#but even after travel you just come home to whatever you were doing

[xalygatorx]

Someone Like You | Human!Alastor x Assistant!Reader

Written for the VoxTek Server Winter Event 2024 hosted by @redfoxwritesstuff & @redvexillum of @voxtekinc xx

AO3 ✍️ | Ko-Fi ☕

Prompt: "Christmas Party"

Summary: Being Alastor Garland's assistant has never been an easy feat, but you reach the end of your rope at the station's annual Christmas party when one of his snide comments hits a little too hard.

Warnings: Angst to hurt to comfort that rounds back into steamy fluff, We're rockin' around the Emotions Tree 🎶, Implied period-typical racism (it's the 1920s), Reader has an established crush on Alastor despite him presenting as a certified dickhead, Alastor likes you too but he doesn't handle it well up to this point, Confused graysexual screaming, Reader's grandmother has passed away, Reader is female and in her early 20's (Alastor is almost 30 in this one), There's no smut here even if it seems like there might be during the steamy fluff scene I'm telling you that right now

A/N: Whatever you do or don't celebrate, I hope you have the coziest, kindest winter season ahead of you. Take care of yourselves. x

And be sure to check out all the other festive, lovely stories from everyone who contributed to this event!

The entire house smelt deliciously of warm, spiced cider. Molten notes of fresh baked apples, butter, and a pinch each of salt and cinnamon rolled over your tongue with every inhale, accompanied by a bloom of heat when you opened the oven to retrieve the cake you'd been painstakingly crafting all day ahead of tonight's party.

Memories of your grandmother were easy to come by in her own home—a home that had been passed down to you specifically as an escape from the house you'd grown up in. The differences between a house and a home were plenty and those had all been differences you'd learned in your travels between the two—one, a house where you'd lived with your mother and father and three younger siblings, and the other, the home your grandparents had cultivated over decades and decades of firefly summers and holidays within the often mild winters New Orleans had on offer.

A home your grandmother had taken fully into her care after your grandfather had passed almost ten years ago. A place that, despite your family house never being cold or violent or somewhere you felt unwelcome, had always felt like home.

And then it had become your home the day you turned 18. Against your family's wishes—primarily ones born of concern—you'd struck out on your own, eager to take over the care of the home your grandmother had left you, that she had entrusted to you. It was your turn to bring life to it now.

When you closed your eyes, time travel was a simple task. You let the heat wafting from the open oven warm you to your bones, let the scents of the cake your grandmother had made every Christmas Eve fill your senses entirely until everything was simply cake. When you opened your eyes to slip on the mitts and pull the cake from the oven, the scrape of the pans against the rack filled your ears and, if you listened, you could hear the ghosts of holidays past along the edges of those metallic keens—your brother laughing at the expense of you or one of your sisters, your mother fretting over anything and everything, and your father's silence as he watched it all unfold.

As the pans left the rack and the scraping sounds ceased, you were left with silence again. Fragrant, nostalgic, but very silent silence. A sigh eased from your chest as you set the pan down to cool and busied yourself with locating the festive bit of china your grandmother had always used for this very cake.

You just hoped you'd done it justice—you hadn't had a reason to bake it before and your maiden voyage into your grandmother's old cookbook (a still relatively pristine copy of Woman's Exchange Cook Book) had come about due to your first office Christmas party.

Well, the first one you had any interest in attending.

Your jobs for the first few years of living in New Orleans had varied—diners, coffeeshops, a bakery, two speakeasies, and a tailor—but none of them had offered much in the way of holiday parties. The diner and bakery had tried, bless their hearts, but it had always been more of a social gathering among friends orchestrated by the waitstaff. The speakeasies had been fun, but when every night was a party, holidays were even more so and they often got too rowdy for your temperament (particularly the one year the boys and blue had attended as uninvited guests and you'd had to run out the back with the bartender and his girlfriend).

Whatever the station had planned would surely be much more in the realm of a planned, prim office party. A scene you were new to. Second only to how new you were to the station itself.

You'd spent six months so far employed there, which was five months and twenty-nine days longer than anyone had expected you to be. There had been a betting pool. There likely still was one, just kept better under wraps after you'd discovered the first. You'd been swiftly assured that the pool wasn't aimed at your work ethic, but rather at the pure hell your "boss" seemed gleeful to put you through on a daily basis.

Alastor Garland wasn't technically your boss. He was the current dashing darling of the radio world, a local celebrity gradually going national as the show's popularity spread, and the man you were meant to assist, but he wasn't your boss. You were sure he would've fired you by now if that had been the case. Or rather, you would've never been hired to begin with.

Again, not necessarily because of you—although that was becoming harder to believe as time wore on and his jabs got more personal—but because Alastor was stalwart in his insistence that he did not need an assistant. He took offense to your very existence so long as it was under the title of being his assistant. And he couldn't take it out on your boss, the owner of the very station you were soon to leave for that night, so he took it out on you.

