another aisle, you keep your eyes on the floor, as you force the words out. “I know you’re just trying to help, and I really appreciate it, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”

Rafe stops in his tracks, turning to face you fully. His brows knit together in concern like he genuinely can't grasp what you just said.

“I don’t feel like that,” he says,“I want to take care of you because I love you. It’s not about feeling like I have to—it’s because I want to.”

“But I hear what people say, Rafe—”

“They don’t know shit,” he scoffs, hand wrapping tightly around the cart, “They don’t know. Anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping as you lean into him, “It’s not that simple, baby. But I appreciate the thought.”

His other hand tilts your chin up so you’re looking directly at him, “It is that simple. I love you. You love me. That’s it.”

You know he means it, that he’s not just saying it to please you, but it doesn’t make the worries disappear. You nod, giving him a small smile, but he knows your brain is working double shifts, imagining all kinds of scenarios.

He sighs, knowing this conversation is far from over, and presses a gentle peck against your temple, all while murmuring, “Let’s finish up here and get out of this place.”

You agree, and the two of you continue down the aisle. Your hands are itching to take your phone out of his back pocket, and your brain scrambling to do simple math. You hate it. You automatically reach for the off-brand items, skip over the more expensive snacks, and choose the smaller sizes of products to stretch your budget. Rafe is abnormally quiet and you know it’s taking every will power in his body not to pick you up and lock you in his truck while he finishes shopping for you. 

He pauses in front of the snacks aisle, his eyes catching on your favorite candy. It’s something he knows you love but rarely allow yourself to buy. Without hesitation, he grabs a couple of bags and tosses them into the cart.

“Rafe, those are expensive—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a playful grin.

“They’re my favorite too.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the way he looks at you, with so much affection, makes the words die on your lips. Instead, you shake your head huffing as he wraps his arm around your shoulders dragging you along, “You’re so annoying.”

“Don’t be mean, baby.”

You squeeze his waist in retaliation. 

When you finally reach the checkout line, he watches as you nervously glance at the total on the screen. It’s a small thing, for him, but it’s enough to make him realize just how much it affects you. Without saying a word, he hands over his card to the cashier, ignoring the way you try to protest.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know,” he says firmly, “But I want to.”

You bite your lip, nodding reluctantly as he pays for the groceries. It’s a small gesture, but it means the world to him. He wants to take care of you, to make sure you never have to worry about something as basic as food ever again. He wants to give you the life you deserve, the one you never experienced on The Cut.

He opens the trunk of his car, starting to load the groceries while you stand there, too quiet. He hates not hearing the sound of your voice. 

“Hey,” he closes the trunk and turning to face you. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He steps closer, his hand finding a home in your neck, thumb caressing your pulsing point, “Forget about them okay?”

You sigh, forehead touching his chin, “I’m trying. I just don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”

“You’re not a burden,” he says firmly, fingers pulling your head up, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that, no matter how often it happens, still takes your breath away. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Now get that fine ass inside the car.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way he says it, so casually and with so much conviction that it leaves no room for you to second guess his thoughts. His confidence, his overwhelming trust in everything that he says, is one of the things you love most about him. He’s always been like that—bold, sure of himself, and unafraid to go after what he wants. And right now, what he wants is you. 

“Why?” You tease, rolling your eyes but smiling as you let him guide you toward the car “You gonna make me if I don’t?”

You wish you could photograph the grin on his face, the way his beautiful eyes seem to drink you in like he’ll die if he doesn’t look at you all the time. 

“Oh, you know I will,” he says as he steps closer, his hand slipping down to give your ass a firm but playful slap. The sound echoes through the quiet parking lot, and you gasp, more from surprise than anything else.

“Rafe!” you scold, though your laughter makes it known there’s no real annoyance. The smirk on his face only grows, clearly pleased with himself.

“Consider that a warning,” he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’d hate to have to follow through.”

You try to hold back a grin, biting your lip as you tilt your head to look up at him. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” His tone is a challenge.

For a moment, you consider pushing more just to see what he’d do, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s ready to scoop you up and take you back to his bed right then and there—makes you rethink it. Instead, you play along, giving him a coy smile as you turn and head for the door.

“That’s what I thought,” he calls after you, his deep voice filled with a smug satisfaction that makes you roll your eyes again. Before you can reach for the door handle, he gently pulls it open for you. You slide into the passenger seat, and before you touch the seatbelt, Rafe is leaning in, his hands brushing over yours as he clicks the belt into place.

“Safe and sound,” he murmurs, as he pulls back slightly. It’s something so simple, yet so endearing he has insisted on doing ever since the two of you started dating.

You smile up at him, practically oozing in your love for him as your hand reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Thank you."

His gaze softens as he leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips, “Anything for you,” he whispers, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek before he finally steps back and closes the door.

As he rounds the front of the car to get in on his side, you can’t help but watch him. It still blows your mind that this is real. The way he looks at you, the way he takes care of you without making you feel small—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You’re still not used to someone loving you like this, so openly. You never imagined Rafe Cameron would be that someone. 

He starts the engine, the low hum filling the silence between you. The radio automatically tunes to a soft indie station, one of your favorites, and Rafe reaches over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“I’m cooking tonight.”

You turn to him, even though you know his attention is on the road, “Really?”

Rafe’s thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on the back of your hand, “Hmmm.”

“So you can burn down the kitchen again?”

“Baby, that was one time.”

You snort, the image of Rafe with a fire extinguisher still fresh in your memory, “What’s on the menu?”

He grins, “I was thinking we could make that pasta you like, with the garlic bread.”

Your heart swells a little at the thoughtfulness behind his choice. He remembers all the little things—your favorite foods, the way you like your coffee, the songs that make you smile.

“Are you trying to get laid?”

He laughs, loud and boisterous as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, “So you don’t want desert?”

You hit his shoulder gently, all too aware you’re still in a moving vehicle, “Don’t be nasty.”

His touch moves to your thighs, squeezing gently, "Can't help it when I'm around you."

The smile tugging at your lips is impossible to hide. There's something so easy about being with Rafe, despite everything. Despite the whispers, the looks, the insecurities that sometimes creep in—he has a way of making you feel like none of it matters. 

The city lights begin to twinkle on the horizon, the sun dipping low in the sky. It's peaceful, the kind of quiet that lets you sink into yourself. The idea of a cozy night in, just the two of you cooking dinner together, fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the summer heat outside.

Rafe glances over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Penny for your thoughts?"

You shake your head, the smile widening on your face. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."

He quirks an eyebrow, "I think I'm the lucky one."

"Yeah, but you're also really annoying," you tease, earning a chuckle from him.

"Annoying but irresistible," he counters smoothly, pulling into the driveway of his house 

He parks the car and quickly rounds the front to open your door, always the gentleman. As you step out, you look up at him, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost overwhelms you. It's not just the grand gestures or the way he spoils you—it's the little things, the way he makes you feel cherished, the way he sees you for who you are and loves you anyway.

"Ready for our gourmet meal?" he asks as he takes your hand, leading you towards the front door.

You laugh, leaning into him as you walk. "If by gourmet you mean slightly burnt, then yes."

He chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "With you, it's always perfect."

Before you can walk through the front door, he stops all too suddenly, dragging you against him. You’re confused for a second, looking up to see him ogle you.

“What?” You stutter out, “Something’s wrong?”

Rafe shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips as he looks down at you with that same adoring expression that never fails to make your heart  stop. "No, nothing’s wrong.”

You blink up at him, still confused, “Rafe...”

 “I know you worry sometimes. About what people say, about what they think. But I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I only care about you, about us.” His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb moving gently along your cheekbone. “I love you, y’know that? Right? Aways.”

Your breath hitches at the sudden emotion in his voice. It’s random moments like this that remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place—beneath the confident, cocky exterior, Rafe Cameron has a heart that beats fiercely for the people he cares about, especially for you. 

“I love you,” you whisper, feeling the words settle between you like a vow.

“I love you more,” he replies, his voice full of conviction. Then, with a small grin, he adds, “And I’m gonna marry you someday. We’re gonna have our own place, our own life. Just you and me.”

It’s not the first time you’ve talked about the future, but hearing him say it so plainly, so confidently, sends a warmth spreading through your whole body.

“Is that a proposal, Cameron?” you tease, though your voice wavers just a little, eyes burning as you pathetically attempt not to cry.

“Not yet,” he smirks, leaning down to press a peck to the corner of your lips, “But when I do, you’ll know. It’s gonna be perfect. Just like you.”

You pull back slightly, resting your forehead against his as you take a deep breath, trying to calm the stupid fluttering in your chest. “You mean it?”

“More than anything,” he replies without hesitation. “I want to build a life with you, baby. The kind of life where you never have to worry about anything, where you can just be happy.”

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, but they’re the good kind, the kind that comes from being overwhelmed with love. So different from the ones you’d experienced as a kid, growing up. You nod, not sure how to explain how you’re feeling inside, so instead, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your lips show what your voice can’t.

You kiss each other like you have all the time in the world, which you have, savoring the way your lips fit perfectly against his. There’s no rush, no urgency—just you two. 

When you pull apart, both of you slightly breathless, Rafe gives you a lopsided grin, his lips just barely grazing yours as he speaks, “So, how about we start with dinner?”

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

"Strawberry Kisses"

Pairing: Show!Percy Jackson x demeter!fem!reader

Summary: your boyfriend percy wants attention while you are tending to the strawberry patch

Contains: fluff, kisses, and more fluff [established relationship]

Word Count: 573

A/N: I make a return (again have little to no idea about the pjo world). this is pretty short but cute hehe. also this is most definitely not edited. ALSO lets ignore the fact that i edited this later to add a title and summary which i somehow forgot

"Can you hold this?" Percy's voice reaches your ears.

You turn around from the patch of strawberries you were tending to, to see Percy holding out his hand. "What do you want me to hold?" you ask in confusion - his hand is empty.

"This," he says, shaking his hand.

"You want me to hold your hand?" you ask sarcastically.

Percy looks at you with all seriousness "Yes."

You smile brightly at your boyfriend and intertwine your fingers together. "Happy now?"

Percy grins at you, "yep!" he lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss on the back of your hand. "Now come on, I'm bored and want to go for a walk."

"Percy," you groan knowing full well that he doesn't want to take a walk at all.

"Come on y/n!" Percy urges. Instead of obliging him you force him to sit down and pick a ripened strawberry, kneeling you pop the strawberry in your mouth and chew. Percy is now watching your lips with an unbreakable interest.

"What, are you doin-" you cut him off by placing a soft kiss on his mouth leaving strawberry juice on his lips. Leans forward in search of your lips.

"Uh uh ah," you tut teasing him. "For every second ripe strawberry you find you get one kiss." Percy suddenly very, very keen to help pick strawberries jumps up and rushes around finding as many strawberries as he can.

"I got two!" Percy's voice fills your ear and you turn around and see you boyfriend grinning with two strawberries in his hand. You smile sweetly at him and take them both, placing one in the basket at your feet. Taking the other you bite into it and place the other half in on his lips before placing a kiss on his mouth.

Teasing him you pull back and say, "keep finding them!" Percy's eyes are trained on your lips but he nods eagerly, turning away and rushing to find more.

Thirty minutes later, Percy is sitting on the grass next to the patch with your head in his lap. "Y/n, listen to me - clearly you're not thinking straight," he says. "Ice cream is clearly the better choice."

"No, no, no," you say as he leans forward but trying not to move too much so he doesn't bother you. "Chocolate is better. What is wrong with you? Chocolate is-" Percy cuts you off you with a kiss.

"You're very wrong, but since I love you, we can shelve this debate for later, letting chocolate be the temporary winner."

"Yes!" you start to smile and chant about your victory.

"But, it's only temporary," Percy warns, placing another soft kiss on your lips.

You sigh, smiling up at the boy looking down at you. As much as you hate to admit it - Percy was right - this is much better than picking strawberries.As if he heard your thoughts, Percy smirks. "See, I told you this was better than picking stupid strawberries. Although, I definitely didn't mind those kisses," he says leaning over and plucking one before eating it himself and this time he places the kiss on your lips letting the strawberry juice linger on your lips.

[reiderwriter]

Wished Away Entire Lifetimes

Chapter 6 of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Living with Spencer - even if it is because some psycho is trying to murder you - means learning more about him. You just hope that the reverse isn't also true as you keep your cards as close to your chest as possible.

Warnings: No smut, suggestive content, both reader and Spencer are horny as fuck the entire time, spoilers for Marley and Me, mention of a pet death in the aforementioned movie.

A/N: At this point, I have to admit to the audience that the plot has somewhat changed from my original intention, but I still have a solid goal in mind, so WHO CARES!!! Domestic Spencer! Dom can mean more than one thing, Amen.

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Spencer's apartment was exactly as you remembered it, but this time around, it felt different. 

You quietly walked in and sat down on the sofa, trying not to be so obvious in your glances towards the bookshelf, trying to see if your message was still intact. 

“The kitchen's just through here, my bedroom, study,” he said pointing to each doorway, introducing you to a place you already had ingrained in your mind as the site of your biggest surprise. 

You nodded along awkwardly and shifted the bag of spare clothes and toiletries you'd picked up from your apartment on the way there between your hands. 

The shelves were still in order and, based on the updated collection of dust sprinkled about the place, hadn't even been perused in a while. You pouted a little, thinking about how you'd have to reluctantly forgive him for not messaging you. If he hadn't seen the message, then you supposed he was telling the truth about being busy. 

More of you wanted to wallow in your pettiness, to wait until he noticed himself that you were expecting. You did wonder how long it would take him. He was observant. You'd admitted that to himself when he'd first started mentioning case details and inferences months before in the office, but it seemed like people weren't hit forte. 

You were sure he could statistically tell you how big your baby was given the amount of weeks pregnant you were (the size of a plum, according to a Google search the night before) but you didn't think he'd be able to notice that you specifically were carrying said baby. 

It was, though, only a matter of time. 

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” He asked, staring at you with his brow furrowed, his tie slightly looser than it had been a few moments earlier. 

Now you were the thoughtless one. Your gaze raked down from his face to the loosened tie, the top buttons undone, the flash of skin at his neck as he swallowed lightly, obviously not as effected by your gaze as you were by his. 

“Yes,” you replied, letting your mind wander off to one of the two couched he'd fucked you on. 

“Y/N, you're not listening,” he said again, slightly irritated now. Somehow  that turned you on more. 

“Yes, I am.”

“What did I say then?” 

“I said I was listening, not that I cared.” 

He closed his eyes in a sigh before stepping closer to you and grabbing your bag in his hand. You quickly snatched it back and pulled it to yourself. 

You hadn't exactly packed much, but in your rush out of the door, hormones or something maternal had grabbed a baby grow and a teddy bear, and you knew the combination would cause questions you didn't have the patience to answer just then. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, signalling how tired he was with your attitude. You wanted to calm down and just apologise, but the part of you that had jumped at the sight of his bare skin was now itching for a physical fight. 

Emphasis, hopefully, on the physical part. 

“I'd rather you didn't go through my things, Spencer,” you said, throwing the bag back over your shoulder. 

“And I'd rather you listened to me instead of glaring at me, but here we are.”

Your eyes narrowed on him as you found yourself pitching forward, head tipping back as his hand caught the top of the strap and slowly pushed it down your arm. 

“There, now, let me show you the bed.” 

“Bed?” 

“You really weren't listening?”

“I tend to drown you out these days, I fear its a trauma response.” 

He scoffed and pressed a hand to the base of your spine, inching you forward as he held your bag for you. 

First, his hand on your arm, and then the one on your back - you really shouldn't have accepted his offer knowing you were going to spend at least a night and likely more frustratedly horny. 

You'd barely survived a day in an office with him, And that was before you'd been intimate. 

Now you had memories, and a reference point, and a goddamn bed. 

“Here. I'll clear a draw so you can unpack. Let me grab you some towels as well, and-” 

“What do you mean?” Your tone was brighter, less challenging now and more open curiosity, as if being mollified by his temporary kindness. The change made you uncomfortable.

He looked back at you with a wide-eyed questioning stare. 

“Hmm?” 

“Clear a draw? You keep clothes in your spare room?” 

He struggled for an answer for a second before meeting your eyes again with an almost apologetic glance. 

“Y/N, I don't have a spare bed. The other room only has a desk. The bed was removed when-” he trailed off, looking almost guilty as he spotted your embarrassed look. 

“Okay, and when were you going to tell me that?” You said, hands on your hips in an attempt at intimidation. His eyes dragging down your body said that it'd had the opposite effect.

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to you again, hands resting on your hips then stroking up your back until he was cradling your back, closing the gap between you until you were chest to chest. 

“You weren't listening, remember?" 

You desperately clung to that indignant annoyance as his gaze slid to your mouth, your hands pinned against his chest. You were painfully aware of the bed just inches behind you, wondering what his reaction would be if you just stripped off and climbed in. 

“I wasn't listening just now, but I sure as hell was listening on campus. Emily has a spare room, let me call her.”

“No,” he pouted, leaning forward to press his lips to your cheek. 

“Spencer!” You gasped at the unexpected move. If you weren't so delicately pressed up against his rising member, you'd accuse him of acting like a spoiled child. 

He did it again, switching to your other cheek. You pouted back at him, glaring at him when he surfaced from each kiss. 

“You know,” you said as he licked at the skin between your neck and your collar bone. “You have a job to do, right?” 

He hummed against your skin, lips rising to the sensitive point just below your earlobe. 

You breathed out a shaky sigh and tried again. 

“You can't just keep me in bed for two weeks,” you said, gripping his shoulders lightly, not sure whether you wanted him off you, or you wanted him buried deeper.

“I can't?”  

His lips rose again to your cheeks, but so his his hands, grabbing a breast in one hand as the other squeezed your ass, pulling you closer. 

“Spencer, some would think you hadn't had sex in months, come on-” 

“Haven't.” 

His hands were more insistent now, pushing up your shirt and finding your sensitive breasts. His wandering hands didn't care about your bra, they didn't care about how sensitive your nipples were because of the hormones, they didn't even care they were being a bit too rough as he pinched your nipples hard and pulled them upwards, a moan shooting from your mouth. 

It was so painful, so fucking delicious that you almost missed his words. You almost laughed at the irony that both your and his first fuck in months had resulted in a pregnancy. A dry spell ended by a shower of orgasms and a conception to boot. How lucky. 

Spencer was too busy for thought. 

“God, Spencer, if you're going to fuck me standing up, at least do it against a wall.”

He reluctantly pulled his hands away and his head, too, just long enough to glare at you. 

“Towels,” you said. “And a clear draw.” 

He nodded and finally removed his hands from you, though you had no doubt he'd be back on you the minute all the tasks for the day were done. 

“And Spencer?” You said, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He turned to look at you, and you let the question out before you could think about it too much. 

“How busy were you that you haven't had time to fuck in months?” 

If it were any other man, you'd have cringed at hearing your own question. But Spencer always answered so earnestly that there could be very little embarrassment with him. Just frustration and confusion. 

“I wasn't busy,” he said, already making his way out of the room, leaving his head peeking around the doorway as he finished his explanation. 

“I was in prison.” 

You spent the next 72 hours trying to wrap your mind around that declaration. Of all things he could've been doing, prison never came to mind. 

A vow of celibacy you'd believe. Just a general lack of game, you'd be a bit more hesitant to believe, considering his general attractiveness. A nasty case of (now cured) Chlamydia leading to almost a year sex free in recovery would be preferable. Or a stint in rehab for sex addiction, perhaps, considering how often his hands had been on you since arriving. 

But prison? 

What the fuck would they put him in prison for? 

While he'd run errands for you that night, you'd tucked yourself into his bed, not even bothering to change into your pajamas. You stripped off a single layer and climbed in, not stopping to let yourself contemplate that answer until the morning. 

Unfortunately, since you'd found yourself snuggled up to a hard cock 8 hours later, you didn't exactly have time to think about it then either, busy grinding against him wantonly. 

By the time his hands were gripping the flesh of your thighs grinding back into you on the edge of sleep, you'd been struck with your usual morning upset, and had sent yourself to the bathroom quietly to empty your stomach. 

He was still abed when you'd finished, and you decided to leave him there to think, and then you'd repeated that twice coming up with no logical conclusion. 

You'd finally given in and thrown in the towel when you realised you had Penelope’s contact details still and decided to ask her yourself. 

It was a relief to know that the man you'd created life with was not actually a murderer but actually wrongfully convicted. Especially since you were supposedly thrown into his arms (this time) by a murderer yourself. 

You did start to feel guilty about treating him like shit when you first met, though. He'd, supposedly, only been back from federal prison for a few weeks when he was thrust into your office, which probably explained his less than friendly nature. 

It didn't excise yours. 

You'd kept our distance enough in those few days to avoid sexual encounters, but you relaxed into his touch a little more after finding out. 

It came as a bigger shock than it should have that you enjoyed Spencer Reid's company. 

Bored out of your mind on house arrest, you'd taken to rooting through his bookshelves, and when he wasn't commenting on your bad habit of touching other peoples books or actually doing his job, he rooted with you. 

“Why do you have a copy of The Collector by John Fowles from a New York public library?” 

“It was from a case.”

“And why didn't you return it.” 

“Touché.” 

You'd rolled your eyes at him  and picked up a battered copy of Crime and Punishment from a lower shelf.

“Writing a book this long should be a crime, and reading it must be a punishment,” you grumbled to yourself as he laughed behind you. 

“I can finish it in three hours,” he said, trying not to brag but failing miserably. 

“You're bluffing.”

“Want to make a bet?” He smiled at you mischievously, and suddenly you saw the boy he must've been. Your heart panged as you wondered if your child would inherit that look. 

“Penelope said I shouldn't gamble with you. Las Vegas, right?” 

“Penelope?” he asked, and you realised your blunder. Technically, you still had yet to be introduced to the one woman tech show that was Ms. Garcia, and you scrambled for an excuse. 

“Emily made me contact her with all my passwords and tech info,” you said, technically not lying. 

“She's real friendly.” That was definitely the truth, and you prayed to god that he bought it. 

You didn't give him a chance yo interrogate further, simply throwing the brick of a Russian classic at him and grabbing a book yourself. 

You climbed onto the couch next to him, resting your head in his lap and began to read your book. 

“Time starts now, Reid. And I will be testing you after.”

“Sure, if you can stay awake,” he said, stroking your hair out of your eyes and leaving you in peace as he began his solo race. 

Spencer didn't let go of your off-hand comment, though. On the contrary, he let it spill over into his work life the next day as he watched Penelope with furtive eyes, wondering what the two of you could be hiding. 

He knew you were hiding something. You'd had the same look about you at the bookshelves as you did when you first insisted you weren't attracted to him. A mildly annoyed face and an unconscious bite of the lip, a glance to the right, and all of a sudden, he was dying to know what you were hiding.

“So far there's been little activity in the hunting grounds due to the vigilance of the girls on campus, but there have been a spike in reported stalking, and Penelope, how do you know Y/N?” 

He fought to get the words out, mollifying himself with the consolation that at least he got all the important information out first in the middle of the meeting. 

“Oh ho,” chortled Luke from the side, looking on amusedly as Penelope glanced about for help or a way out. 

“I don't know Y/N, I've never met Y/N. Why would you think I know Y/N? Who is Y/N?” 

“Slightly overkill, Penelope,” Emily said, collecting her papers and abandoning the other woman. 

The others followed suit as she gaped and sent pleading looks behind them. 

“Penelope?” Reid said again, and Penelope was annoyed to find his stupidly innocent puppy-dog eyes staring back at her and expecting answers. 

“No, no, no, no, I promised I wouldn't say anything, and I am not breaking a promise. Don't make me break a promise, Spencer, you know that's bad luck.”

She stood and tried to walk briskly out of the room, but he followed her still. 

“Penelope, please. I won't say anything.” 

“Yes, you will. You can't help yourself,” she said, stopping to talk to him for a second before quickly starting again, practically marching to her office. 

“Then tell me where you met, at least? I know it wasn't messages, Penelope, all her communications went through Emily. She's lying to me, and we have to keep her safe.”

They finally reached her office, and Spencer finally pulled out his final card. 

“I just want to keep her safe, Penelope. Just this one girl, just this once.” 

She looked at him with a shocked, heartbroken face, even as she knew he was manipulating her and caved. 

“She came to your apartment. A month ago. I was there picking up a book for you.”

“What was she doing there?” 

Penelope hesitated, trying to avoid the topic of your revelation, telling herself that if she didn't tell him about the baby, she hadn't actually broken her promise. 

“The emails. She found some emails from you in her spam folder.” 

“Right,” he said, blowing out a deep breath in relief. “Right the emails. She mentioned that.” 

Penelope, too, let out a sharp exhale, imagining the worst of it over now he'd stopped asking questions. 

Spencer made his way to the door before turning back and asking one more, though.

“Penelope, why did she ask you to keep this to yourself?” 

Penelope sent him an apologetic look, then zipped her mouth shut and threw away the key. He nodded and took his leave. 

Spencer was sure that there was an explanation for everything, that you'd probably just been embarrassed at turning up at his house and finding out he wasn't there. Maybe you'd even forgotten you'd been. 

But another deeper part of him was angry and unjustifiably so. You'd lied to him, and he felt sick, angry, violent, and like he'd love nothing more than to bend you over his lap and make sure you never did it again.

All of the unjustified anger he'd pent up in prison, the rough way he carried himself in the field now, his less than friendly exterior, it was bleeding into his relationship with you. 

He tried to damp it down, but he couldn't control it, and he was scared even as he opened the door to the apartment and prepared himself for an argument that would probably end in rough, probably progress-ending sex. 

And you had made progress in the last few days. He'd thought at the very least that you'd be a friend, albeit one he would love to kiss and sink deep into. Now he knew that he'd probably ruin all chances of that as he rounded the corner and prepared for a fight. 

He was angry, and, like it or not, he knew he was going to take it out on you. 

It was the sight of you on the couch that completely dissipated every negative emotion that he had. 

Your dress was loose and fell about you in a puddle, though it too was drowned underneath what looked to be every blanket in the house. 

Tara sat off in the corner silently watching you, and he gave her a stiff nod as she departed her protection duty for the day. 

“S-Spencer,” you sniffled, and his heart paced rapidly as he found your face stained with tear tracks, fresh tears still dripping down as well. 

He had just enough time to check you over for injuries before you had flung yourself into his arms and commenced sobbing like an absolute baby. 

“Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” 

Your breath hitched as you tried to speak, but you couldn't calm down and he walked you back to the couch, sitting down and letting you climb into his lap, straddling him as you once again buried your face in your neck. 

Five minutes later, you'd ceased with the dramatics, but you faced the awkward consequence of having to tell him now that you were crying because of a scene in Marley and Me. 

“It's s-stupid,” you laughed into his neck as you cuddled into him, further muffling your voice against his chest. 

“Just tell me,” he pleaded, stroking your back and hair. You looked up at him in his eyes, and then shook your head and retreated into the comfort of the crook of his neck, hips pushing closer into his as his hands rubbed comforting circles in your back. 

After a few rubs, it was quite obvious that his hands were pushing lower, and his fingers were close to grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Was it a movie?” He asked. You nodded. 

He looked at the screen and sighed. 

“Marley and Me?” He asked. You nodded again. 

“And the dog-” 

“He died, Spencer. He loved his family so much that he took himself outside so they wouldn't have to watch him die.”

“I know, Y/N, I know.” 

“He was such a good dog,” you said, blubbering again. 

“I know,” he said, gently kissing you. 

“You know, crying during movies is a sign that oxytocin has been triggered by the connections you feel due to vicarious social experience. Your attention is captured and emotions elicited by the movie's story.” 

He kissed you again, and you kept listening to his explanation, suddenly calmed by his gentle explanation. 

“Oxytocin is best known for its role in childbirth and breastfeeding, increasing contractions during labour and stimulating the milk ducts, but it's also released in response to positive physical contact – hugging, kissing, sexual intimacy and even petting animals – as well as through positive social interactions.” 

“Spencer?” You said, looking up at him again. 

“Yes?” 

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I do know what oxytocin is. I, too, have a PhD, you know.” 

He smiled shyly as he ran his hands down your legs and back up again, pushing your skirt up to the tops of your thighs before gripping the bare skin he found there. 

“I think I'd much prefer if you just kissed me again,” you said. 

And he did. 

With a tear, you'd lifted the anger that had built up all day, and now he was like putty in your hands, obeying his every command for physical attention. 

He kissed you hard, his tongue tangling with yours as your hips subtly shifted above his, stimulating areas that had been much too eager to be stimulated in the last few days. 

His cock rose slightly, filling with blood as you moaned gently into the kiss. 

He was seconds from pushing you into the couch once again and freeing his abused cock, plundering your depths once again, but gently this time. He had promised himself he'd make the third time a bed at least, but here he was. You had to stop sitting on sofas. 

But with a quick thank you and heavy eyelids, you pulled away and rested your head against his shoulder. 

In his shock and disappointment, it took him rather a long time to realise you'd fallen asleep in his arms. Though his body craved attention for his own, the weight of you on top of him was warm, and satisfying, and when the shock wore off and he'd blinked away any untoward thoughts, he pulled you in closer, sunk down into the couch, and slept with you. 

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[appocalipse]

RIGHT WHERE I WANT TO BE : ̗̀➛ SIRIUS BLACK

summary: it's only when lily accidentally spills amortentia on you and all you can smell is cigarettes and dog fur that you realize you're in love with sirius — probably the only person in the world you shouldn't be in love with.

"Oh, crap!" Lily seems on the verge of panic as she stares at the fresh stain on your clothes. "I'm so sorry!"

Somewhat shocked, you reach your hand to the front of your uniform and try to rub it away. It's no use. "It's okay," you assure her gently, relieved that the liquid didn't spill on the clean set of clothes you were folding instead, "it was an accident."

You put the clothes safely away in the trunk near your bed. They still have the fresh and clean scent of lavender. Your uniform, however…

Lily points her wand at your chest, and the stain quickly disappears. She had rushed through the entrance of the dormitory fast as lightning, crashing right into you and spilling…

Well, what exactly?

"Lily," you bring a hand to your own face, sniffing, then sniffing again. "What is this? It smells like a wet dog and-"

Your eyes meet and you immediately dislike the look on her face. Too much restrained excitement slowly bubbling up...

"-cigarettes…" you trail off, some sort of realization dawning on you way too late.

It can't be.

Lily bites her lower lip as if trying to hold back a smile. "Is that what it smells like to you?"

You also catch the scent of quill ink and freshly brewed coffee, so it can only be…

You put your hand away from your nose as if it's on fire.

"Tell me this is not what I think this is."

"If you're not thinking of Amortentia, then yes."

"Why would you brew Amortentia?!"

"For Professor Slughorn," she sees the confusion etched on your face and looks positively horrified. "Not for Professor Slughorn to drink! Ew! I said I'd like to try brewing one because it's, you know, a bit complicated and I've never tried before. He said he'd give Gryffindor some points if I succeeded. I didn't know you would… you know, smell Sirius."

"I never said I smelled him!"

"Okay! Okay," Lily raises both hands in surrender. Then, quieter, she adds, "You can pretend all you want."

You sigh. "Did you only have this vial?"

"Well, there should be some potion left in the cauldron, I think."

Great. An opportunity to escape this beyond strange situation. "I'll go get it for you."

"But I-"

You're out the Gryffindor common room before Lily has a chance to question your offer. The need to get away from that impending conversation is stronger than anything else right now.

Your heart is racing as you walk through the corridors of the castle, heading towards the dungeons, where Potions class usually take place. Each step is an effort to calm your turbulent mind and find some peace.

Upon reaching the Potions classroom, you welcome the silent space as you enter. The characteristic smell of magical ingredients and herbs fills your nostrils, bringing a familiar and almost comforting sensation… until you catch that smell. Amortentia.

You look around, searching for Lily's cauldron, which she mentioned leaving behind.

It's not hard to find; the smell is quite distinct, enchanting, all the things you love most in the world somehow united in a single aroma.

The cauldron is sitting on one of the workbenches. You approach cautiously, making sure not to knock anything over. Then you rummage through the shelves for an empty vial and pour some of the potion into it, feeling like you're doing something wrong even though Lily had Slughorn's permission.

The door opens, and you almost drop a row of glass bottles as you turn to look.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

It's Sirius. Of course, it's him.

He closes the door behind him, and your heart skips a beat as it usually does whenever he's around. He's wearing the Gryffindor uniform, the first two buttons undone, revealing a patch of delicate skin just below his neck.

You don't need to wonder how he got there or why. Chances are, he extracted every piece of information he needed from Lily with little to no effort.

"What are you doing?" he asks calmly. You, on the other hand, don't feel calm at all.

"Nothing, just..."

"Just?" He takes a step closer, and you instinctively move away from the workbench, trying not to show the nervousness you truly feel.

"I just came to get something," you say.

Sirius gives a suspicious glance at the cauldron. "Is it a love potion?" He's a skilled wizard. Skilled enough to know the answer to that question, yet he waits for you to respond.

"Lily made it," you say defensively, holding up the vial containing the potion to illustrate your point unnecessarily.

"And what scent do you smell?" he questions, with a genuine curiosity in his tone that catches you off guard. "What does the potion smell like to you?"

"Lily told you," it's far from a question.

But Sirius has a knack for playing games.

"She told me what?"

"You know what."

This time, you step back as he advances, unable to help yourself, swallowing hard and Sirius notices. He takes another step forward, and you take another step back.

"Sirius," you warn.

In return, Sirius says your name, his tone lighter, more playful, soft as a feather. Then, another step.

You nearly bump your hip against one of the workbenches as you take another desperate step back. Sirius, being Sirius, raises an eyebrow, making no effort to hide his amusement.

It's unfair. It's simply unfair that he's so good-looking, starting at you without feeling the need to averting his gaze. "You don't have to do this," you find yourself saying.

Sirius seems genuinely puzzled.

"Do what?"

You steal a glance in your peripheral vision. The room won't go on forever; you need to say something to get out of this situation before he gets too close. You don't trust yourself near Sirius.

"Turn me down. Be all nice-" you stutter. He keeps advancing toward you. Back almost against the wall, you dodge another workbench and turn to the left, trying to prevent him from cornering you.

Sirius chuckles. "Is that what you think?"

"I'm a big girl. I can take rejection."

He glances in the direction of the cauldron. "Do you want to know what scent I smell?"

"No."

"Leather-"

"Sirius-"

"Gasoline," he raises his chin, nose in the air as if enjoying one scent after another. "Apple pie."

For a moment, you close your eyes. "Stop it."

"And lavender."

Your heart is pounding in your chest. He's not being serious, a little voice in your mind insists. It can't be serious. He's just teasing you... or maybe just being a good friend. Too good a friend.

It would be easier if he wasn't. If he were less kind to you, less handsome, less charming.

It's not easy.

You're breathless, trying to keep your distance from Sirius as he sets a slow advance, a constant tease. It's an internal battle between the desire to give in to the attraction you feel for him and the need to protect yourself — but the latter wins, for now.