Impossibly timed errands. Last-minute coffee orders you knew were only requested to get you out of his hair for a bit. His overcoat dropped just shy of the rack so you had to juggle everything you were already toting into the recording studio for him just to get it up on the proper hook. Snide remarks whenever you messed up a cue or made his coffee "wrong" or took too long to notice whatever mess he'd made with the expectation that you'd clean it up.

He was rude. He was positively childish at times. He was sarcastic and mocking and generally unpleasant to work for.

And you liked him.

Your nose wrinkled at the thought alone as you sifted powdered sugar down onto the cake you'd just upended onto the festive Christmas china, the descending granules mirroring the rare Louisiana snowfall outside.

You were pretty sure your mother was ultimately to blame for this debacle, traced all the way back to your childhood. All the times you'd come home complaining that some boy had pushed you down in the schoolyard and she would simply check you over for anything past a scrape or a bruise and inform you, "He's probably just got a li'l crush on you, honey. Boys don't like to be honest about that kinda stuff, so they'll just pick on ya instead."

And then there was her relationship with your father, a gruff and perpetually pokerfaced man who wore his emotional reserve like a badge of honor. You honestly couldn't remember a single instance in which he'd told you he loved you growing up, but you also couldn't remember ever hearing him say it to her or his other children either. You were pretty sure he did though. You'd just always gotten the impression that he didn't know how to say it.

Well, if Alastor was one of those "boys in the schoolyard," he must've really liked you. The thought alone made you scoff because you knew that wouldn't be the case in a million years. Funny enough, he was also the exact opposite of your father while sometimes seeming the exact same. Alastor was emotive, theatrical in how little he seemed to hide, but he was just as pokerfaced as your father, you'd found. He just did it through showmanship and a smile.

You settled the cover to the china plate over the cake you'd finished garnishing, hoping it would be enough to keep it warm through the cold walk to the station. Stepping back, you went upstairs to finish getting ready, coming back down in a red velvet cocktail dress you'd spent three weeks' worth of accumulated pocket money on after hearing the receptionists discussing their own party budgets and worrying you'd look out of place.

You felt like a pretender or at least like someone trying to dress up like something they weren't, but there wasn't any time or spare change to go back on it now. So you bundled up in your coat and scarf, slipped on your heels, and plucked your freshly baked offering from the counter.

You triple-checked that the oven was off before taking a deep breath and working through the two additional deadbolts you'd added to the old front door after listening to one too many of Alastor's broadcasts about the recent murders around the Big Easy. And then finally, you left to start your trek through the snowy evening.

The snow provided a unique layer of soundproofing the city couldn't usually be afforded, particularly during its vibrant, sleepless nights. Contrary to the expectation that colder weather and snow might discourage New Orleans' nightlife scene, either the novelty of the chill or the holiday had even more folks out than usual. Couples rubbing noses under streetlights, parents and their children armed with sleds despite the hour, gaggles of teens pelting each other with snowballs while their laughter bounced off the seasonably decorated buildings lining the streets.

It helped to quell the somber feeling your silent home had left with you before departing—nice as that quiet often was, the holidays had a way of making even the most comfortable silence feel pointed.

Swiftly enough—and after only once nearly slipping and sacrificing your cake to the frosty pavement—you made it to the station and let yourself in the side alley door. Upon entering, you were immediately greeted with the murmur of conversation, the clanking of plates and platters being set up on an emerald green-clothed serving table, and a vinyl crooning from somewhere further in.

"Oh, hi, sweetie!"

Instinctively, you turned toward the voice and smiled when your eyes landed on Rosie—your boss's fashion-forward, easily delighted wife, who had all but made him hire you on the spot when she just happened to be in the station the day you came in to inquire about a job. She reminded you a lot of your grandmother had your grandmother been more boisterous and open with her thoughts.

She was wonderful. And it was always a relief and a joy to run into her.

"Hi, Rosie," you said back, smiling as she relieved you of your dish and then swept you into a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"And it's lovely as ever to see you, too, dear," Rosie said, throwing you a wink as she uncovered your cake and set the steam-lined cloche aside with care. "I knew ya'd stick it out here. I'm very proud of ya. I'm sure Alastor hasn't made it easy for you."

You just smiled a little tighter, comically widening your eyes the next time she looked at you, which made her laugh conspiratorially.

"Don't take it personally, dear, he's… He's a character," she said, not for the first time. "There's a reason he's made it to where he is and it's not by mincin' words." Whipping around to focus on your dessert, she asked, "Now, anyway, what do we have here? It smells divine!"

Your chest puffed a bit with pride. "That would be my grandma's favored recipe for apple cider cake," you told her, your smile widening when she gave a happy clap of her hands. "She made it for us every Christmas Eve when I was growing up."

"Well then how wonderful of you to share it with us, doll! I can't wait to try some," Rosie said as she turned to face you again. Her eyes darted over your head briefly before she tsked through her teeth. "Just don't even mind him tonight, okay, sweetie? He's been in a foul mood all week, as I'm sure you've caught onto."