"Sirius," you plead, your voice quiet, "stop"

He pauses for a moment, his gray eyes fixed on yours. "You think I'm joking, don't you? You think I'm just being nice?"

"I... I don't know, Sirius. It's so...confusing."

He takes yet another step towards you, his lips curling into a challenging smile. Always challenging. "Confusing or scary?"

The tension between you two is palpable, and you wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart, threatening to break out of your rib cage any given moment. You know you're fighting your own feelings, afraid of surrendering to something that may - and probably will - end in heartbreak.

"It's not fair," you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's not fair that you're so... so-"

"So what?" he teases, closer. "So handsome? So charming? So... irresistible?"

You can tell he's somehow having fun. You don't understand how he can maintain a playful tone in a moment like this.

You catch a whiff of his cologne, feel the warmth of his body, and your heart races once again. If there's a way to prevent Sirius from getting what he wants, you don't know what it is. "So confusing," you finish, almost in a whisper. "You confuse the hell out of me."

Sirius pauses for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, and you momentarily catch a flicker of something deeper in this playful gaze. He slowly raises a hand and gently, gentler than ever, caresses your face, his fingers tracing a delicate path along your skin.

"I don't see how I could be confusing you," he murmurs, his voice soft and husky. "I thought I was being pretty clear..." It's teasing, of course it is; when it comes to Sirius, few things aren't.

But there's something else behind it, too.

The air grows heavier.

"You're not clear about anything, Sirius," you reply, your voice faltering slightly. "I never know what you're thinking. I never know what you really mean."

"Maybe you're just not paying attention."

You furrow your brow, confused by Sirius' response. He's playing with you, as he always does, but this time it feels more intense, more meaningful. You struggle against the temptation to give in completely, to say something you might not be able to take back.

"I do pay attention, Sirius," you respond, your voice showing determination you're not entirely sure you feel. "It's you who likes to make everything more difficult than it needs to be."

He moves closer once again, so close now that you can feel his breath against your skin, the tip of his nose an inch away from touching yours.

"Do you want me to be clearer?" he whispers, voice laced with a hint of his usual mischief. "Make it easier?"

You swallow, feeling your heart race. You know you can't admit your feelings for him, you can't let your defenses down. Not when he makes a point to hide comfortably behind a facade, away from anything that makes him feel vulnerable.

You need honesty.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice almost faltering. "Yes, I do."

Sirius pauses for a moment, eyes searching yours, and you can feel your breath catch in your throat. Then, slowly, he moves closer and closer still, until his lips almost touch yours.

There is a feeling that you can't quite put into words.

"I want you," he murmurs, an admission that hangs in the air like a charged electric current. "I want to be with you. I want you to be happy– I'll even accept your awful taste in music," he adds with a playful smirk, teasingly referencing your occasional guilty pleasure for a particular genre of music that he often mocks.

A laugh escapes your lips, a combination of relief and affection. His sincerity is pretty close to melting away any remaining doubts that linger in your heart. "I have great taste in music," you state playfully.

Sirius brushes the side of his nose against yours affectionately. "Sometimes," he gives in, voice filled with genuine warmth.

You lean into his touch, savoring the tenderness and intimacy of the moment. It's as if the world around you has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of shared emotions.

"Sometimes?" you raise an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

He chuckles, a low and melodic sound that resonates deep within your chest, a sound you don't get to hear as often as you'd like. "You're lucky you're pretty," he teases, his voice filled with affectionate playfulness.

"Oh?"

"I have a soft spot for pretty girls."

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that forms on your lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Black."

Sirius leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Who said I was trying to get anywhere?" he whispers, fingers trailing along the curve of your waist, drawing you closer. "I'm already where I want to be."

Your heart swells with warmth, and you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Smooth talker."

It doesn't sound like an accusation when you're about to kiss him.

[eloves-writes]

so it goes…

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: part 2 here! as dr gaul’s assistant, you find yourself alone in her laboratory bearing an unpleasant task with her other mentee, coriolanus snow, who you strongly despise. or so it goes … warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), slightly public sex, reader is wearing a skirt, think that's it but please lmk if i need to add anything! a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last fic! and thank you anon for this request, i love and appreciate requests more than you know!!! enjoy this. will for sure write a second chapter if one singlular person expresses interest. mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

dr gaul’s lab was filled with weird and wonderful (but mostly weird) things. you sat, bored, on your side of the gamemaker’s desk staring at shelves and shelves of creatures of all shapes and sizes with various muttations. according to the clock beside you, it had been 30 minutes since gaul herself had left the room to ‘see to something’. it was often best not to ask questions when things like that happened, but you really wished she would come back soon as your work day technically ended in a few minutes and gaul’s second-favourite mentee came to visit her after hours almost every day. coriolanus snow was not necessarily an unpleasant person, not to you at least, but he was certainly unbearable. he was so up his own ass thinking he was better than everybody else that he failed to realise how much of a pompous twat he was. ‘snow lands on top’. god, those four words were practically all you heard come out of his mouth when he wasn’t sucking up to dr gaul or spewing fake niceties to any authoritative figure who would listen.

as you were thinking about how annoying he is and how pretentious his stupid hairstyle was, the door to the lab was hauled open by the peacekeepers who stood guard outside. thank god gaul was back, you couldn’t wait to get out of here. not that you weren’t grateful for this assistant’s position, because it was a highly coveted role for university students each year and you’d beat them all out for it. even snow. ha. even suck-up snow. fuck. snow.

the tall blond had entered the lab and was walking up to your desk with his usual self-assured smile and red uniform.

“y/n, good evening.”

“snow.”

his pleasant facade dropped for just a moment at your monotonous response.

“where’s dr gaul?”

you passive aggressively put down the pen you had been tapping on the desk.

“i don’t know,” you replied blandly, studying his face like you trying to read his mind. “she left like a half hour ago to ‘see to something’, but she’s not been back. i’d suggest you leave and speak to her tomorrow instead.”

coriolanus pulled a face as if thoroughly surprised that anyone could be anything less than cordial to him. it was a subtle change in expression, but you figured that’s what he was thinking.

“that’s quite alright, y/n,” he smiled mockingly, “i’ll sit right here and wait. nowhere to be tonight.”

“shocker,” you murmured, watching as snow sat in the empty chair opposite you.

the two of you stayed sat at gaul’s desk for almost 10 minutes before either of you said anything else.

“how is the apprenticeship going?” snow asked, trying to fill the awkward silence by feigning interest.

“it’s great. thanks. thrilling, actually. i’m having the time of my life. this is so much fun,” you retorted.

coriolanus raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “you know, every one of gaul’s students wanted this apprenticeship. if you’re not enjoying it, i am more than certain that you could find somebody to fill the role.”

you huffed sarcastically. “oh good try, snow. i’m not giving it up that easily.”

“so i’ve heard,” he muttered.

before you could respond to that, the laboratory doors hauled open again and dr gaul finally returned.

“ah, coriolanus, good,” she welcomed, entering with purpose in her stride. “i have a small ask of the pair of you.”

there was no way in the whole of panem that this would be a ‘small’ ask, coming from her. coriolanus’ eyes widened in apprehension.

“don’t make that face at me, coriolanus snow.”

“sorry.”

“good. i must continue to deal with a situation that has arisen, i need you two to feed chupa before he gets too hungry. that’s all, then you both may leave and i shall see you," you watched her search for a rhyme, "before tomorrow’s eve.”

then she turned to leave, with you and coriolanus pulling faces of horror. ‘chupa’ was a particularly hideous and dangerous looking creature that gaul had advised you, on multiple occasions, to keep your distance from. and now she was asking you to feed him? sometimes it was like she wanted you dead.

“wait a minute,” you said hesitantly. gaul moved only her head to look at you and you regretted opening your mouth immediately. “sorry, dr gaul, you want us,” you motioned to yourself and snow, “to feed that,” you pointed at the cage where the beast appeared to be smirking.

“yes,” she replied plainly. “he will eat anything, but he most likes the small green snakes.”

with that, she left the lab again.

coriolanus looked at you, looked at chupa, then looked back at you. “what the fuck is that?”

you snorted, enjoying seeing him uncomfortable. “do you want to get the snakes, or shall i?”

“you get them,” he spoke quickly. “i don’t like snakes.”

you were suspicious at this apparently strong aversion to the slithering reptiles. perhaps they’d scared him when he was younger, and never shook it off. or perhaps one had bitten him. you imagined him flailing his arms and screaming and it made you chuckle to yourself as you took a jar half-filled with thin, forest green snakes. they weren’t venomous, in fact they were quite amiable and undeserving of being fed to the ugly brute in the cage beside you. regardless, you removed two snakes from the jar and placed it back on the shelf.

coriolanus was keeping his distance, making you do all the work. lazy asshole.

“can you open the cage?” you directed snarkily. he tentatively unfastened the top of the cage, standing closer to you than he ever had before. up close, he looked like a real person. a real person who was just as real as everybody else in the capitol, not any better. he smelt better than a lot of them though. like cologne and fresh roses. you mentally chastised yourself for noticing and tried to focus on the task at hand.

your snake-holding hand slid towards chupa’s mouth, which opened to reveal a large set of sharp fangs that seemed to be moving upwards

“be careful of the fangs,” snow warned from behind you.

“thank you coriolanus, i’m so glad you told me that. i was truly about to stick my fingers into his mouth,” you retorted sarcastically, starting to feed the snakes to the disgusting creature.

he mumbled something incoherent that sounded something like “i wish you would.”

“sorry what was that, snow? did you say something,” you asked, becoming more irritated by his unhelpful presence.

as chupa finished the tail of the second snake, he bit the air above him in an attempt to get your hand for dessert, making you rapidly withdraw your hand from the cage and leap backwards. coriolanus dropped the lid in shock and it thankfully fastened itself.

when you had leapt backwards, you had leapt backwards straight into snow’s arms that he had instinctively wrapped around you in protection. his arms were stronger than they looked through his uniform jacket, and his chest much more toned. it felt beyond strange to be this close to him. but something deep inside of you suddenly yearned to be closer, and you slowly rotated yourself in his arms to face him, hands pressed against his chest.

coriolanus was looking into your eyes like nothing else was in the room. like he had never seen a person’s eyes this close before. he was looking at you like you were most incredibly fascinating thing he had ever seen.

and maybe you were; he had grown used to the capitol women throwing themselves at him. he didn’t struggle to take them home, had no issues finding a date to all the various events he attended. then there you were- snapping at him and poking fun at him, and not even waiting until his back was turned to roll your eyes or pull faces. in what he deemed a cruel twist of fate, you were the only girl in the capitol who didn’t look at him like he was god, and you were the only girl in the capitol he truly felt something deeper than momentary lust for.

his lust for you was not momentary. it was perpetual. and having you this close to him, safe and protected in his arms, confirmed for him that you needed to be his. the world bent to the will of coriolanus snow. and so would you.

in an instant where your body no longer obeyed your better judgment, you pressed your lips to coriolanus’.

he kissed you back like you were a source of oxygen, using his advantageous hold of you to force you to walk backwards towards the rows of bookshelves behind gaul’s desk without separating your lips. he swiftly checked the door to make sure nobody had snuck in before your bodies were eclipsed by the cover of the well-stocked shelves and you were roughly pushed up against them. snow continued to kiss you, moving down to your neck to leave marks sure to raise questions the next morning, then down to your collarbone, unbuttoning your blouse as he went so that his path was clear to mark you with his mouth all the way down to the waistband of your skirt. his kneeled down before you and pushed up your skirt, looking up at you for approval. you nodded, still caught up in the moment. this was fine. this felt good. it really felt good when snow removed your panties and placed your legs over his shoulders, holding you up at the waist and running his tongue along your folds, earning a loud moan from you. he withdrew his head from you skirt to shush you, before returning his tongue to your centre and flicking it against your clit. you bit onto your knuckle to absorb the sound of the whimpers escaping you. where the fuck had he learned to do this? it felt heavenly, his mouth drawing you ever closer to release with his large hands digging into your hips to keep you in position.

“coryo,” you whispered. “coryo, i’m close.”

he began to hum in acknowledgement, sending you right over the edge. a moan slipped from your mouth as you came, feeling your slick drip onto his face. he continued to lap at your juices as you rode out your orgasm, a blissful haze washing over you. if these were the skills making snow so cocky, you couldn’t fault him for that particular trait any longer. he lifted his head and smiled at you like a man who was very aware you’d just cum on his face by his manipulation. he helped you take your legs from his shoulders with a satisfied smirk when they wobbled under the weight of your body, then he kissed you again, softer this time, to force you to taste yourself on his tongue. you reached your hand forward to his crotch, palming him through his constricting pants. he indulged you for a minute, then removed your hand and lifted it to his lips like a true gentlemen.

you felt a little disappointed to not repay the favour, finally feeling content with your formerly repressed lust for the man.

but then he leaned down to your ear and whispered in a low tone, “you can owe me one,” before giving you one last lewd kiss and leaving you stood behind the bookshelves in the head gamemaker’s office with messed up hair and a realisation that you really wanted coriolanus snow to come and visit after hours again tomorrow.

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

How did you feel, mrs. Bowman, when you realized that you are now a mother of three and one of your sons doesn't know what it's like to have a parent? You catch glimpses of it. It's in his stance when he stands in the kitchen's door, watching the cake with burning candles on the table, and his eyes ask "is it for me", but his lips are sealed. He doesn't ask, you don't answer. His love for you is quiet, always will be. Awkward in his casualness, every evening he helps you cook, and pretends he knows what he's doing.

How did you feel, Brandon, when you realized that your younger brother is no longer a child? It hits you at random, in the middle of the grocery store. You lost Darius between the long shelves and instinctively went looking for him in the toy alley, only to find him with his eyebrows furrowed, eyes scanning the fruit on the display. His mind wanders, you can tell, his vision somewhere where your experience doesn't reach. You watch as his shoulders tense momentarily at the noise behind his back, only to relax minutes later. He turns around, your eyes meet his, you see it for a split second - how there's a bridge between the two of you - and then he blinks, and his eyes are shadowed with innocence again. You realize then how much your brother tries to be a child.

How did you feel, Mr. Gutierrez, when you noticed that your daughter's family grew in size? She has always been a child rich in love, ready to gift her smile and joy and affection to anyone around her. Family though, was always special to her. One of a kind. Now, she has two families and both of them evoke slightly different feelings in her. How did you feel, mr. Gutierrez, when you noticed the heartache of being separated from her found family on your daughter's face? How did you feel when you realized that she relates safety with them these days? You thought then - your past with your daughter would never sate the hunger for love in her stomach.

How did you feel, Mrs. Faduola, when you asked your daughter if she wanted to run a charity marathon and she flinched? You find her later, curled up in the corner of a sofa with a sketchbook in her hands. She notices you, she is so keen these days, but makes no motion to invite you closer. Long minutes pass before she speaks "I've once ran a marathon to save someone's life," and her lips wobble, and she adds "running is difficult now" and you know that her future as an athlete is no more. She leaves the room not long after that, sketchbook opened, and each page is marked with a hint of claws and teeth. The adrenaline of survival, not competition changed the course of your daughter's blood.

How did you feel, Mrs. Pincus, when you noticed the restlessness coiling in your son's body? He has always been a quiet child, a book in his hands, a tremble of worry in his heart. He sees the world differently now, moves differently. He walks as if there was a splinter in his foot, and he could do nothing to pull it out. Did your breath catch at the back of your throat, Mrs. Pincus, when you saw the tension in your son melt away as he stepped onto the rooftop and saw an open sky? Your son's life was safe - books and shelters - but now he is only alive in a world full of possibilities. It is not fear that shakes his body, it is his heart - anxious still but brave enough to step out.

How did both of you feel, fathers of internet wonder, when you realized that the screen charms your daughter no more? Through her camera she always spun the world into a magical mystery, now she seeks shadows and walks into nights of the unknown. Secrets are darker, she learnt, more sinister than a child's joy can handle. Something changed in that daughter of yours, and her colorful hair is now a contrast to what is lurking in her eyes. You followed her through the digital footsteps she left behind, now she is more careful and covers her tracks. As if worried, she'd be hunted.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 1

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You always felt small. Shelves, table, counters, even chairs made your shortcoming, pun intended, more obvious. Even at the one time in your life when you should feel big, you feel even tinier. 

The rounder your stomach becomes, the smaller the rest of your seems. It really doesn't feel like a part of you. That life inside you that has your shirts tighter by the say and the elastic stretching further and further.  

Swollen feet, hands, and chest, and yet you're still just a speck of dust in the wind. The grocery store so often adds to that sensation of insignificance. The cart rattles over the tile as you weave between other shoppers, veering out of the way as others turn corners without looking. Your progress down the list of needs is slower than usual but you're persistent. 

You stop in the bread section and peruse the assortment of rye and sourdough. You've been craving pumpernickel forever. You pick out a loaf and check your list. Bread crumbs... 

You spot your quarry and reach for the highest shelf. Of course it has to be all the way up there. You grunt and teeter on your toes, your goal made hard as your stomach keeps you from getting very close. 

“Allow me, sweetness,” a man says as he comes up behind you. 

You squeak in surprise as he crowds you and reaches up to grab the canister of crumbs. As he does, he presses himself to you, a none-too-subtle grind of his pelvis against your ass. You gasp and elbow him. 

“Ew, get off,” you squeal. 

“Now, now, honey buns, I got it,” he offers the canister, his arm hooking around to show the crumbs, “you just gotta say please.” 

“What the heck? Can you back up--” 

“Now, that’s not very polite, baby girl,” he shakes the crumbs and moves them away from your grasp as you try to snatch them. 

“I said back--” 

Your voice evaporates in shock and horror as he slaps your ass. You clutch the shelf and brace yourself as the force nearly has you crashing into the metal. You set your feet, regretting your choice of squishy and treadless slides, and he snakes his hand under your dress, trailing along the scalloped edge of your panties. 

“Stop,” you wisp, terrified at this man’s brazenness. Why is he doing this? How is no one else seeing this? 

His hand curls around and he stops as he touches your lower stomach. He hesitates and stretches his fingers over your bump. You’re only four-months but far enough that it’s obvious. 

“Shit,” he chortles and pushes his hand down, pressing against the front of your cotton panties, “someone beat me to it, huh?” 

He pokes the fabric between your folds with two fingers, wiggling them around. You shudder and squeeze the edge of the shelves. He creases the cotton between his fingers and pulls it aside. He pinches your thigh and you whimper as he kicks a foot between yours. 

“What--” you gasp and push back against him, trying to escape. “Please--” 

Your voice cracks and something inside you breaks. You can’t move or make a sound. He touches the tuft of hair along your pelvis and delves nakedly between your folds. You hold your breath as he toys with you, rubbing your clit dryly as he pushes his crotch against your back. 

What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you doing anything? Why can’t you? 

He just carries on, rolling your bud under his fingers until you feel yourself react. It’s the hormones, not you. You’re scared, not weak. That’s what’s going on. What is going on? 

All at once, he retracts his hand. He leaves you quivering and wet and to your shame, wanting. He snickers again and tosses the canister so it lands in your cart. You cling to the shelves, legs shaking, and stare at the wrapped loaves in stunned silence. You hear him suck loudly on his fingers and hum. 

“Naughty mommy,” he tisks and struts away.  

You can’t move. You’re paralyzed in disbelief. That didn’t just happen. A stranger just touched you. Like that. And you’re wet. You look down as your knees buckle. 

You manage to move away from the shelves and look around. You can’t pick the man out from the scatter of shoppers puttering around like drones. His sleeve was black but half the men their have black jackets. Your lip trembles as your eyes brim with tears. You don’t know what to do. 

You turn to your cart and grab the handle, rolling it forward. Your eyes fall to the white and yellow canister that rolls across the bottom. You stop and skirt around to reach into the basket, looking around before you bend to fish out the bread crumbs. You place them on the table of croissants nearby and push the cart onward. 

You’ll do grilled instead of fried. You never want to think of what happened again. You hope you never see that man again. Would you even know him at a glance? 

[mochie85]

As part of your 1k celebrations I would like to submit the following prompt for consideration 😁♥️ feel free to bend it to your will.

Your colleague Loki finds himself in your rooms at Stark Tower for (fairly) innocent reasons.

You arrive back unexpectedly. He hides, at first.

✨✨

Fairly Innocent

One Shot Masterlist | Follower Event Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

A/N: I apologize, with my whole heart, that it has taken me this long to finish this request. So long, that I have reached a new milestone since this request was made. But I hope you enjoy it. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Explicit. Smut, hand job, oral (female receiving), slight DOM vibes, voyeurism, shower scene, mention of 'toys'. Happy ending. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Your room was dark and cold. The curtains were shut leaving a small sliver of light shining from the cityscape outside. There was a stillness in the air from being untouched the last two weeks. “Now, where did she put you?” Loki hummed while looking around your room. He wandered in, using the access code you had given him. His prying eyes scanned and noted how orderly you left your room. And even after some time away, the room still smelled like you. Like citrus blooms on a winter morning.

Loki lent you some practice daggers a while ago and was keen to get them back. They were dull and lightweight. Perfect for beginner enthusiasts like the Widow, who wanted to add a new skill to her ledger. Whom Loki had promised to train, alongside you, in Asgardian combat.

Loki rummaged through your bookshelves, thinking you might have stashed them along with your books and souvenirs from your travels. He knew you loved to read. Your voracious appetite for mysteries and novels rivaled his own. He noted Robert Frost and Agatha Christie situated alongside the many romance novels.

Peculiar, he thought. He’d never known you to be interested in such fiction. You two had always discussed classic literature or Asgardian poetry. A Cheshire grin appeared on his face as he took a book with brightly colored Post-it notes sticking out of the top pages. He opened the paperback to a dog-eared page that was clearly read and reread extensively.

Lucy moaned as Cade’s fingers dipped inside her wet pussy. Trills of pleasure ran up her spine, making her unable to stand any longer. He gently stroked her as he whispered on her neck, “Don’t fight it, baby. Let go for me.”

Loki shut the book closed with wide eyes and a wider grin on his face. “Well, well, well. Who knew that the Avenger’s little darling liked to read smut?!” He said to himself looking at the volumes of romance books you had. He was quite impressed by your ability to surprise him. He thought he had you figured out. He might have to tease you about this when you return from your mission.

Loki searched your closet next, but he couldn’t find the daggers. He combed through hangers of clothing and shelves of shoe boxes till he stumbled upon several silk bags with rope tie enclosures. One bag had the length and shape of the daggers he was searching for. How sweet of her to care for the daggers and stash them in a silk purse. Loki opened the bag and reached in but was again surprised at what he found.

He pulled out a black, patent leather collar with a gold buckle. Glistening under the bright closet light, was a heart-shaped tag, hanging from the center. The name ‘Darling’ was inscribed in cursive. Stunned, Loki looked inside the sateen bag and pulled out what he mistook for his daggers- a short, riding crop that matched the patent leather of the collar. Hanging from the handle was a gold chain that had a tag etched, ‘Darling’s Master.’

An intrusive fantasy came unbidden in his mind. It was of you on all fours, with the collar adorning your neck and him standing behind you rubbing the tip of the crop against your dripping heat. “What other deliciousness are you hiding, my dear?” he whispered as he stowed the collar and whip and reached for another silk purse. Every bag he opened had a different set of negligees. Each one was more lascivious than the last.

The smile on his lips got darker as his body started responding to the different scenarios playing in his head. Each scene- novel and unique, to the set of lingerie he opened. More than once, he had to stop himself from reaching inside and rubbing the fine lace between his fingers. “Nope! No,” he chided himself. “Focus. I’m here for the daggers.” Loki took one last look and walked away before he could swipe one of your lace panties and put it in his back pocket like some pervert. “Daggers. Daggers…where are you daggers…”

He couldn’t stop smiling at the revelation he found. Memories of his last interaction with you played in his head under a new context. It was as if he was seeing you in a different light. Truth be told, he did always find you attractive. But he never once pursued it thinking it wouldn’t be favored by you, or any of the team. You didn’t get the title “The Avenger’s Little Darling” for nothing. You were beloved by all. And he was the untrustworthy, extra baggage that the team had to deal with so they could have Thor on their side.

He knew he couldn’t have you.

One last place he looked was your bedside table. If it’s not here, she must have taken them with her. Opening the drawer, Loki shouldn’t have been surprised at what he found, but he felt an exhilarating chill crawl throughout his body, nonetheless. A vibrator. A large, blue, silicone toy that was tapered at the end, was resting neatly inside. You naughty little minx.

Loki couldn’t help the state of arousal he was in. He stood up and stared at your toy, his fingers running puzzled against his lips. He imagined you spread on your bed, lost in the throes of your passion. What do you think about when you have your toy tucked inside your wet cunt? Who’s name do you moan when you’re at the edge of your climax about to fall? And how can he conspire to make sure you think of him?

Surprised, Loki looked up as he heard the keypad of your door unlocking. In a senseless rush, he closed your drawer and cloaked himself invisible. He didn’t want anyone to find him snooping around your belongings. He stood still as he blended with the shadows of your room.

He shouldn’t have hid. You did give him the access code to your room. You trusted him enough to be in here. But there was something so intimate about the things he found. He felt exposed and guilty. Loki didn’t want anyone to think of him being nefarious with you.

A small sigh of relief flooded him when he realized it was you, back from your assignment. He opened his mouth to speak and announce his presence, but he couldn’t. So many questions rushed through his mind. He wanted to ask all of them! Yet, he was struck immovable by your presence.

Had you always been so lovely? Had your eyes always been that bright and alluring? Your smile, an invitation for his lips?

Were his discoveries about you finally shedding light as to who you might be, underneath the perfect façade you seem to have cultivated for yourself? Everything he found was, he swore to the gods, erotic and arousing. But it was the fact that you surprised him that made his level of attraction to you grow.

You walked in with a heavy sigh, setting your duffel bag down on your bed and your boots onto the floor. You didn’t bother turning on your lights, as you zipped your body suit down and peeled off your armor. A rather tame set of black lace underwear shaped your body. Your exposed skin turned a rich shade in the darkness of your room.

Loki noted some bruises and scars peppering your body. The fresh welts were colored green and blue indicating they were recent and most likely acquired from your latest mission. You massaged your neck and rolled your shoulders trying to ease the ache settling into your bones.

Loki watched as you made your way, routinely, to your en suite and turned on the lights. A loud rush of water from the shower rumbled through, disturbing the silence that had enveloped you both. It took his entire strength as a god to keep standing where he was and not follow you to watch.

New fantasies came unbidden in his mind of you naked and wet in the shower. I need to leave. I need to depart before I do something that both of us would regret.  He waited till he heard you close your shower door. The water made loud splashes as it hit against different curves of your body.

A few more minutes and Loki found he could move again. With a shaky breath, he exhaled and made his way to your door. He would’ve continued if it weren’t for your small sighs. Soft moans and whimpers traveled to his god-like hearing. She’s touching herself?!

Loki balled his fist to elicit pain. His fingernails dug deep into the pad of his palms, trying to overcome the overwhelming state of arousal he was in.

“…Loki…”

He stopped and nearly fell to his knees. You said his name! The honeyed tones of your moans dripped over him. Coating his entire body in primal need until it reached his cock and hardened.

He couldn’t leave now. He wouldn’t. He turned on his heel and slowly lifted his cloak, risking everything by pushing the door slightly more open.

Loki licked his lips at the sight of you lost in your orgasm. Your head was thrown back as water trickled down your body. The droplets guiding his eyes down…

…down…

…to where your fingers played with your aching cunt. Your hands explored your curves. Every dip. Every hollow. Every scrumptious mound that he wanted to devour himself.

He stood at your en suite door, his arms holding the frame above his head. He didn’t trust himself to come closer to you. Not until you allowed it. Not until you saw how his eyes became ravenous at the sight of you touching yourself to thoughts of him.

“Loki!? What the hell are you doing?” you screamed out, startled. His eyes traveled back up to yours as you finally acknowledged his presence. Your body turned flush from the heat of the water and the embarrassing situation you found yourself in.

Loki freed himself from your door and tried to answer. Nothing came out but a quivering breath and a small growl of desire. His eyes narrowed and he bit his lip. He took a step forward and closed your bathroom door behind him making your heart drop.  He slowly made his way to you. Sluggish feet carrying him across your tiled floors. “Don’t stop on my account, Darling.”

“Why are you here?” you demanded.

“I heard you call out my name. And I am nothing if not a benevolent god who answers your prayers.” It was as if a switch was turned on and Loki couldn’t stop until he had you.

He watched you back into the tile of your shower. You looked like a caged animal put there for his viewing pleasure. “Why are you here?!” you repeated. It’s too late to be demure. He’s seen everything.

“I came looking for the daggers I lent you. I looked everywhere in your room. I couldn't find them.” Loki’s voice was deep but clear. You could hear the dangerous desire in his tone as he reached for the door to your shower. On instinct, you reached for the handle, stopping him from opening it.

The chase became real. He had to have you. The last hour he spent combing through your suggestive belongings had built a naughty little version of you in his head. Like a puzzle. It was the most erotically charged moment he’d ever spent. And now? Now, you were denying him!

“Last chance, Darling. If you want me to leave now, say so,” he said with a smile. “But I promise you this. I won’t stop till I have you.” His breath steamed the glass doors. Your heart pounded inside your chest as you looked into his dark eyes.

You let go of the handle and stepped back. Loki opened the door slowly, anticipation building up and pooling in between your thighs. “Good girl.”

Loki walked into your shower, still clothed. The scalding water penetrated through his white cotton shirt making it translucent under the spray. You could trace the lines of his muscle underneath.  His hair became slick and affixed itself against his face. He towered over you, as he leaned over with one arm against the shower wall.

Fuck!

He lowered his face. His nose brushed against the tip of yours and you could taste his breath against your lips. “What were you thinking about?” he asked looking deep into your eyes. “And remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”

You quivered at his voice. You looked down embarrassed. “No, no. Look at me.” He said grabbing your chin and forcing you to look back at him. He kept his fingers on your face, gently stroking your jaw.

“I was thinking about you,” you admitted. Your voice was so small. You felt so fragile in his hands.

“Go on, sweet thing. What prayer can your god answer for you tonight?” he encouraged. You were mesmerized by his stare. His voice lulled you to a sense of heat and longing.

“I pictured…touching you,” you started. “I fantasized about your body holding mine.” Loki licked his lips and the tip of his tongue brushed against your mouth. It tingled and the sensation moved throughout your body, awakening every cell within it.

“Like this?” he asked, grabbing your hand gently and placing it underneath his soaked shirt. He guided your hand up his torso and held it there. You could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he guided you over his stiff nipple and then down his lean abs.

Loki didn’t take his eyes off you once. He watched how your eyes widened at his boldness. How your lips parted when you finally touched him. How your whole body moved just a fraction closer to him, capturing him in a lust-filled haze of his own.

He continued steering your hand down his body, past the hem of his pants to his aching bulge. He was big. And hard. You couldn’t imagine what he would look like, what he would feel like, once he took it out. He kept your hand on his cock, driving your hand up and down. “Keep your hand on me,” he instructed. The steam from the shower did little to prevent the shiver that ran down your spine. Nor did it hide the wetness that was now dripping from you.

“Can you feel how hard I am for you?” his arms encircled your body, pulling you closer to him. His mouth incased your lips in an uncontrollable kiss. He weaved his deft fingers into your wet hair, pulling your head back to kiss you at a deeper angle.  He inhaled deeply, smelling the clean scent of your soap and shampoo.

He groaned into your mouth when he felt your hand reach inside his pants and squeeze him tightly. Loki’s eyes rolled back as you expertly palmed his stiff cock. You felt the veins pulsing in your fingertips as you pumped his dick mercilessly. He leaned over you, caging you between the wall and his eager body.

“Don’t stop, Darling,” he whimpered in your ear. “Don’t stop.” Loki bucked his hips into your hands. He captured your lips one last time before he moaned your name, releasing the pent-up arousal he’d been holding in. He fell apart in your hands, and you continued till you milked every last drop from him.

Before the water could wash away your efforts, you licked off two of your fingers, tasting his offerings. “There she is,” he said with a devilish grin. He was waiting for the real you to come forth. You seemed so demure and shy at the beginning. Nothing at all like what he found out you were. The one who reads erotic novels over and over again. The one who hides their toy on the bedside table, ready to go. The one who has a patent leather collar with their pet name etched into it.

Loki growled at the memory. He will see you in that collar. He’ll make sure of it. “But for now, I want a taste,” he said to himself. Loki started with your mouth, sampling himself in your kiss. You winced slightly when he reached for your waist. Reacting from a sensitive bruise that you acquired from your mission.

“Do you think your body can handle a couple more bruises from me, Darling?” he asked earnestly. You swallowed thickly and nodded. Loki proceeded to grab your hips and hold you in place, while his mouth eagerly marked your neck. He continued down to the base of your throat as he knelt in front of you. He captured your breasts with his tongue, paying them each attention. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gathering the white cotton in your hands as you fisted it.

When he reached your stomach, he was gentle and sweet. His hands secured your waist, pushing you slightly higher. “Wrap your leg around me,” he directed. You obeyed and placed your left leg on his shoulder.

Drips of water still fell from the shower. Loki licked and slurped each drop that fell onto your thighs. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe on your warm cunt. “Fuck…Loki,” you screamed when he latched onto your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He looked up at you and watched you as you threw your head back, your ecstasy showing through.

“Did you like that, Darling?”

“Mmyes,” you whined. “God, yes!”

Loki repeated his actions, holding onto your thigh, as he savored your clit. You couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Your knees were weakening, and you had nothing to hold onto as your hands slipped against the tile of your shower wall. “Loki, please,” you panted.

“I need to be inside you,” he moaned. The sooner he can make you cum in here, the sooner he can properly bed you on top of your sheets. He looked deep into your eyes and you almost didn’t recognize him. Hunger and desperation were hanging on his brows. The sight of him in between your legs, the feel of his lips latching onto your folds, the weight of his fingers thrusting inside you. It was all-encompassing and all too consuming.

“Oh, God! Loki!” you screamed as he inserted another finger. You laced your hand through his drenched hair, pulling every time his tongue flicked your nub. “Please, I need you inside me too. I need…” your breathing came in harsher. The steam almost suffocating you as you come closer and closer to that edge, waiting to fall.

“Don’t fight it, Darling. Let go for me,” Loki quoted your book, making you clench around his fingers. One last thrust into you and you screamed your release. Loki lapped up your swollen pussy with a greedy smile, making you shudder.

Hours later, you and Loki were lying on the floor of your room. Blankets and pillows surround you while your legs and arms tangle with each other, holding each other tightly. You were running your finger up and down his chest as he read aloud a passage from one of your “smutty romance books,” as he called them.  

His voice was magnetic and hypnotizing. Every word he said came to life inside your head. “Hmm, we might have to re-enact this one,” he teased after he finished a scene.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the last word you said. It just came out. You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. From bending to his will and wanting to please him.