Ah, you'd thought you'd felt eyes on you.

You were almost afraid to turn around, but you knew that it'd probably been obvious even from afar that Rosie had noticed him and then commented to you on his presence. So it might give him some degree of satisfaction or sense of victory if you didn't turn around now.

Couldn't have that. And you wouldn't admit it, but you weren't exactly rueful of having a reason to look even while your nerves ate away at your insides.

Pulling the proverbial bandage, you glanced over your shoulder and it took only a few seconds for your eyes to land on your target. He was dressed to the nines like everyone else in the station tonight, looking immaculate in a dark suit with merlot accents and shiny silver cufflinks. He was clean-shaven—something he'd uncharacteristically not been all week—and his hair had been hot-ironed straight in a stylish fluffy flop that was almost as signature to his look as his smile. His round wireframes had descended a bit down the bridge of his nose, but he righted them now with the precise press of a fingertip.

Behind the lenses, his honey-hued eyes were already locked on you.

You tried to channel your dad's immaculate pokerface, but there was only so much you could do when those eyes evoked in you the strangest mix of intrigue and genuine unease. When your eyes met, you felt yourself freeze—prey in a predator's trap as your heartbeat drummed ever faster against your ribs.

You swallowed harder than you meant to and you knew he saw it by the way the polite smile he'd turned toward the men he was currently rubbing elbows with—sponsors most likely, you didn't recognize them at a peripheral glance—slowly curled into a sneer.

So much for keeping him from a bit of undue satisfaction for cowing you before you'd even uttered a word his way this evening. Your jaw tightened and you turned away to roll your eyes, melting a little when you spotted one of the receptionists—the station owner's niece, Charlie—enthusiastically waving you over.

It's not just him here, you reminded yourself as you smiled back at the excitable blond belle and made your way over to join her. And you're off the clock. He's just a man.

Just a man you wished you could write off as truly just a man.

The cider cake you'd baked was annihilated within the first hour and it was compliments abound from everyone who'd had a slice. Rosie had been sure to let everyone know that you were the one to thank for it.

You really weren't sure what you'd done to endear yourself to her so much, but you were endlessly glad for it.

More party attendees had shown, however, and there was room to be made on the buffet. You excused yourself from Charlie's company—along with her friend, Anthony, and her "friend," Maggie—to squirrel away your empty baking dish and help clear the way for more warm, tasty homemade creations to have their spotlight moment debut on the table.

You'd settled the cloche on the crumb-dusted plate and then turned, taken approximately four steps from the table, and then a passing gentleman—who'd had a bit too much from a poorly obscured flask in his jacket pocket, nevermind the hot punch and roasted chestnuts from the actual spread—walked right through you and jostled the china from your hands.

It shattered on the floor and deadened all conversation in the room. Your hands had gone to your mouth after fumbling the dish and failing to right yourself and you felt tears stinging your eyes as you stared down at your grandmother's beloved baking set in ruins.

What had you been thinking, using that to bring your cake here tonight? How hadn't you foreseen something like this happening? If not now, from your hands, then from some other folk rearranging the table offerings or even before the party had started, when your heels had nearly slid out from under you on the walk outside?

You'd broken it. By unearthing it from your grandmother's home—your silent, silent home—you'd put it in the path of being destroyed. And now there was no replacing it because it wasn't the dish that was broken, it was every memory you'd tied to that fragile bit of china.

Utterly careless. When you thought such things of yourself, suddenly your inner voice started to sound like your mother and you felt like a child in their house—not your home, their house—all over again.

And if the mistake itself weren't enough, you were suddenly pointedly reminded of who was in attendance tonight.

"Dear, I really must ask that you reserve your skillset of being completely useless for working hours," Alastor remarked through a mostly stifled chuckle, earning heartier laughter from the men surrounding him who'd hardly given you a glance before you'd made a fool of yourself. "It's Christmas, after all, take a bit of time off."

"Alastor," Rosie admonished him as she bustled over to you and the wreckage at your feet, hands waving fretfully as she deliberated how best to help. "Sweetie, are you—"

"I'm fine," you said, quick and hard, before trying to school your expression and agitatedly swiping a wayward tear from your eye. You'd probably smeared your mascara in the process with your luck tonight. Shaking your head, you said again, "I'm fine. Don't trouble yourself, Rosie."

Rosie frowned, watching you stoop down and start to collect the pieces by hand. "It's no trouble, let me just—"

"I can manage," you said, still feeling Alastor's eyes on you and ignoring him with all your might as you collected the chunks of china from the floor and stacked them into something you could tote back home. Perhaps even fix. It wouldn't be usable again, surely, but at least you'd have it, you supposed.

Maybe if you put it back in the display case and pretended that you'd never broken it—truly the child version of yourself all over again, weren't you—you'd get away with it. But you only had yourself to fool now and there was no feasible way to do that.

It was in that precise moment that you realized finally what had you pining for your "house" over your "home" this time of year every year—you were lonely.