“I was curious about something,” he grinned, biting his lip. “Which I hope you can enlighten me...”

“Yes?”

“When I was looking for the daggers, I came across this.” He conjured up your patent leather collar and held it up against the dim light. He next conjured up the matching riding crop and showed you the tag that was hanging from the handle. “Who was your master?” Loki asked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer. “Why do you have this and not them?”

“I never had one,” you admitted sheepishly. “I bought that in hopes of using it one day. But we never worked out.”

“I see,” he said with a devious smirk.

“It was so pretty. I couldn’t just get rid of it.”

“Sit up. Hold your hair, while I put this on you.” You obeyed his instructions. A pool of desire is already forming in between your legs as he tightens the collar around your neck. The heart-shaped tag, ‘Darling’ felt heavy and cold as he placed it neatly on the base of your throat.

Loki wiped his thumb over the tag of the whip. Newly etched, in bold letters, was his name instead. “Well, it’s mine now, darling,” he grinned as he tested the switch on his hand. The sharp thwack stung his palm. Your heart started beating quicker.

“On your knees,” he growled.

“Yes, sir.”

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief ++

[louebel]

Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub... 

"... phew ..." 

scrub... poof! 

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..." 

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious. 

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it. 

If only you weren't sick. 

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn." 

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you. 

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary. 

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off. 

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed. 

Or not. 

"Ow, ow..." 

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid. 

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why. 

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you? 

Those sweet memories... 

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you. 

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..." 

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously... 

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood. 

Now? If he saw one inch of your form? 

Sigh. His face always went red. 

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer? 

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting. 

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought. 

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy. 

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough... 

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it. 

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it. 

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you. 

Ugh... 

You wished it could all go back to normal. 

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe. 

"... Okay, I'm done." 

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to. 

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later. 

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in. 

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and — 

knock knock. 

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm. 

You waited. 

... knock knock. 

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work. 

Okay. 

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now. 

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light. 

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them... 

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight. 

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him. 

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes. 

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.) 

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone. 

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself.. 

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you. 

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?— 

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?" 

"Huh?" 

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all. 

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention. 

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you. 

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry." 

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape. 

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now. 

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it. 

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct. 

"Well? I'm waiting." 

"..." 

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.  

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage. 

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and— 

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three. 

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis. 

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name. 

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed. 

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy. 

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next. 

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything. 

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—" 

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?" 

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream. 

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it. 

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long. 

"You're cold... Off." 

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued. 

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager. 

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep. 

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him. 

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions. 

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him. 

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think. 

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.” 

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary. 

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?" 

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly. 

"Law …'m sorry if I smell." 

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point. 

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh." 

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form. 

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful." 

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines. 

"U- uuh... W- where..?" 

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here." 

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water. 

The second tasted awful. 

"E—eugh..." 

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good." 

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot... 

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases. 

“Do you feel better now..?” 

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you. 

Your question puzzled him. 

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side. 

"What?" 

“I … I missed you." 

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest. 

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I’m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...” 

Shit. 

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...” 

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability. 

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..? 

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…” 

"Aargh..." 

Warm. 

"Mmh..." 

It was very warm. Pleasant. 

"Hn..." 

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm. 

The pillow was so nice, though... 

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament. 

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours. 

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch. 

He looked peaceful. 

"... Law?" 

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you. 

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening." 

You were mad at him. You were mad at him. 

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention. 

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit. 

"I'm in my pajamas?" 

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it." 

"..." 

"..." 

Pause number two. 

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant." 

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening. 

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed. 

"You inhaled it, didn't you?" 

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all." 

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks. 

"Y—Yeah." 

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed." 

"O—oh... That bad?" 

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.” 

“Hey—” 

“You're fine." 

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well. 

"Well?" 

"... You ignored me. You made it clear." 

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out. 

"I—I didn't." 

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—" 

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress. 

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you." 

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance. 

You just... didn't know. 

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?" 

"Of course not!" 

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours. 

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours. 

If he explained, it would've been easier. 

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—" 

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest." 

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not. 

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—" 

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss." 

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep. 

"I... You did nothing that bothers me." 

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part. 

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding. 

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach. 

He couldn't be serious. 

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep." 

"What?" 

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth. 

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose. 

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry. 

"Hey... I—" 

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!" 

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you. 

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him. 

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..." 

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious. 

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't. 

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him. 

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight. 

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings. 

"... You what, Law?" 

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed. 

His hands craved yours. 

"I like—I like you!" 

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed. 

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you." 

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed. 

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—" 

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances. 

"... Law." 

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—" 

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about... 

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self. 

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize. 

"Law." 

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—" 

Your heartbeats matched. 

"Law!" 

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him. 

"It's... the same." 

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises. 

"Huh? Wh — what?" 

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too." 

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were. 

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer. 

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone. 

All is back to normal. 

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder. 

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer... 

Closer... 

"Closer?" 

"Alright." 

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short. 

How you missed holding it. 

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face. 

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change. 

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait. 

He felt lighter. 

“… Truly?” 

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I���m fine with waiting longer.” 

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit. 

His eyes glistened. 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” 

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return. 

He can take all the time he needs. 

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them. 

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning. 

"Tired?" 

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it. 

"Mm, there were a lot of them." 

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks." 

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it." 

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?" 

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it. 

"... Meet me at my office once you're done." 

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you do one where reader is turned into a cat? Mabey reader are scared when first turned runing from the team reader worked with that day roaming the compaund mjaung trying to find someone from the main group and nuada finds reader.

The first one was so good!!

Somehow, someway you had found yourself having be turned into a cat.

No actually you did know but it didn’t take until after freaking out at the change in well…everything to realise that this was most likely the result of a spell you’ve been hit with on a prior mission. You didn’t think much of it at first, thinking that it was merely a fluke answer that the spell wouldn’t have affect if the witch was dead, one to awaken the next day -after experiencing some sort of side effects- as a fucking cat.

Guess the spell wasn’t a fluke at all and it didn’t matter whether or not the witch was dead either as you found yourself hiding away from the likes of Abe, Nuala, Hellboy, Liz and Nuada, especially Nuada. You didn’t want the elven prince that you found insanely beautiful and attractive to see you in which a state that would be really embarrassing. Besides you were pretty certain you couldn’t communicate to anyone of your condition and decided to clumsily climb your dresser, picking up a picture of yourself with the group just incase someone wonders about the stray kitten that roamed the complex, or worse mistake you for one of Hellboy’s many, many, MANY cats.

Which had leas you to where you were now, hiding behind corners and or on high shelves from agents and Manning alike before scampering off from one room to the next room, all in hopes of finding anyone capable of knowing what to do about your condition. So far you had no luck as it seemed as though all of your friends had left the compound for one reason or another, which was weird because you were certain that there was no mission to attend to, but you carried on by padding down the hallway as your eyes were constantly on the look out.

However it seemed as though you weren’t as vigilant as you believed you were being as a door swung open in your face, causing you to jolt and make a noise of distress as Liz and Hellboy looked down at you in confusion.

‘You didn’t let the cats out again did you red?’ Liz asked.

. ‘No, not since the last time.’ Hellboy scratched the back of his head as he tried to remember whether he did or didn’t.

Liz sighed. ‘If Manning sees them he’ll think it’s your doing- wait is that a picture in its mouth?’ She then noticed as she kneels down to your height to take a closer look, but before she could, you noticed Nuada from afar and immediately ran away but dropped your picture in the process as you heard Liz and Hellboy call after you.

‘Wait!’ -Liz

‘Come back little kitty!’ - Hellboy.

Nuada -having seen the whole thing- picked up the photo and saw it was one of the first mission he has went on since his imprisonment months ago. Something of which he found odd as if his memory served him well, the only person who had taken this picture was you. So why was it in the jaws of a cat because Nuada was certain you didn’t own any pets like Hellboy did, this didn’t add up to the elven prince who decided to confront Liz and Hellboy with it.

‘Oh hey princy, whatcha got there.’ Hellboy said the moment he saw Nuada out of the corner of his eye.

‘A picture, I assume it’s the picture that the cat had in its mouth.’ Nuada passes the photo to Liz who looked at it with furrowed brows. ‘This is y/n’s picture,’ she noted as she looked between Nuada and Hellboy, ‘why did the cat have their picture?’ She adds.

‘They don’t have pets that we’re unaware of.’ Nuada inquirers the pair who shared a look before looking at him.

‘Y/n doesn’t have pets to come of it and if that’s not the case, then I guess it has to do something with the last mission we went on.’ Hellboy says as the memories of how odd you were being afterwards began to surface to the forefront of his mind, and Liz seemed to realise what her partner was going on about but Nuada was feeling an arrange of things.

‘What happened to them.’ The elven prince said with furrowed brows, having become slightly protective of you as of recently, so hearing that something had happened to you while he was away on his own mission had him on edge.

‘Oh yeah. If I remember they got hit by a spell, at first nothing happened so we assumed it’s because the caster was dead, but it seems as though it was only a slow acting spell rather then a fast acting one as later on they began to become sick of sorts and excused themself to go to bed.’ Hellboy recounted to the prince.

‘May I have that picture?’ Nuada asked as he opened his hand towards Liz, who put the photo in his palm without hesitation.

‘What do you plan to do spearhead?’ Hellboy asked with a raised brow.

‘Going after y/n and seeing what we can do to undo the spell.’ Was all Nauda said as he strides down the hall and towards the library where he’d know you’d most likely be when in times of uncertainty or was scared. This was probably because he has told you once that if you were ever in doubt or worried about something, was to go to the library and wait for him there. So what does the elven prince see first when entering the library?

Your cat self resting in front of the fire and ironically it was the same place you were always found by Nuada, which only gave him confidence that you had been turned into a cat and he wasn’t engaging in conversation was a stray feline that somehow got inside.

‘Y/n?’ Nuada asked and your ears perk up, followed by your head as you looked over at the prince and let out a curious meow, almost as though you were trying to say his name in return as he came closer to you. God you hated how it was him who found you first, or rather tracked you down because you always keep forgetting that this man had exceptional tracking skills, which was expected of a man of his abilities and longevity.

‘It’s okay, it’s only me.’ Nuada reassured as he knelt down in front of you, opening his hand out towards for you to sniff freely to asses his character, smiling softly to himself when you pushed your head into his hand and purring gently when he curled his fingers under your chin. This was heaven for you as you practically stretched yourself across Nuada’s lap, closing your eyes as a calming, protective feeling draped over you as you allowed Nuada to hold you in his arms, cradling you to his chest.

‘Nothing will get you while you’re in this form my beloved.’ He promised as he kissed your little furry head, meaning every single bit of his words as he felt this overwhelming need to keep you safe and secure until you return to normal. Nothing and nobody was going to stop him from doing so as he consulted some books about spells in hopes of getting some answers for your condition.

Nuada was more than determined to get you back as much as the next person, something his sister tended to tease him about was his soft spot with you and while he was adamant to accept it, and yet he couldn’t help but accept this as fact he’ll have to live with until he gains the confidence to do something about it.

‘Meow?’ You pawed at the page Nuada was currently on, hoping for answers to be written out before him because you didn’t like the idea of being a cat forever, while it might have some perks, you were still eager to get back to normal however you could.

Nuada smiled as he scratched under your chin again, causing you to purr and push yourself into his touch, liking the way he handles you gently yet firmly it was quite intoxicating. ‘Soon my heart, have patience but until then I shall keep you company, is that okay?’ He asks you and you felt sheepish but decided to show your gratitude towards him by licking his hand. The elven prince the kisses your furry head, lingering there before pulling away. ‘Thank you dearest for putting your trust in me.’ He whispered.

You only meowed in thanks. You’d love to show your thanks when you get back to normal, a date should suffice shouldn’t it?

[hey-august]

ANGRY BUGGY I’m screaming I’m giggling I’m kicking my feet.

Being a crew member never really made sense for you, I mean there’s no reason you can think of why he would want you to join his crew. You’re not very talented like the others and you really only ever clean, but you guess that’s reason enough if they just needed a maid, and you’re more than happy having somewhere to sleep at night.

You don’t notice the longing longs and stolen glances, too busy trying to earn your keep on a ship your thankful to have been given a home on. Paying no mind to “accidental” touches or brushing up against you, after all it can get pretty crowded and you’re all working in close quarters. Nothing seems off when you catch him watching you clean, he’s in charge and must be making sure you’re doing your job. You have no reason to think the Captain even knows your name, let alone thinks about you late at night.

Only that changes when he comes back to the ship, drunk and angry after a failed outing. He sees you dusting? He thinks? Not really sure he doesn’t pay much attention to the actual work your doing, but he does see /you/. You give him a half hearted smile to try and avoid confrontation with your clearly upset Captain. Only for him to knock whatever your doing out of your hands and pin your back to the wall. You look surprised and he’s not sure if your fucking with him or just oblivious, you /must/ have noticed how much better he treats you than the other crew, right? That you have to have seen the way he watches you work and how his eyes drift across your body? The only thing Captain Buggy is sure of is that he need to make sure you know, tonight.

Anooooonnnnnn, I'm SO SORRY I kept this for so long.

It's just so wonderful and I wanted to add to it. Time and motivation were working against me, but HERE WE ARE. Finally spending time with our angry clown. 🩷

This was unplanned and got out of hand, like usual.

WC: ~800 Warnings: NSFW, mdni, Buggy x GN!reader, mentions of drinking, insertion sex, angry sex, sorta dubcon (in my head, they both want this), profanity

Nothing - nothing - is going right and it's infuriating. Fucking frustrating. Yeah, he can be a piece of shit, a freak, a loser, but this is fucking ridiculous.

Months of planning and Buggy had nothing to show for it. Sleepless nights spent studying maps, gathering intel, spreading rumors - all for shit and empty hands.

And the moment he lays eyes on you, the anger surges through the liquor burning his insides. Months of planning on how to get closer to you, to get you under him, also resulted in fucking nothing.

You don't notice the way Buggy stares at you like a hungry wolf. You apologize for being in the way when he purposefully brushes his hand against your ass. You didn't question it when you were scheduled to clean his room. You didn't even bat a fucking eye when you walked in the first day and he was laying in bed. Sure he had underwear on, but seriously? You couldn't tell he was coming on to you?

And it's happening again. You're cleaning. Dusting the shit on his shelves. You manage to squeak out some bullshit apology when Buggy slams the door open. Just a little more and then you'd be out of his way.

But that's not where Buggy wants you.

Buggy keeps his eyes open when he kisses you. He wants to see you. The shocked expression on your face is both rewarding and aggravating.

"You have no fucking idea what you do to me, do you," Buggy spits out.

"I don't- what-"

Your words are cut off by an aggressive kiss. Rough and overwhelming. His tongue invading your mouth, his teeth nipping your lips, bruising you.

Breaking the kiss, Buggy presses his forehead against yours. Heavy breaths fill the room. He's finally touching you. He finally has you in his hands. Your taste in his mouth. He should be happy. But no, this success doesn't clear the irritation running through his veins.

"Pull down your pants and turn around."

Buggy waits, wanting to see if you'd listen. And if you didn't, if you left... well whatever. Fuck you, then. And fuck him, ending up with nothing again.

There's barely enough time for his deprecating thoughts to depart before you undress just enough for him to see how aroused you are.

You want this as badly as he does. So why did you make him wait this long?

Rough hands spin your around. "Keep still," Buggy demands while he works to free his aching cock with one hand.

He hisses when bobs and rests against your ass. Your perfect ass. Fuck, he ruts against you, rubbing his erection on you like he's dreamed so many times before.

"Please," you whimper, legs shaking with each tantalizing movement.

The audacity. The fucking audacity you have.

"Please? Please? You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this and you want me to hurry?"

You shake your head but any words that you might say are chased away by pleasure and pain. By Buggy shoving himself in your needy body and his teeth digging into your shoulder. He bites harder and groans as your body clenches and squeezes around him.

His hips are pressed tightly against you and he starts thrusting, hardly pulling out while continuing to bully his way deeper.

Your gasps and moans are a reward. Your white-knuckle grip on the shelves is encouragement. Your body accepting his brutal thrusts is heaven. But Buggy wants more. He deserves more.

A hand in your hair yanks your head back, turning you into a fountain spilling filthy sounds.

Not enough.

His fingers find their way in your mouth and down your throat. You choke and sputter around the intrusion but make no move to pull away. Each gag has your body clenching around him harder. 

A touch on Buggy’s wrist guides his other hand down between your legs. He’s sure you’d say “please” again in that adorably pitiful voice if you weren’t letting him fingerfuck your mouth.

“You fucking- fuck,” Buggy huffs, his hand moving frantically to bring you over the edge before he falls over himself. “You like this, don’t you?”

The high-pitched whine that you manage to push out around his fingers is Buggy’s undoing.

“You better fucking come on me now,” Buggy hisses while his thrusts become erratic and his hands start to shake.

Your legs shake when you catch up, your orgasm ripping through your body. His cock pulses and throbs as he fucks through your orgasms, drops of cum escaping every time he pulls back.

Eventually, heavy breaths fill the room again. The air is hot. It smells of sex, sweat, and alcohol.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, breaking the silence.

The soft tone in your voice is too much. The little flicker of anger in Buggy’s body is gone. He rests his head on your shoulder in defeat and nods. He does feel better. 

“Will you stay?” he asks quietly, lips pressed against your damp skin. He wraps his arms around your torso and holds you tightly, not ready to end this moment.

You nod and the next morning finds you both asleep in bed, utterly worn out and completely content.

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

More fun stuff!

America’s Sweetheart

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series Masterlist More Fun Stuff Masterlist

Nomad Steve x Baker reader

3,621 words

Reader finds a way to make Steve’s birthday special despite all odds

You sat cozy on your couch, relaxed as could be. A movie played quietly, your softest blanket was thrown over your lap, legs propped up on the coffee table, and your favorite fugitive next to you fought off sleep so hard he could barely even pay attention to the movie anymore.

It was one of those rare nights you decided to work from home to spare both you and Steve a night at the bakery. Sure, he could've found ingredients to organize and endlessly dust flour off of shelves, but it was important to you that he got relaxing nights with peace of mind, and no manual labor.

With your laptop open, your last task of the night was to look over the schedule and make sure everything was ready to go. Themed treats for upcoming holidays were thought of, time off requests were approved, supply deliveries were marked on time.

A date on the calendar caught your attention. The Fourth of July was quickly approaching, so you placed an order of red and blue sprinkles and some extra food coloring just to make sure you had enough to supply the small town with all of their themed treat needs. For such a quaint place, everyone around took the fourth very seriously.

Then faster than a bullet train, you nearly gasped as you got hit with the realization... Captain America's birthday is on the Fourth of July.

You looked over at your sleepy super soldier and couldn't help but to smile at his long hair flopping onto his face but being too tied to even fix it.

"Stevie" You quietly caught his attention, reaching over to rub his arm.

"Hmm?" He replied, turning his attention towards you.

"What do you want to do on your birthday?" You asked him while closing your laptop. If you had to choose between working another minute, or snuggling the sleepy hunk of a man next to you, you'd always choose the latter.

"My birthday?" Steve furrowed his eyebrows at your question, sounding genuinely confused. "Wasn't gonna celebrate it this year."

His eyes widened at your immediate pout to his statement, but his arms welcomed you and pulled you closer as your body cuddled up to his. He kissed your forehead as you settled in, but you looked up at his sweet face again. "There was only one wrong possible answer to that question, and it's the one you just gave me."

"Holidays are busy for you at work anyway, don't need to add anything else to that chaos." His beard tickled your neck as he shoved his chin onto your shoulder. "I didn't celebrate last year either. It's not that big of a deal."

"You didn't even tell me when your birthday was or that it was coming up." You pouted, sadness lacing into every work you spoke. "If the date wasn't so painfully obvious it would've passed by and I wouldn't have even known, and I feel like you did that on purpose."

"It's okay Sunflower," he mumbled before placing a kiss to your shoulder. "I don't really like my birthday, so I'd rather just skip it."

Your pout deepened even more at his statement. Of course circumstances aren't ideal, he was in hiding so there wasn't much you could even do with or even for him. He couldn't spend it with his friends or chosen family, and it's not like you could take him to a fancy dinner at a fine dining restaurant, but you knew in your heart you could still make the day special.

"Why don't you like it?" You questioned.

The sadness in your eyes was killing him slowly, and quickly melting away the walls around his heart. "I guess I liked it more when I was a kid, but as I've gotten older it's always gotten more complicated. There's always so much pressure surrounding one day of the year and I usually end up on some sort of parade float for the city anyways. It's not really my birthday anymore, I always just feel like a holiday novelty."

"That makes me so sad." You admitted before Steve kissed the pout right off your lips.

"Don't be sad, it's fine." He grabbed your blanket from the couch and pulled it right back over the two of you. "This year has been quite taxing, emotionally and physically so every day I get to spend like this with you feels like a gift. This is all I want."

"You're very stubborn." You noted, shaking your head. "Your mere existence is practically a miracle, and you don't think that's worth celebrating."

"I think you might be the only person who feels that way about me anymore." He mumbled.

That statement made your heartbreak, and caused a physical pain in your chest. You knew now that this was a sensitive subject, and you've probably pushed too far.

"You know damn well that's not true." You said seriously, looking right into his tired eyes. "And I'll prove it to you."

"That sounds a little more than mildly threatening." Steve grinned.

"Good, I'm glad. You should feel threatened." Your arms squeezed him tighter and you snuggled impossibly closer to him. "Because you're very special, and you deserve to feel that way."

"look who's the stubborn one now." Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Happily." You kissed him. "I'm taking advantage of the fact that you're too tired to even argue, but we can drop the subject because I want you to sleep well tonight."

"That's so sweet and so mean at the same time." Steve grinned.

"It comes from a place of good intentions." You clarified.

"I know it does, you have the biggest heart I've ever known." Steve agreed. "So if we must celebrate my birthday, this is all I want. If you happen to find some spare time on the fourth, I will happily spend it with you."

Finally, your pretty smile poked through. "I guess that's better than refusal."

"Shall we agree to disagree and call it a night?" Steve pitched, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Only because I care about you so much." You laid your head right on his chest.

"No! Don't get cozy!" Steve sleepily giggled. "Let's go to bed."

"Fine, fine." You sat up and let out a yawn as he stood up from the couch and stretched.

He reached out his hand to you, seemingly offering to help you up. But the second you placed your hand in his, he hooked your arm around the back of his neck and picked you up like a groom would his bride.

Your laughter warmed his heart all the way up the stairs, then your arms held him appreciatively as he carefully set you down on your bed and got in next to you.

A few kisses and affirmations of nothing but the sweetest dreams to come was just about all the two of you had any energy for before falling asleep shortly after.

The next morning, Steve went off on his daily run and you headed off to work leaving your mind perfectly free to devise a plan to make his birthday as special as it could possibly be.

You knew he was a very chill guy. He did everything on the down low and never liked to bring too much attention to himself, even when he wasn't in hiding. So if there was one thing you knew for sure, especially after your conversation about it, your plans needed to be just as chill as he was.

You were so chill about it, in fact, time flew by without you even bringing his birthday up again. So as it approached, Steve nearly forgot about it.

The night of July 3rd, your plan started wonderfully. Though the two of you would usually watch a Pixar movie since Steve hadn't seen most of them, you were able to sway him towards the perfect Disney movie... Tangled.

You got him to watch the whole movie with you, and even managed to get both of you through it without either of you falling asleep before the ending.

Ever since you learned about Steve in history class as a teenager, you found his birthday to be rather interesting. The chances of a sickly little boy born on Independence Day growing up to be the face of the country's best fighter was probably less than one in a million.

Every year on his birthday, fireworks lit up the sky over the whole country, much like how every year on Rapunzle's birthday, the entire kingdom let go of lanterns to float in the sky in hopes of finding her.

Perhaps your parallels weren't enough for Steve, he didn't put two and two together. Or maybe he saw some connections but didn't say anything, but regardless, the context was bound to make your plans for his birthday even more special.

The worst part of the whole day was that Steve was correct, holidays at work were very busy so you couldn't take the whole day off to spend with him. But, you still made some arrangements to make his time away from you feel special.

You got up extra early, just about 3 in the morning, to sneak into his house to decorate his living room with balloons, and a cute happy birthday banner you strung across the mantle. Just to cover all your bases since you knew he wouldn't accept any real gifts, you also left him a card with a cute note written inside, all his favorite snacks, a new hat and a super cute hoodie, and a few chocolate chip cookies just for good measure.

A few kisses to his temple while he was asleep, tucking him in tighter before you left, then you were off to work. You pretty much helped customers all day long with the exception of making Steve a birthday cake and decorating a custom sugar cookie order.

When you got off work, you quickly ran home to shower and change into some comfortable clothes before making your way to Steve's house once more.

Using the side gate and entering the back door, you smiled at the sight of Steve walking towards you.

"Happy birthday, Stevie!" You smiled excitedly, happy to finally get to spend time with him.

"Thank you, pretty girl" Steve smiled right back and greeted you with a kiss before pointing at the cake box in your hands. "What's that?"

"Your cake, silly. What else would it be?" You questioned with a giggle and set the box down on the table.

"I have a bone to pick with you." Steve playfully scolded.

"Already?" You questioned. "We haven't even gotten to the fun part!"

"I told you I didn't want this to interfere with your already busy day, and I know you got up early, and I know that took time away from work." He said pointing to the cake box.

"Oh but you're just so cute I can't even help myself." You fake complained. "Plus we actually get to eat this so we both benefit."

"I'll let you get away with it this time, but this behavior is unacceptable." He continued joking, referencing everything you've already done for him.

"Well, don't speak too soon because I have to admit I'm a bit embarrassed about something."

Steve preemptively giggled at your admission as you started opening the top of the cake box. "What happened?"

"I realized while I was making this earlier that you never actually told me how old you are, so I had to secretly google you at work so nobody would know I was making you a cake. Then google was telling me all sorts of nonsense about how old you could be but I refuse to believe what it said, so I had to do math which is not my strong suit." You explained. "All of that is to say I committed, and it could be completely wrong."

He stood behind you with a hand on your lower back, peeking over your shoulder. Never expecting what was to come, he nearly choked on a knot in his throat and had to try really hard to not let tears well in his eyes when you showed him the cake you made.

It was small and round, his favorite color green, perfectly piped borders on the top and bottom, the perfect sprinkle mix, and it read 'Happy Birthday, Stevie!' With candles that said 33.

You looked back at his face to see if you got it right, but you were met with an expression you couldn't quite gauge. With an awkward giggle, you asked the dreaded question "Oh no, it's wrong huh? How old are you?"

"No, no, you got it right." Steve shook his head and finally got himself to smile and chuckle at his own reaction. He wrapped his arms about you from behind. "It's just- this is the first time I've ever had a cake that wasn't red white and blue. I really love it, it's so pretty. Thank you so much"

"What? That makes no sense. Your favorite color is green so why would you have a red white and blue cake?" You asked as if it was the easiest, most obvious choice.

You didn't even realize how much something so simple to you meant to him. He knew two things for sure right then and there, the first being that him being captain america meant so little to you that you couldn't even fathom why he hated his birthday so much, and the second being you were the only person since the 40's to make him feel like himself again. You didn't use his birthday as an opportunity to make jokes about how old he was or what had happened to him, and you put forth your best effort to separate it from the holiday. He was so sure this moment was when he was certain he wanted to marry you.

"You're too good to me" Steve shook his head before kissing the top of yours.

"Save it for later, we're just starting the celebration." You smiled, turning around to face him. There was no containing your chuckle as he kissed you yet again. "Would you like 33 kisses today?"

"That's not enough." Steve denied, the blush in his cheeks spreading to the tip of his nose. "Some would say I'm actually turning 99 today. I would like 100 kisses. One extra for good luck"

"Oh, so now you actually tell me what you want?" You smiled. "My lips might fall off but that's a price I'm willing to pay."

"Okay then we probably shouldn't test that theory." He regretfully let you go.

"Here's the deal Rogers, I’m about to kidnap you and take you on a little hike so I need you to put on some comfortable clothes and get your beautiful booty in my car.” You pointed your finger at him. “I don’t want to hear any complaints!”

“Yes ma’am” Steve agreed with a smile before turning around to walk up the stairs. “Beautiful booty…” he repeated your words to yourself.

“And don’t you forget it!” You called out to him.

While you waited for him, you put the cake in the fridge but eventually got him into the car. After a short drive through the town and a relatively short hike up a hill, you set up a picnic at the very tippy top.

Together you sat on a plush blanket and ate Steve’s current favorite food which was ever changing, watched the sunset, and chatted away while waiting for the main event to start.

The sun fully left for the night at around 8pm, leaving nothing but the stars above you and crickets chirping to mask the sound of silence. You did eventually turn on and tune the little radio you brought with you to the right station that will synchronize with the towns firework show.

With a few minutes to spare, you finally explained. “The sunset was lovely, but I have ulterior motives.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s lopsided smile poked through. “Do tell more.”

“I told you I was going to prove to you that you’re very special and everyone else still thinks so.” You pulled a pair of headphones out of your backpack. “I made you watch tangled for a reason.”

“What’s the reason?” He asked curiously.

“Every year on her birthday, rapunzel watches the lanterns from her bedroom window because she thinks they’re beautiful and helped her feel less trapped in the tower she was stuck in. She always felt like they were meant for her since they always happened on her birthday.” You explained. “I know being on the run also has you feeling quite stuck, but I think it’s beautiful that every year on your birthday the whole sky is filled with fireworks like they’re meant for you. This is the best view point from the whole town, but it’s always empty because nobody knows it’s here. I thought maybe we could watch them together, and maybe it’ll bring you some peace when you see how many really light up the sky. In the least creepy way possible, before I even knew you I always thought of you on this day and really took a moment to appreciate how your existence inadvertently affected my life and so many others. If thats just what little old me was thinking about, imagine how many millions of people are still out there thinking of you tonight”

Steve looked dumbfounded for a few moments even after you explained. You continued to blow him away, and never ceased to know exactly what he needed to hear in the hardest moments in this crazy newfound life as a nomad. He didn’t quite find the words to respond before you started talking again.

“I know that sometimes someone in your line of work can have a hard time with the sounds that come along with fireworks, so I brought you some noise canceling headphones just in case. Or we can always just head home if you don’t want to..” you became a bit unsure of your choice when you realized you could damn near send the man into a panic attack.

“No. No this is perfect.” Steve shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat once more. He had no idea he could ever be loved this much, so much that you didn’t even have to say it with words for him to know it was true. “I don’t even know what to say. I think this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smiled and snuggled up to his side. Tightly wrapping your arms around him, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything at all.” You rested your head on his shoulder. “I think they’re going to start any minute now. Would you like the headphones?”

“I don’t need them when I have you to protect me.” He grinned and rested his head on top of yours.

Over the radio played an announcement that the display was now starting.

“Okay here’s the part where I prove to you that you’re still America’s sweetheart.” You told him. “If I remember correctly, every year the show starts with…”

Steve started laughing as Star Spangled Man started playing on the radio, and fireworks illuminated the sky. From up close and from a distance, the view was so good he could see them from neighboring towns miles and miles away.

“You know this song, right?” You asked Steve sarcastically. You knew damn well he had heard the song about him hundreds of times on his USO tour.

“No, I’ve never heard it before” he responded just as sarcastically.

“You know, if the hatred for you was actually as bad as it feels for you, they would’ve stopped using this song last year.” You explained. “But look, it’s still here and people still love it, and people still love you. Even in this teeny tiny town that doesn’t even know you’re living in it.”

Steve nodded in understanding and he choked back more tears. He wrapped his arms around you just as tightly as you held him, and for the remaining 25 minutes both of you were so mesmerized by the lit up sky no more words were spoken to each other until after the grand finale.

The very last firework in the sky fizzled away, and he finally found the words. “You were right.”

You smiled. “It wasn’t about me being right, I just wanted you to have a good day.”

“I’m not even exaggerating, but I think this might be the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He said genuinely. “Thank you, I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, sweet boy. Even if this is the only birthday of yours we get to spend together, I hope you know that every year when the fireworks go off, where ever we are in the world, I’ll always be thinking of you.” You kissed his lips.

“That might be even sweeter than the cake waiting for us at home.” Steve smiled, taking your words to heart.

“The only thing that’s between us and that cake is a hike down a hill.”

“In the complete dark.” Steve added. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Not when I have you to protect me.” You admitted, standing up to start the process of making your way back to the cake. Steve stood up, and under the moonlight he just looked to beautiful you couldn’t even resist giving him yet another hug.

He happily accepted, and rubbed your back in appreciation.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

[drunk-on-dk]

Tight Laced | Kim Mingyu (m)

Pairing: shop clerk!mingyu x afab!reader Genre: fluff, smut, roller-rink!au, 70s!au Rating: 18+ (minors do NOT interact) w/c: ~4.7k

warnings under the cut!

warnings: reader is on a budget and a bit clumsy; reader is called a square; explicit smut scenes; protected sex!; oral (fem receiving); sensitivity from multiple orgasms (fem); marking; public sex(?); mingyu hooking up on the job (?); desperate, whiny Mingyu; pls lmk if I’m missing anything; apologies as there may be some errors

a/n: I’m so excited to be back with a new post, especially as part of the 70s;teen collab with @svthub. I’m so thankful to be a part of another collab, it was so fun to really get into writing again and take some time to really enjoy writing a fluffier piece. Please be sure to go give love to each of the creators in the collab, they are all amazing, please go to this link to give their works a read!

Roller skates and Saturday night disco lights.

You wanted nothing to do with it, especially when most of your days were spent in your college’s library, trying to rack up as much spare change that you could with such a low paying part-time job.

Nevertheless, the job was arguably worth it. The library was peaceful, and the downtime allowed for studying. Other than classes, you really didn’t stray far from organizing shelves and spending nights at the cozy cavern of books that funded your education.

Which is exactly why it was shocking to your roommate, the outgoing and spunky Julie, when you strolled home at your usual time on Saturday afternoon and showed a bit more curiosity as she prepped for the night’s events. As per usual, her free-spirited attitude helped loosen you up after your morning shift, plopping down on your leather couch with a huff of relief.

“What’s so fun about going to the disco rink every weekend?” You pondered aloud, observing as she packed away her roller skates into her mini duffle, an anxious hand of yours reaching out to the pet rock sat on the end table.   

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N,” Julie exhaled with a smile, spinning around to show her typical skating garb, pin straight hair whipping around her shoulder like a movie star. As per usual, she sported nylon disco shorts and a fun colorful top. “It is so fun to get dressed up, skate around, socialize, and groove to some great music. You’ve got to try it one day! It’s freeing, and God knows you need some of that.”