In your revelation and your determined state of clearing the floor of china shards, you'd missed the way Alastor's expression had shifted. His eyes never did, no—unfortunately for him, they rarely did with you.

If he was honest with himself, he'd regretted his comments as soon as he'd noticed the constituents around him laughing, too. It was different when it was just him and you in the studio or perhaps with one or two of your colleagues around to play the audience. Your coworkers knew you—they knew no matter how much grief he gave you that it wasn't anything you did. They knew you well enough to know that you were capable and patient and far better than you had any right to be at a job you'd all but fallen into.

These fools flanking him with dollar signs in their eyes and targets on their backs only he could see (for now) didn't know you. Even if they did, they wouldn't have respected you. So they turned to regard you and saw a silly little woman who'd dropped a dish and looked ready to cry over it and laughed.

Alastor had called you "useless" but he'd been thoughtless. And now you were hurrying so much through the cleanup stage of fixing what you'd broken that you nicked yourself on a sharp edge of china, ignored it, and toted it all away and out of the room while avoiding everyone's eyes.

And Alastor felt guilty. Because, unbelievable as it might be to you or to anyone who'd ever seen you two interact, he had a great deal of respect for you. It infuriated him how true that was because he didn't want it to be the case.

Because it wasn't just respect. He liked you.

And that—given your backgrounds, your age, his other career, and several other aspects of his self that he'd yet to fully understand in correlation to society's expectations—was something he'd found himself unable to tolerate the thought of. It was easier to try to find reasons to dislike you all while making you dislike him in the process.

"Mr. Garland, that was absolutely out of order," his boss's wife, Rosie, approached him to murmur, looking more distressed than angry. "I'm surprised at you! You're usually such a sweet boy—a little sarcastic, sure, but it's a good weapon to have at the ready. What's gotten into ya?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Alastor said, his smile snarling slightly as he heard the faint tone of petulance in his own voice. "Simply a joke that landed wrong. Nothing more."

"You owe her an apology, Alastor," Rosie declared, fixing him with a serious stare. "I mean it. The poor little thing's very shaken up, I don't know if I've ever seen her like this."

Despite all his teasing, poking, and prodding these past six months, Alastor had to admit he hadn't ever seen you like this either. You usually either rolled your eyes—as you'd done earlier, he'd not missed it even though you'd tried to turn away before reacting—had a remark to toss back his way, or just snickered a little, yourself, depending on what he was griping about.

He'd never seen you cry or just clam up and shrink in on yourself. He'd be hard-pressed to ever want to see it again.

As Rosie bustled away to tidy a few decorations that had gone askew throughout the night, Alastor sighed through his nose.

"Bit of a nag, that one," one of the sponsors remarked once she left, making Alastor bristle beneath his suit jacket. But it was via that comment and the way the other graying, self-important men around him began piling on amongst themselves that Alastor found an easy enough way to excuse himself.

Because, unfortunately once again, Rosie was correct. He owed you an apology.

And, damn it all, despite the purpose of his seeking you out, he found himself secretly pleased to be doing so.

After leaving behind the stuffy, string-lit room being used for munching and mingling, Alastor put his hunting skills to the test. A minor test, to be sure, but it gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and busy his mind. He already felt sluggish from the sheer boredom of being beholden to small talk with whoever presented themselves tonight.

At least, with you, he was never bored. It was often a thing attained at your expense, but he could admit—so quietly perhaps the universe would miss it—that even when it wasn't at your expense, you were far from boring to him.

Pretty little darling like you, inheriting your family's old ornate farmhouse and moving yourself out here by your lonesome despite your age (sure, you were in your 20's now, but he'd heard you tell Charlie once that you were 18 when you'd moved here) and despite not having a job or a betrothal lined up?

Whip-smart, progressive, sassy when sufficiently pestered, and still sweet and domestic when it came to the home. Why, you were fascinating.

You were also sitting on the back steps out to the alleyway, he found—it'd taken a bit of a search, but the station wasn't big and there were only so many places to get away from other guests tonight without outright leaving. And he didn't think you'd leave after that, at least not without telling Rosie or someone else you deemed a friend.

That traitorous ache near his heart felt morose at the notion that he would not be someone you'd think to tell you were leaving tonight. But when would he have earned it?

You'd snatched a small first-aid kit from the supply closet adjacent to the back door of the station before making your way out with your coat and the pieces of your grandmother's broken plate and cloche bundled up in your scarf beside you. You'd pulled out a cigarette case from a pocket on the inside lining of your coat, snapped it open, and placed one between your lips, sighing when the shallow cut on your hand smeared a little blood on the end.

You'd abandoned looking for your lighter for just a moment while you fumbled the kit open and cleaned your finger—you were bandaging it when Alastor found you. He lingered in the open doorway, watching you for a moment before announcing himself with a lamely spoken, "I'm afraid you might need to light that to get the full effect."

Why couldn't he just talk to you without talking down to you? You were both wondering that now.

You resumed your search in your coat pockets for your lighter and sarcastically mumbled around the cigarette, "Knew I was forgetting something."

You were playing nice, but there was a hard edge to your voice that spoke volumes more than your words. One of those volumes was an unspoken suggestion for him to go back to the party.

Alastor had never been one to follow instructions well. Particularly the ones left up to his interpretation. So instead of heeding your fair warning, he sighed through his nose and lowered himself to the step to sit beside you. Once he was settled, he rummaged through his own pockets and located his lighter, which he flicked to life and held to the end of your smoke.

You eyed him suspiciously, wondering if a wick could be poisoned and if that poison could be sustained through a flame to an unsuspecting host. Then again, after tonight, perhaps that would be him doing you a favor. You murmured your thanks as he stowed the lighter away again, hesitating before offering him your cigarette case by way of reciprocation.

He waved away your offer. "Kind of you, but I'm afraid that would put me back in your debt," he said, running his long fingers through his fringe as he glanced around the alleyway to avoid your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed, but you blinked them a little wider when a wayward snowflake landed on your lashes. He saw it in his peripheral and thought it was rather cute.

"So lighting my gasper is your definition of evening the score for tonight?" you wondered, tone flat and fatigued.

Alastor had a snappy comeback already on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Even he knew when it wasn't the time and this was the opposite of "the time."

"No," he said, just the faintest edges of amusement at what he might've said lingering in his Transatlantic accent. If you hadn't known him better, you might've thought he looked sheepish. "I thought an apology would better suit that."

"An apology?" you half-laughed, sucking on your cigarette before noting, "Alastor Garland doesn't do apologies."

Alastor smirked down at his dress shoes, shiny on the dull stone steps you two were seated on. Snow had delicately dusted his hair in just the short time he was outside with you and he looked even dreamier than usual somehow. Ethereal.

You were supposed to be upset with him, remember? You were upset with him. It turned out that being upset with someone didn't always make them less beautiful.

"Not insincere ones," he allowed and, just when you thought that was his exit from the conversation and from whoever had guilt-tripped him or threatened his livelihood to get him to come out here and speak to you, he followed up with, "I'm sorry, darling."

It wasn't the first time he'd "darling"-ed you. If Alastor was anything, he was consistent, and he was always in supply of dears, darlings, and the occasional sweetheart for any lady he found tolerable, which was most of them. Certainly all the ladies that worked at the station. The only exception had been Susan, the receptionist whose spot Charlie had eventually taken, who he'd called an "ornery old bitch" in one particular dust-up you'd unfortunately missed but that still lived and circulated like lore within the station to this day.

All that aside, this "darling" felt a little different. Softer. Why?

Wary of the feelings this was stirring, particularly in your vulnerable emotional state, you murmured a simple, "It's fine," and left it at that.

Alastor wasn't having it though.

"It isn't," he disagreed. "Not really. Don't be so quick to let me off the hook, cher."

Alright, now that one was new. He had your attention—what was his game?

You turned to face him and felt the furrow in your brow deepen alongside your confusion. "…Pardon?" you asked, flabbergasted.

The smile he wore was almost boyish. He tilted his head as he studied you, briefly removing his glasses and cleaning the melted snow away from the lenses before putting them back on. Despite his efforts, they kept either smudging from the snow or fogging up with the heat from his skin.

"I was a complete ass to you back there," Alastor said and you blinked owlishly at hearing him swear. It had no right to be as attractive as it was.

Bewildered, you forgot to check yourself as you mumbled, "…You're always an ass to me."

A bit of shock froze his expression before he burst into laughter beside you, his mirthful cackling bouncing off the alley walls. Your arms brushed, something you understood to be a cardinal sin when it came to him (so much so that it'd been included in your primer when you'd taken on the job of being his assistant), but he leaned into the contact as he fought for composure.

When he finally had a handle on himself again, he grinned down at your chagrin-flushed face and nodded once with satisfaction.

"There you are," he declared as if seeing you for the first time tonight. As if you were comrades-in-arms rather than a famous radio host and the assistant he abhorred. "And you're right. I am. And I shan't be proud of it any longer! I feel positively dreadful after tonight."

"Why did tonight make any difference?" you asked, genuinely wondering.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because those charlatans Franklin's so keen on me impressing don't know their own mouthes from holes in the wall," he remarked after briefly glancing back at the door to ensure you were still alone.

Alastor looked back down at you as he said, "They certainly don't seem to comprehend that a woman's worth just as much as a man."

Your brow pinched. "Few do," you murmured, the simple statement as much of a slight to society as it was an acknowledgment of him being above that. If there was one thing you'd always noted about his jabs, it was that they never came from a place of demeaning what you were. What you did was another story.

"Indeed," Alastor said. "And my mother raised me better than that. I may have had my usual fun needling you at first, but they didn't take it as such—I don't like feeling as though I added to their backwards ways of thinking." His thin smile wavered. "And… Well, I've never seen you upset about something I've said. Have you just been adept at hiding it?"

You'd tended to your cigarette while he spoke and, halfway through the stick, ashed it out on the step and replaced it tidily in your case.

As you worked, you said, "No. I'm… The holidays are tough."

The admission felt strange to say aloud, much stranger to say aloud to Alastor.

"And things wear a person down over time. So perhaps it was that, perhaps it was all this," you gestured vaguely to the electric light strings and garlands lining the building, "and it was also that the dish I broke was my grandma's. It was all of it."

"It was an accident, no? I'm sure she won't be upset," he suggested, keen enough to lift your spirits somewhat that he'd forgotten the tidbit about you he knew regarding your inherited home.

"I know she won't be, she's been dead for years," you quipped, watching the fog of your breath bend and then fade in the night air. Sniffling a bit from the cold, you murmured, "Sorry, that was uncalled for. And not as funny as it was in my head."

Alastor chuckled. "No need to apologize, dear. It was morbidly funny, but I couldn't speak for having my entire foot in my mouth," he bantered back, mollified when he saw the corner of your mouth curl upward just the tiniest bit. "Still. You needn't be so hard on yourself. It's… Well, it's a dish."

"I know," you murmured, glancing down at your bundled scarf with the china remnants inside. "Straw that broke the camel's back, I suppose."

"I'm afraid I missed out on your little cider cake creation," Alastor said. "The entire thing was gone before I blinked."

A tiny swell of pride lanced through your hollow chest. "You're not one for sweets," you pointed out. "I don't know that you would've liked it much."

"Hardly the point," he said.

You glanced back at him. "Then what is the point, Alastor?"

He shrugged, suddenly boyish again at just his name on your lips. "That you went to all the trouble of making it," he replied. He cleared his throat a little and said, "And it looked rather good."

Was he flirting with you? Or just buttering you up to get through the rest of the party only to start back from Square One come Monday?

"It does go well with a black coffee," you allowed, resting your chin on your hand and studying him, looking for answers he wasn't openly giving yet.

"A-ha!" Alastor huffed, giving a theatrical sigh as he said, "I knew there was something for me there. Alas, now I'll never know."

"Bit dramatic," you murmured. "It's a Christmas Eve tradition. There's always next year."

Carefully, he asked, "You think you might still be at the station then?"

"Do you intend to fire me?" you asked rather than answer.

Something about that struck him as funny, but he didn't elaborate. "Couldn't even if I wanted to, cher," he informed you. "Even if I could, no. I wouldn't."

Finally, you asked the question that'd been nagging at you from your very first day on the job. A question that was made even more imperative by your exchange tonight. If anything, his explanations had muddied already-muddy waters and you needed some clarity if this was to continue.

"Then why are you so mean to me, Alastor?" you finally asked. Before he could take the easy way out, you added, "Not right now, obviously. But up until now. Why? Do you hate me or something? And why are you being nice to me now?"

His smile had grown threadbare, but it clung on for dear life. "Any other questions before I get a word in edgewise?" he snarked.

"No, that's all. Go ahead," you snarked back in kind.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the opposite wall as he answered. "Because I desire to ruin our working relationship, dear," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "And not in the way you might think. Not in the way I'd prefer."

"What on earth does that mean?" you asked, already exasperated.

"Let me finish," he murmured, tapping the tip of your frozen nose with his index finger. You sat in silence as he took stock of his words and then started up again with renewed purpose. "I don't want to like you. You're young, occasionally quite bratty perhaps due to your age, and you waltzed into a job you are objectively not qualified for.

"You are also learning it at pace when I've given you no room to slow down. You've handled yourself with grace in every crisis I've seen you endure and you've shown compassion for others even when stretched to your limit. Myself included. All without sacrificing your own well-being in the process. It's a difficult balancing act that you do strikingly well."

What was happening?

Alastor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses back into place as he continued. "You are clever, persistent, hardworking, and kind," he listed off, making eye contact with you again as he emphatically added, "and not useless."

"I don't understand," you admitted, an unspoken apology in your tone for what you saw as perhaps being a bit obtuse. He could hardly blame you for not following the wild chase he was taking you both on though. That he'd been taking you both on for months now.

"Darling, the only thing I don't like about you," Alastor finally said, "is how much I do like you."

You were floored. It was the goddamned schoolyard run-around all over again. Maybe if he'd pushed you into a snowdrift and run away giggling instead, you would've caught on sooner. Honestly, that didn't feel far off from something he'd do on a whim.

"When you…say 'like'," you murmured, wary of him bursting into another round of laughter at the sheer implausible scenario you were soon to present about this being a confession rather than a truce. "Do you mean—?"

Alastor gave you a rueful, embarrassed smile as he flicked snow off his sleeves. "I said I desired to ruin our working relationship," he reminded you and you felt the heat of a blush creeping up your neck. "And not in the way you might think—that being that I want you to hate me or I want to hate you, and so on. That would also be the way that I'd prefer wanting to ruin things between us. That I've tried to."

"…But?" you prompted him when he didn't immediately continue.