You chuckle, unable to deny that maybe, just maybe, it would be nice for you to get out and let loose for once. It does seem like a good time, especially since Julie never misses a single weekend since the rink became the hot spot, but you know all too well that she is the most positive person you’ve ever met.

As if Julie can sense your consideration, she gasps, clearly excited to make her next suggestion. “Why don’t you join me tonight, Y/N?”

“I don’t even have skates,” you counter, but it’s a feeble argument, knowing that it won’t suffice as an excuse for Julie. “You also know I’m a klutz,” you add, whining, as if that makes it any better.

“Well, we can get you a pair. They are sold cheap at the shop in the rink, or you can rent them. Plus, if you end up falling, just hang around and enjoy the music. Don’t be such a square.”  

It’s a solid argument, Julie can practically see your walls crumbling down as you finally accept her invite to join her for the first time in the past year. It’s all a blur as Julie squeals, immediately dragging you towards her closet and holding up options for tonight.

As if you were Julie’s own personal Barbie doll, she quickly dresses you in what she finds suitable for your first night out. A pair of cut-off shorts and a colorful halter top to match hers. She doesn’t forget the finishing touches, pulling out a pair of thick socks for the both of you.

“Believe me, don’t forget to wear these,” she states, hinting at the risk of blisters, but they suit the final outfit regardless.

Before you have the chance to change your mind, you find yourself alone at the skate shop, considering if you should just purchase a pair of skates or rent them.

However, you were already enjoying yourself, the car ride to the rink with Julie’s friends was fun, and the appeal of the night was already becoming clear. Maybe it would be worth it to just suck it up and buy a pair. Julie had offered to stick around and help you with the skates, but you shooed her off to ensure she made the most of her night, promising that you’d join her sooner than later if all goes well.

You’re lost in your thoughts, the sound of ABBA reverberating in the background as you compute and make mental calculations on how much money you can spare to spend on a new pair of skates. That is up until a larger figure situates himself on the counter across from you.

“Aren’t they slick?” Dark, almost puppy-like eyes meet yours, the sudden presence of the shop clerk in your personal bubble snapping you back into reality.

It’s almost hard to speak, the clerk is a handsome man with fluffy raven locks, and, to be quite honest, you’re not so sure what he’s calling ‘slick.’ “Pardon me, but which ones are you referring to?”

“Oh,” he laughs shyly, his head flipping between you and the skates behind him almost nervously. “I’m not quite sure myself actually, I thought you may have been looking at the skates on the top right shelf, usually people just need some words of encouragement after they’ve been looking for so long.”

Goodness gracious, he is endearing, you think. There is something so boyish about his presence that makes you feel a bit more comfortable around him, even if he has looks of a Casanova actor.  Even if his arms are rippling as he shifts his weight on the counter in front of you.

“Well,” you pause, taking a second to read the name on his name tag, “Mingyu, is it?”

He nods, a little too eagerly and you’re almost worried he’s going to shake up all the blood in his head.

“I have been looking at all the pairs, Mingyu. Just not sure on the price, and I’m not so sure it’s worth buying a pair if I don’t even know how to skate. Any recommendations?”

Mingyu considers your situation for a minute before turning around to face the shelving behind him. You can’t help but blush slightly, finally noticing his tight corduroy pants that accentuated the length of his legs. He seems to settle on a pair quickly, dropping them on the counter in front of you with a satisfied look on his face. The slam of the skates on the counter pulls you out of another bout of spacing out.

“Alright, space cadet, I’d recommend these. They are great for someone on a budget, but the wheels won’t lock up on you and they look nice too,” he’s a good salesman, they do look nice, but you still find yourself worrying more than one should for a leisurely activity like this.

Mingyu senses your reluctance and decides to throw in one last sales pitch, “plus, if you purchase these now, I will throw in a free skating lesson with the one and only professional roller-skater.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, hesitant fingers running over your purse zipper as you wait for the punch line. “And who would that be?”

“Me! Who else would it be?” Mingyu exclaims, his bright smile immediately reflecting one onto your face. He seems so pure and kind; how could you even say no to the offer?

“You’ve sold me,” you laugh, finally diving into your purse and gathering up the right amount of bills to make the transaction.

Mingyu is swift with accepting the money, wasting no time to hand you the change before promptly starting on the laces, blabbering mindlessly about how you won’t regret your purchase. Honestly, he’s talking too quickly for you to even process what he is saying.

It was quite astounding how he so easily sold you on the skates. He could be twisting your arm for all you know, but his smile seems so earnest, so you’ll give it a shot.

Worst case, you’ll come back on another day when he isn’t working and attempt to return the skates.

“Are you ready? Let me help put these on you,” Mingyu asks, dropping a ‘Be Right Back in 15 minutes’ break stand on the counter and skating around through the back gate with your new skates in hand.

He guides you to a nearby seat and starts explaining the best way to lace up your skates. Mingyu asks for your name at some point, and all you can do is stutter out your name nervously in response. It’s all garbled after that, your mind going blank as it becomes increasingly difficult to focus as his fingers help lace up your new skates, large hand wrapping around your ankle and sending goosebumps up your spine when he deems they are laced tightly enough.

“Laces too tight?” He asks, the question innocent, but the way his eyes flicker up towards yours sends heat right to your lower stomach.

“Nope, all good. At least I think.”

Mingyu chuckles, sensing your nerves and patting your knee in support, “alright, well get up then. Let’s try them out.” He slaps his thighs before standing upright, holding a large hand out for you to take, and pulling you up with him.

Feeling like you were just born with new legs, you’re hesitant to start moving, and you quickly realize how precarious the skates are. Instinctually, you grasp onto Mingyu polo, and he is quick to give you tips on how to keep you balance.

Mingyu assists in guiding you towards the rink, reminding you of techniques on keeping balance, and letting you know you two will take a lap slowly around the rink first.

It doesn’t take long for Julie to notice you two, her jaw dropping when she sees you latched onto the stranger for dear life as he holds your hand, pulling you along the side walls of the rink.

She sends you a look from across the rink, hair flowing in the wind before she slows down her speed. You shrug, a blush coloring your cheeks as Mingyu attempts to regain your attention by tugging gently on your fingers.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize, almost stumbling and falling backwards as you redirect your attention, but Mingyu is quick-thinking to steady you. “I’ll focus better, I know your time is precious as a professional roller skater.”

It’s an attempted joke, and warmth fills your chest when he laughs, his eyes lighting up with joy as he does a little wiggle move in an attempt to prove his skills to you.  

“No worries let’s keep on truckin,” he winks, continuing the lesson without another beat passing. His hands stay linked with yours, skating backwards easily as he corrects your feet from a pigeon-toed position to pointing outwards.

Time goes by too quickly with Mingyu, he’s all too charming for you, and the wind that flows through his and your hair as you skate together makes it feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You can understand why Julie loves Saturday night skates so much, the atmosphere is phenomenal, Julie occasionally slapping your behind when she passes by and thanking Mingyu for his help.

Skating also sounds especially appealing if Mingyu is here on these nights.

It’s disappointing when the night comes to an end. Julie has to practically tear you away from Mingyu’s skate shop, especially since he had to return back to the counter after a couple of laps, but he continued to spend the night and share tips with you. He even agreed to give you another free lesson.

Of course, you ended up joining Julie the next weekend for another skate, absolutely satisfying her as well. As exhilarating as it was knowing that you got to see Mingyu again, it was also exciting having more time with Julie, and being able to enjoy the hobby she loved so much with her. You’d even claim that some of Julie’s free-spiritedness was rubbing off on you finally.

Shockingly, you had denied picking up another shift at the library. Your boss wasn’t quite happy with your response, but Julie had encouraged you with a thrilled “stick it to the man” before dragging you out for another night.

Ultimately, Julie was right, skating was absolutely freeing, and you now had something to look forward to on the weekend other than spending hours of your life working.  

However, inevitably, weeks passed rapidly, and you surprisingly became quite good at skating after how frequently you’ve visited the rink.

It’s been about a month since first joining Julie at the rink. Now you’ve become addicted to the weekend, absolutely looking forward to the loud music of the disco rink, colorful lights, and especially having the chance to see Mingyu’s dazzling smile.

Now you find yourself gliding across the floor much easier now, Mingyu signaling a thumbs up each time you pass by the skate shop, looking proud of how well you’re able to keep up with Julie as she drags you beside her and sings along with the Bee Gees, ABBA, and Donna Summer songs.

Sometimes you even do a little spin on the skates to show your new and improved skills. It makes both Mingyu and Julie laugh, Mingyu shouting “groovy moves” towards you both as you begin to coordinate your spins.

Yet, there’s a twinge of disappointment inside of you, knowing you no longer have the excuse that you’re poor at skating, and will no longer require the assistance of Mingyu. Thus, no longer feeling the burn of his fleeting touches as he helped encourage you to skate faster. No longer feeling the flames erupt inside your belly as he held your waist to balance you. No longer feeling his hot breath on your neck as he spoke instructions near your ear, even if it was just so you could hear him over the blaring music.

The only thing that kept you fed was that he only seemed to smile at you each time you passed by, even when most rink attendees had their eyes on him as well.

Julie seems to catch onto your fleeting looks, nudging you as a slower song came on to cool the rink, the lights dimming low and the disco ball being the only light radiating the rink. Mingyu’s tied up helping another girl around your age at the counter, her flirtatious nature clear as she covers his hand with hers.

Mingyu seems unsure about this advance, withdrawing his hand, but politely helping the girl with her rental skates.

“You two are ridiculous,” Julie sighs, “he’s clearly into you, you’re clearly into him, and both of you are too well-mannered to say anything. Hold on.”

Before you can say anything, Julie kicks your ankle, it’s a light kick, but it’s hard enough that it makes you bend over in slight pain. Like the speed of light, Julie is stomping off and skating over towards Mingyu’s shop. You can’t tell what she says to him, clearly pointing towards you, and you’re already preparing for the worst by the way Mingyu’s eyebrows raise almost up to his scalp.

Julie looks smug as Mingyu rushes towards you, the look of concern on his face making your heart beat a little too abnormally as you grip onto the sidewalls of the rink for support.

“Are you okay, Y/N? Why aren’t you sitting down? Julie should have taken you off the rink,” he seems stressed, quickly making his way into the rink and examining your bent over state.  

“Oh,” you gasp when Mingyu’s arm wraps around your waist, encouraging you to lean all your weight into his broad body. “What do you mean? Julie just – “

“Your ankle,” he mutters, looking down at your feet worriedly as he finally sits you on a bench off the rink. “We need to get these skates off, come back to the shop with me really quickly, I have a med kit in the backroom, and I can wrap your ankle up.”

You don’t know what to say, unsure of the turn of events, shooting Julie daggers with your eyes as Mingyu carries you past her, but she looks all too smug for your liking.

Mingyu is prompt, carrying you into the backroom of the shop and propping you up on a small counter next to a sink. It’s a small room and it’s a tight fit for the two of you. The proximity is enough to make you feel dizzy as he searches for the med kit.

Mingyu’s deft fingers work expertly to unlace your skates, he sighs as his warm hands run over the lace marks left on your ankles where your socks didn’t cover. There’s also a clear red mark from where Julie had kicked your ankle.

“Does it hurt a lot? It doesn’t look like it’s bruising just yet,” He looks over your ankles worriedly, but quickly notices nothing is wrong.

“Um,” you quiver awkwardly, your cheeks becoming as bright as red roses as his soft eyes meet yours. “No, it doesn’t really hurt, but I didn’t injure myself. Blame Julie.”   

He chuckles, shaking his head in exasperation with a small smile as he begins to realize the set up done by Julie. “I knew Julie might have been bullshitting. I told her you looked like a pro out there, but I know how clumsy you can be, space cadet, so I thought you may have actually hurt yourself.”

You hadn’t noticed Mingyu’s hands running up and down your thighs in a comforting motion until silence fell between you two.

“Well,” you breathe out, the air escaping your chest shakily as you become increasingly aware of how close you really were to Mingyu now. The goosebumps that paint your skin didn’t help hide the effect Mingyu had on you as well. “I’m OK now, so can you just put my roller skates back on?”

Mingyu nods, warm hands now leaving your skin and leaving a burning spot behind as he picks up your skates on the ground. The slight whimper you let out didn’t go unnoticed by Mingyu as his shoulder brushed your knees on the way back up.

Subconsciously, your legs begin to move without second thought, opening a bit wider and allowing for Mingyu to slot himself between your thighs. The air around you two begins to feel suffocating as his fingers softly grab your ankle once again, just like the first time, and sending heat right down to your lower stomach.

“Are you sure you’re OK, Y/N?” Mingyu breathes out, his fingers wrapping around your right ankle and lifting your leg up a bit teasingly. “You seem like you can’t catch your breath? Are you sure it doesn’t actually hurt?”

You know he’s teasing you now, his voice dropping an octave lower as he stares directly into your eyes between his dark lashes. The way he massages your ankle hints that he knows damn well that your ankle is perfectly OK.  

“Yes,” you gasp as his finger dips into your sock, slowly unraveling the material and blowing on the exposed skin of your leg.

“Does it tingle?” He whispers, voice so deep that it practically reverberates through your head.

“Yes,” you’re practically whimpering as his hands run up your calf, past your knee, and over your thighs until his fingers reach the cutoff of your shorts.

“Good or bad?” His fingers dig at your skin gently, pressing into the sensitive skin as his lips close in dangerously towards yours.

“Good,” you sigh, you could practically feel his lips against yours at this point, your entire body tingling with desire as he closes in on you. It’s practically electrifying.

“Is this OK with you, Y/N?”

“Of course,” and with your consent, Mingyu presses his lips against yours, the soft buds melding against yours without much effort.

He’s quick to devour you, tongue sliding across your lips begging for permission. Of course, you oblige, accepting the deepened kiss needily. Mingyu’s fingers slide even further under your cutoffs, making the kiss between you two even hungrier as you feel his nails dig into your plush skin.

Mingyu whimpers into your mouth when your hands find their way into his hair, the sound of him driving you closer to insanity as he lets you lead the kiss for a bit. You’re amazed by how pliable he is, loving the way he presses closer to you with each gentle pull of his thick locks.  

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Mingyu hums, “can I take these off of you, Y/N?” He’s pulling at the waistband of your shorts now, the desperation of his tone making your entire body buzz with anticipation.

“Of course,” you sound winded, but Mingyu sighs in content, hastily working to remove your shorts after swiftly unbuttoning the waistband. He’s quick to capture your lips with his again, the hunger clear in the way he pushes into you, easily pulling your shorts off and discarding them on the floor.

Mingyu’s eyes are wild when he leans back to observe you, his look darkening as he focuses in on your bare thighs. He practically loses his mind when he notices a wet spot on your panties, the cotton slightly darkened and he’s dropping to his knees before you can protest.

He’s at a perfect height, large hands grabbing onto your ass in order to pull you towards the edge of the counter, his eyeline leading right where you’re the most vulnerable.

“Can I please taste you?”

“Please,” you beg, head throwing back in pleasure when he slots his mouth over your panties, nose nudging your most sensitive spot as he sucks at the wettened fabric. His mouth his hot on your clothed cunt, sending a ping of delight through you as he licks at the cotton. “Not enough.”

Mingyu moans as if to acknowledge your plea, one finger hooking at the fabric before his tongue dives between your folds. He’s immediately messy with his actions, tongue lapping passionately, tasting as much of your sweet nectar as possible as he works you closer and closer towards your first burst of overwhelming heat within your core.

Your hands are weaved in his hair again, encouraging him to lap and suck on your clit as the pulses of pleasure become even more unbearable to hold. He coaxes you to your first orgasm with one sharp suck to your clit, your juices spill out all over his tongue as he gladly licks it all up.

Mingyu doesn’t give you much time to recoup, standing back up to kiss you hungrily, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he begins to work at his belt buckle. With your help, he’s able to pull his corduroys off, reaching for a condom in his wallet before dropping the pants to the ground.

He’s unable to roll it on himself as you kiss and nibble at his neck, desperate whines escaping Mingyu’s mouth as you decide to take over. He feels a bit of relief when you work it onto his cock easily, the tight latex squeezing his aching length as you begin to slowly jerk him off.

Mingyu’s close to losing his mind when your hips buck in anticipation, your small hand still working at his length, and he stutter out a request. “C-Can I- please feel you completely?”

“Yes,” you moan, hips lining up with his as his tip glides between your folds, sensitivity sending a jolt through your body when he brushes your clit. “God, Mingyu, just do it.”

Mingyu’s length slowly enters you, your walls sucking him in without hesitation, waves of pleasure immediately warming you as his length and girth fills you all too perfectly.

Mingyu’s hands are gripping at your hips, his own muscles shaking as your walls take him in easily. You’re squeezing his cock in a way that has him moaning a bit too loud, your shushes reminding him that he is at work, and you are still in the rink. Even if the music drowns out your noises.

His thrusts are slow at first, ensuring that you can take every inch of him before he picks up his pace. Mingyu’s moans only get louder as your walls begin to pulse, squeezing with each unforgiving thrust of his hips, becoming groans as he dips his head into your neck, teeth sucking harshly at your skin as you breathe out in ecstasy.

He’s precise with each thrust, his tip nailing a spot so deep inside of you that you begin to see stars as your eyes roll back in pleasure. Your hands grip at Mingyu’s back, an attempt to ground yourself as Mingyu’s length fills you so deliciously, that you think you’ll be addicted for the rest of your life.

“Holy shit,” you cry out at one particularly hard thrust, the fiery heat building at your core, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep quiet, nor how much longer you can keep your second orgasm at bay. “M-Mingyu.”