Whatever this was, it was taking it out of him to put it into words. He stifled a groan and rolled his eyes to the clouded night sky as he murmured, "This isn't what you might've thought. It's not what I would have preferred. So yes. I do mean."

"Oh," you replied, barely a whisper. You didn't think you could be more shocked. You were, yet again apparently, wrong.

"Do with it what you will," Alastor said to the night—certainly not to you, he could hardly look at you. "I apologize if this is untoward or if this causes you any measure of discomfort. Rest assured that I'm well aware that my behavior has been such to have not earned me any sort of good grace with you. I admit, I…am not versed in these things and, as such, handled it poorly."

You frowned, fiddling with your cigarette case. "Listen, Alastor, I'm not—"

"It was selfish of me even to mention it, I think," he said. "What a cliché this is, ha-ha! An older superior—a man no less—having an eye for his young assistant. It's innately a power imbalance, a vintage bit of nonsense. Rest assured, this little folly of mine will have no effect on your career, I can—"

"Let me finish," you asserted as he had earlier and he looked at you, surprised enough to fall silent and give you the floor. "First of all, phrased like that, it sounds every bit as scandalous as you think and that doesn't make it any less interesting."

You were gratified when he blushed bright red, his flush exacerbated by the cold. You couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up, but you schooled your expression quickly enough.

"Second, as antagonistic as you've been these past months, I'm afraid I like you, too," you admitted, finding it came more easily now that he'd said his part. Well, several parts. With how his eyes rounded, it appeared to be his turn to be shocked. "Don't ask me why. At least not based on our interactions. When you've not spoken to me, you've seemed perfectly agreeable and there's a lot to like about you.

"You're smart. You're an ace for banter, you just often use it for evil. You're strikingly handsome and you run one hell of a show. And just from your quick mention of her earlier, you seem to think a great deal of your mother." You smiled. "You're progressive, too. Even when you've descended upon my worth as your assistant, you've never demeaned me as a person. It's a strange standard to draw, but it's one I might've clung to a few times when I really did think you hated me."

"I admit, I did try to," Alastor sighed, finally taking you in again. His honey-brown gaze languidly traveled over yours, over your face, and then over the snowflakes clinging to your hair and coat. You were a vision he was finally allowing himself to appreciate, somehow not too late. "You make it exceedingly difficult."

"Thanks?" you replied, your uncertain tone causing you both to dissolve into a quiet round of shivery laughter. "Okay, I'm about to freeze to death. Back inside?"

"Back inside," Alastor agreed, his own Louisianan composition not cut out for these rare freezes he'd only seen one or two of before in his New Orleans lifetime. "Tom said earlier that the snow was supposed to stop around seven tonight."

"Well, Tom's keeping up his streak of being categorically incorrect then," you grumbled as you shook off the snow you'd accumulated on your person, plucked up the scarf-wrapped china pieces, and walked under Alastor's arm through the door back into the station.

He was chuckling at your remark about Tom as he followed you in and shut the door, checking that it locked before you both hung your coats back up. Alastor lingered while you found a place to stow your scarf bundle, watching you with elation flowing like post-hunt adrenaline through his veins.

This was warmer and more inviting though—he felt invincible after tonight, even knowing that he'd hardly broached the subject of his fascination with you. He warred with himself to not write off the victory but to also not let it cloud his judgment. He had a lot of making-up left to do.

That lasted all of five seconds before he spotted a new opportunity and he was surprised at the relief he felt over trying these sorts of things before he held any real interest in someone else. Things he previously despised ever having done at all were proving to be, curiously, worth something now if it meant it might all end with you.

Alastor cleared his throat behind you and you stopped in the doorway to the hall that would lead you both back to the party, your freezing hands mid-smooth over the skirt of your dress. Your instinct was to wonder what you did wrong despite the at-length conversation you'd just had about how so much of what he'd found "wrong" with you had been a ruse.

When you remembered that conversation and took in the pleased smile on his face, you were at a loss again.

"Yes?" you prompted him.

A little shiver ran through you at the realization that you were standing in a dimly lit hallway with a man. This man. He'd hardly ruin just your working relationship—he'd ruin you if you weren't careful.

The thought wasn't as unwelcome as you might've hoped.

"If the idea isn't one you are necessarily opposed to," Alastor suggested, his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile familiarly mischievous yet unfamiliarly warm. You were still getting used to that part. "Perhaps I might ask you officially—would you allow me to court you?"

Heat flooded your cheeks anew and you didn't have the cold air to fall back on this time as an excuse. You swallowed, feeling embarrassed at the sheer schoolgirlish amount of butterflies his question stirred to life in you, but had the wherewithal to nod at least. Some paranoid part of your brain that had learned not to trust Alastor's intentions at face value wondered if this was some elaborate multi-stage insult, too, that had yet to deliver its punchline.

"Lovely," he murmured, pure pleasure in your answer lacing the low husk of his voice as he continued to encroach on your space. You didn't realize just how close he'd gotten until your back pressed against the doorframe and he loomed over you, handsome even in shadow. Especially in shadow.

"This isn't an elaborate prank, is it?" you asked, feeling a little sick at the thought. Not only for how embarrassed you'd be for falling for it, but for the disappointment it would cause you, too.

You'd known this whole time that you'd liked him well past what you knew was smart, but you'd never known just how much until the possibility of him and of you and him was right at your fingertips. Envisioning the other possibility that you'd made a fool of yourself only to have him rip the rug out from under you—no, not just a rug, the ground itself—felt like the worst sort of afterthought.

"Heavens, no!" Alastor chuckled, leaning his forearm against the doorframe above your head. As he leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with you, he added, "You have walked us both into a bit of a trap, however."

You blinked, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. "A trap?" you repeated. "I don't—"

Oh, but then you did. All it took was one pointed flick of his molten gaze upward for you to follow it and realize that you two were situated beneath a sprig of mistletoe someone—Rosie probably—had incorporated into the garlands lining the jamb, laced in with larger evergreen branches, pinecones, and holly berries.

You couldn't remember if that sprig had been part of the arrangement before you'd stepped outside, but it was certainly there now and the only thing more expectant than that traditional little Christmas plant was the radio star—your radio star now—leaning over you and waiting to see what you'd do.

Alastor shrugged, playing off the situation he'd drawn attention to despite the bit of nervousness beginning to drum up in his belly now that you'd caught on.

"I've simply made our little predicament more proper by asking for exclusivity," he pointed out, carrying on with his bit while relishing how your blush deepened with rivaling desire and undue shame. "You can thank me at any—"

Two could play at his game and he had never had the full upper hand, even before. You were always surprising him with your banter, your reactions, and your moxie. So you surprised him now, too, by leaning in first and pressing a careful first kiss to his speech-parted lips.

His brain positively scrambled the second your warm, soft lips touched his. Whatever teasing he'd been prepared to lead with into this precise exchange became positively moot.

He'd not been accustomed to the feelings he'd had for you before your heart-to-heart in the alley, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to these either. Less so.

And yet…

You'd just started to find time and headspace to start panicking at his lack of response when Alastor got his bearings and his warm hands found your still-chilled skin, sending a shiver through your frame. The sensation teased a threshold between the lingering cold from the snowscape you'd left outside and a blooming warmth that seemed to originate from Alastor's deft, elegant fingers tracing patterns along the velvet of your dress and your jawline.

His hand poised against your cheek tilted your head back and what were you to do but acquiesce? A gasp escaped you as his other hand cleverly found and toyed with the zipper on the back of your dress and he used the opportunity he'd elicited from you to lick into your mouth. You could feel his smirk as he kissed you deeper, self-satisfied in his usual way and yet so unlike himself in every other.

You finally found room to breathe when he moved down to your neck and the rush of oxygen to your brain reminded you what exactly you were doing and where.

"Alastor," you hissed, squeaking as the sound of his name just seemed to encourage him further and his hard body pressed more snugly to yours. "We can't do this here!"

"Mm, we seem to be doing just fine, no?" he whispered, his lips brushing over the pulse point in your neck as he continued pressing leisurely kisses to your throat. Tempted as something deeply primal in him was to leave marks, he refrained from doing so—he didn't want to embarrass you, after all. That respect came into play here, too.

"We won't be if someone comes back here and—cut it out," you mumbled, wriggling and only managing to make you both less inclined to pause your backroom activities.

Still, Alastor did stop and drew back a little to check on you, a cute tilt to his head that put his glasses a couple of centimeters too far down his nose.

You couldn't help but smile a little as you took in his blush and fixed his glasses for him. "You don't think I'm easy, do you?" you asked with a sigh, reaching up and gently fixing his hair, too.

Alastor looked alarmed by the question, but simultaneously melted into your hands—something you'd thought impossible for the usually touch-averse radio host and something even he was surprised he felt the urge to do. Especially considering how you two had started the night and your six-months-long working relationship. He'd thought for sure that this would be something confined to his more intrusive dreams or thoughts—instead it was simply better.

"Of course not, sweetheart," he murmured, seeming immediately aggrieved that he might've caused you to think that. "My apologies, I'm… I'm not accustomed to these sorts of indulgences. Or at least not being particularly fond of them. I suppose I lost myself a little."

You gave him a reassuring smile and leaned in to press one more chaste kiss against his lips—a compromise. "You don't need to be sorry, Al. I just… I don't know, I'm just still shocked you even like me, I guess, much less like me."

He sure looked like he liked you though. His honey eyes were tender as they took you in, a look you'd never seen in them before.

The corresponding smile that found his lips nearly took your breath away. "Then it sounds like I have some makeup work to do," he suggested, disentangling from you and kissing your hands before beginning to straighten up your appearance the way you'd done for him.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but you let him, appreciating him looking out for you (especially since he'd caused most of the damage). "That sounds ominous," you posited.

Alastor chuckled and gave you a mischievous wink before nodding for you to walk with him back