Something flips in Mingyu when you moan out his name, hand coming up to grab you chin as he forces your eyes to meet his. His pace quickens impossibly, his pubic bone brushing against your clit occasionally and bringing you closer to your breaking point.

He’s egged on by the wild look in your eyes, your swollen lips as his name falls from your mouth like a prayer, and he encourages you to come as obscene sounds come from the space where you and he connect.

“Make a mess of me, Y/N,” he pleads, even when he’s hammering into you there’s a hint of desperation in his tone, and all you can think about is making him fall apart himself. Your walls clench tighter around him, pulling yet another groan from him as the burning pleasure in your core explodes throughout your body, your thighs shaking as you feel the release spread like wildfire.

Mingyu is quick to follow, hot cum filling the condom inside of you, sending a second wave warmth throughout your core as his cock pulses. Mingyu’s canines dig deeply into your shoulder in attempt to hide his groans, only intensifying the sensitivity of your throbbing clit as he continues to thrust shallowly inside of you, riding out his high until the last second.

You’re like two naïve kids in love when he pulls his length out, tossing the soiled condom into the trash and making a note to really clean up the backroom before he leaves tonight. He giggles bashfully into your neck, observing the dark marks he left from his attempts to muffle his noises, but it only leaves him desiring this more and more. His nose comes up to nudge yours, pulling you in for one final sweet kiss.

“What about another lesson?” He whispers between kisses. “Looks like you’re a pro out there now.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing those anymore,” you giggle, squirming as Mingyu fixes your panties back into place. He looks a bit disappointed, as if he’s unsure where to go from here. Slowly he helps you get dressed, buttoning up your shorts after he pulls his own pants back on.

“Y/N?” Mingyu tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod expectantly. “You know I don’t just give out free lessons to anyone, right?”

You almost laugh boisterously, but you simmer down quickly as Mingyu’s lips form a slight pout. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” he says very matter of fact, “I only offer them to the most special of people. I even tied your laces extra tightly to make sure you wouldn’t twist your ankle. Yet look where we are now.”

“Well, I did learn from the best,” you prod, “I guess you didn’t teach me to watch out for Julie’s though.”

Mingyu chuckles, the same endearing sound you’ve grown used to. “That’s true, I guess no professional could have been prepared for Julie’s antics.”

“So, what now?”

“What about a date? Or a couple’s skate? Think you can keep up with me?”

You laugh teasingly, “how about can you keep up with me?”

“I should have never sold you those skates,” Mingyu jokes, pinching your nose, but his eyes give away that he’s in way too deep, absolutely head over heels about you. “Why don’t we go test that out? How about we test out that theory every weekend?”

Roller skates and Saturday night disco lights. How could you have ever wanted nothing to do with these two things?

[reiderwriter]

Four In Some Velvet Morning

Chapter Two of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Civility in the office is equal to pettiness in all things, but when you help Spencer out in a sticky situation, it's all your mind can think about well into the early hours in the morning.

Warnings: Uncomfortable situation with a student (non-reciprocated), suggestive touching, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft dom! Spencer.

A/N: The second part is finally here!! I hope you enjoy the various office shenanigans of Spencer and our reader. Based on the results of our last chapter, I've made a taglist, which you can access through the link below! Have fun reading, and be sure to let me know what you think in the comments~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist~♡

You loved Mondays, or you did love Mondays when they meant only a single teaching hour and a free office to catch up on however much work you'd put off the week before.

But, like everything in your life now, Mondays were ruined by Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you and your coffee arrived at 8:45 on Monday morning, he was right there. You heaved out a sigh of frustration, and he didn't respond, so you sank into an hours worth of annoyed sighs and silence.

“Hmmph,” you huffed, standing from your desk and making your bookshelves. Still ordered alphabetically, and topically, you tried your best to look for the reference guide you'd been annotating all semester. But with no helpful guide to which topics it was that he'd used, you found yourself turning around to address your silent, unwanted companion.

“Spencer, my reference book, where is it?”

You stared blankly at him for a few minutes as you watched him trace a finger down the page he was reading. Delicately, he turned the page and resumed reading the next one, stroking the page like it was a lover in a tender moment, his fingers trailing down to offer his intimacy.

“Spencer?” You said again, and he again ignored you.

“Spencer, there's no way you're reading that fast, cut the crap and answer my question.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute. Thus, I am busy. And weren't you ignoring me?” You took a deep breath and counted to ten in your head before replying.

“I thought we were being civil, Spencer.”

“I am being civil. I'm very civil. Are you being civil, Ms. Y/N?”

“Doctor,” you spat out. “I may have only one to your three, but I did work hard for it.”

He stopped reading and looked up at you, noting the angry look on your face. Standing up quickly, he checked his watch, grabbed his bag and jacket, making sure to carefully slide the book he was molesting into his bag, and walked straight for the door.

“Spencer!” You said indignantly, and he turned back to you with a sarcastic smile, pulling the book you were searching for off the bookcase and throwing it in your direction, before stalking out of the room.

“Jackass!” You shouted behind him as he sent a wave over his shoulder.

Civility. Well, if that was his idea of civility, you could be just as civil. And you'd start by taking all of the books off of the bookshelves once again.

When three hours had elapsed and Spencer had concluded the day's work, he was disappointed to find the office empty. He didn't dwell on the feeling for long, though, as he flipped the light switch to utter chaos.

You'd pretty much gutted the entire shelf, leaving pretty piles stacked all across his desk, chair, and the floor surrounding it, making it near impossible to make his way to his desk without moving something.

The shelves weren't totally empty, though. You'd left roughly thirty books on the centre shelf, held in place by paper weights he recognised as his own acting as bookends.

A post-it was stuck to the first book.

“Ignore this,” you'd written, a lipstick kiss pressed into the paper as your only form of signature. For plausible deniability, of course. You'd never sign your name to a crime.

He sighed and lifted a hand to start taking some books down when he spotted it.

“D…o…n….t…,” he would've gotten further but for the grin spreading across his face as he read the first letter on each book spine. You'd spelt out five words, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction knowing you'd spent so much time just trying to mess with him.

“DONT TOUCH MY SHIT, JACKASS,” you'd written. But he was absolutely going to touch your shit.

Much to his chagrin, you didn't return to the office that day, too busy with other duties to need to go back. You also wanted to give him a wide berth, hoping that he'd have time to simmer instead of immediately retaliate for all the shit you'd pulled that morning.

Which was why Spencer found himself at work at 6 a.m., getting an early start so he could see your reaction to his, honestly quite tame reply.

You'd acted like a toddler throwing toys out of your pram for no reason. And while he wasn't exactly acting mature himself, he could at least liken himself to a young child throwing the toys back in frustration.

Everything about sharing this office with you was going to be frustrating.

He opened his book again - War and Peace - and began reading through it as he waited for the sun to rise and you to arrive with it.

It was well worth it to catch the look on your face.

“Jackass,” you muttered under your breath as you walked in, coffees and pastries in hand.

He'd put the majority of the books back on the shelf in his order and system. But he'd also left out a large pile of books, blocking the narrow passage between your desk and the wall. It was taller than you and hardly stable, and since you did not want to get concussed on a Tuesday morning, there was no other route to your desk but squeezing behind his.

You huffed out a sigh, dropping what you'd hoped would be truce coffee and breakfast on his desk before standing to push past him. He blocked your way with his arm as he finished up reading a chapter.

“Password?” He asked, not looking up from his desk.

“Very funny, let me pass.”

“Incorrect,” he smiled, nodding towards the shelf where you'd left yesterday's message.

“Seriously?” You asked. His answering look supplied the answer you needed - try me.

“Don't touch my shit, jackass,” you said in a sarcastic tone, trying once again to push past. His damn arm was still too solid, and he pushed you back once again.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but that was yesterday's password. You'll have to try again.”

Squinting down at him in confusion, you did your best not to dump his coffee over the top of his head as he nodded to the shelf again.

Your writing was still there, but one shelf down there was a new message.

“BUT… ILO…I LOVE… TOU-” You froze, your entire body going hot as you walked back over to him. He was taking a sip of his coffee, as you desperately avoided eye contact. You knew you were attractive, but you honestly didn't think that Spencer would be interested in you like that. And flirting like this, so out of the blue?

Something had to be wrong with him.

“Password?” He asked, taking another sip.

“B-But I love touching you,” you stammered out, cheeks aflame.

He somehow coughed and snorted at the same time, shooting out of his chair with wide eyes.

“More-” he coughed. “That's not… There's more.”

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you ran back over to the shelves, reading to what was actually the end of the message.

“But I love touching your shit,” you mumbled, and he didn't bother even raising a hand this time. He let you pass, and you sat in tense silence for the rest of the morning.

You got over the awkwardness soon, though, and began using the shelves to torture each other between classes.

You'd once replaced all three textbooks for his class with Russian language versions, back firing spectacularly as he smiled and began reading from them anyway.

He'd started putting important texts on the very top shelf and hiding the only step on the floor in some classroom or the other. Though he too had quit that when other members of staff grew frustrated at the steps disappearance.

You both kept up with the book messages.

“YOU'RE… TOO…LOUD”

“I DIDNT… DO…ANYTHING”

“YOU BREATHED”

“BOO HOO”

“COFFEE…PLEASE”

“IM NOT…YOUR…ASSISTANT”

“WITH THREE… SUGARS”

“I HOPE…. DIABETES… GETS YOU”

“SO…MATURE”

If you were being honest with yourself, you'd probably have realized that you were having a lot of fun hating Spencer Reid. Which made him a little bit harder to hate.

You wished he'd have been more mature about the whole thing, really, so you could despise him without laughing at his audacity every five minutes.

Thursday was the worst day for both of you. Thankfully, he'd taken your advice and scheduled his office hours around your classes.

What he hadn't taken into account was that on Thursdays, you had several classes on different disciplines and for different degree levels, meaning a truck load of resources you had to either cart around with you all day (impossible) or you'd have to drop into your office regularly to pick up your things.

You'd ended up in the same queue as the myriad of undergrads that were taking his course or just auditing and wanted to pick his brain on his off hours, and it was hell each time.

“God, isn't he just so fine. An 18-year age gap isn't noticeable, right?” One girl whispered to her friend as you turned the corner, books in hand, ready to use them as defence weapons should the need arise. The need to laugh and yell it was too much had you biting your tongue quickly. The man was 10 years older than even you, and even you had to pause at the age difference. These girls were practically children.

“And his hair? I just want to tangle my hair in it and pull him down to my-”

“Girls! Please remember this is a hallway, and your professors are still trying to get some work done.”

To their credit, the two first years did turn crimson in shame, sending each other panicked and dirty looks as they communicated their shared horror.

You stepped up to the small hall window at your office and peeked through the blinds.

Another student was inside with Spencer, and the panicked look on his face meant that his conversation was probably going similarly.

The students in the hall whispered and glanced at you every few seconds, and if you weren't in the biggest rush of your professional career, you'd take the time to ask them if you had something on your face.

Instead, you just tried to knock on the glass and hope Spencer would notice your plea for access.

When Spencer noticed you at the window, his eyes locked with yours, his mouth forming a simple plea as the undergrad inched closer to him.

“Help,” he mouthed.

You shrugged in reply, wondering what would possibly be so bad that he'd need your help of all things.

It was then that you noticed the undergrad had reached out a hand to play with the buttons of his jacket, stroking her hand along his chest as he cringed backwards.

You watched him take her hands off him, but she was tenacious, or just a downright creep, and she grabbed his thigh this time, pressing her chest forward. You couldn't see it yourself, but you knew from his reaction and instantly turned head that she was dangerously close to flashing him.

Or she was just doing it.

His eyes pleaded for help again, and you barged into the room with a large cough.

“Doctor Reid, if I could have a moment of your time? It's urgent.”

You dumped the books on your desk, and he jumped up to greet you, stepping out of the young students' grasp and almost shielding himself behind where you stood.

“Of course, yes, Y/N. It is urgent, so I'm sure the students will... be understanding."

He turned back to the student and gestured helpfully to show her the door, but her angry gaze was stuck on yours.

“Old ass skank,” you heard her whisper under her breath. From the hand on your arm and the furrowing of his brow you knew Spencer had as well.

“I'm sorry, what was that, Miss….?”

“Hmm? I'm sure I didn't say anything, Doctor Y/L/N.”

“You-” Spencer began but you silenced him with a hand on his chest.

Her gaze flicked to it, and she grew redder in the face, as if she were truly angry at this development. Interesting.

“Spencer,” you span around, totally ignoring the student now, wrapping your arms up and around his neck. He blinked in confusion once and then twice and hesitated, but let his hands land on your waist.

“It really is so urgent that we speak. Alone. I wouldn't want your precious students hearing anything I have to say to you.” You leaned in closer for the last words, letting your voice flow like honey, neatly seductive as you did your best to remind the student of her place.

Which was as far from a professor's bed as possible.

“She's just leaving, Y/N,” he whispered, equally as breathy as you, if not more. He didn't bother a glance over your shoulder to check, though, keeping his eyes on you as if you were a tiger preparing to pounce on him at any second.

The student grabbed her things and huffed out the door. As soon as the thing was shut, you pulled the blinds totally shut and detangled yourself from Spencer completely, giving yourself a wide berth after bringing yourself so close.

You hadn't realized how long and pretty his eyelashes were until you forced yourself to look at him, how nice his eyes were. The image of them burned into your brain - jealousy, probably. Men always had the best natural eyelashes. It was incredibly unfair.

“What the fuck was that?” You whispered, trying to contain your laugh as you knew the walls here were anything but soundproof.

“Shh,” he hissed, his ear pressed to the door as he listened to the remaining undergrads outside start talking. They obviously hadn't got the memo.

“Is this an official FBI strategy?” You teased.

“Shut up, would you? They're talking about us.”

You found yourself all of a sudden pressed against the door next to him, trying to listen in on the conversation outside.

“So it's true? He's really screwing her?” You slapped a hand over your mouth, both from shock and to stop the hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest from jumping out. The girl sounded distraught. She sounded absolutely heartbroken. "The coffees every morning were suspicious, and they're always in the office so wrapped up with each other, but I didn't think they were seriously screwing."

“No wonder she was giving us dirty looks earlier,” the other girl whispered back.

“I heard he got her the job here. Pulled some strings, you know. And then, when it didn't look so suspicious, he started and asked for the shared office.”

“Gross! Total nepo hire!”

“No, Tiff, Nepo is when your parents get you the job. What she's doing is just called being a whore.”

Your mouth grew dry, and you pushed back off the wall, suddenly uninterested in anything else the girls had to say.

“Y/N…” Spencer took a sympathetic step your way, offering you an awkward smile as you started busying yourself organizing books.

“Nothing I haven't heard before, Spencer, don't bother,” you said, throwing some papers into your briefcase and keeping your hands moving.

“Though I will say they're getting more creative with their back stories since I have been working here half a year longer than you.”

He watched you work around the office, picking up items and tidying them away as you made a line of tidiness through the chaos of your desk.

“Do you think they all think that?” You asked, curiosity somehow piqued.

“That I got you the job?”

“That we’re screwing,” you said, finally turning to face him.

But the movement was a mistake - you hadn't heard him step closer, so as you turned his face was directly in front of yours, his nose practically touching your own as he looked down at you. It was enough so that the sharp intake of breath you took smelt like him, like he'd wrapped himself around your body and kept you there.

“Do you think they think we're screwing?” He asked, meaning to move away, or at least give you the space for you to do so.

“It doesn't matter to me what other people think,” you smiled up at him. “Because I wouldn't touch you with a tensed foot pole.”

You're thinking about the comment well into the evening, right until the moment your head hits the pillow.

You're thinking about the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you said those words, how he stepped closer and closer until you were backed up against the door.

“You were fine touching me earlier, Y/N. What is it now that makes it unappealing?” He whispered into your ear.

A hand came to your waist as your breath hitched.

“Is it the goosebumps I leave on your skin?” His hand pressed harder as it rose up to your chest. You gasped as he took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it.

“Is it the way your heart beats uncomfortably hard when I'm close?”

His hand dropped again, falling down the plains of your stomach until he was stroking along the top of your pants, begging for entry.

“Or is it the way I make your cunt wet? It must be so hard pretending to hate me when you want my fingers stuffed inside of you.”

You gasped, but your tongue suddenly didn't work, as he slipped past your pants and his fingers were suddenly on your underwear, grinding the pads of his fingers against your slick pussy.

“You dont have to answer, I think I can tell just from feeling this. Shit, Y/N, I could probably slip into you right now with no resistance,” his fingers pushed inside of you as you gripped his arm for support. It was stronger than you expected, rigid as he tensed his arm.

You let him use your body, aware of your soft sighs and moans as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands were inside you, then they pulled out, and somewhere in between his fingers and his cock filling you, you'd been pressed against the bookshelf, facing it and grabbing at the shelves for stability as he made good on his promise and pushed right into you without a care in the world.

“Spenc-Spencer, the books-”

“You know the books aren't a problem, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear as he pumped deep inside of you.

But the books were a problem, and they fell to the floor with each rough thrust, vibrating as they landed.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

Your eyes shot open the next day, and you jolted out of your slumber, a pillow between your legs as you tried to find your release squirming and humping against it. You reached out for your vibration phone alarm, switching it off quickly to avoid the memory of those falling books from your fast fading dream.

Spencer hadn't touched you in that office. He'd taken your comment at face value and let you leave for your class, but it had stuck in your head.

You'd spent the entire night thinking about his hands on you, and you were entirely uncomfortable with the conclusion you were drawing.

Because now, you supposed, you'd quite enjoy the idea of Spencer Reid touching you wherever he damn well pleased.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise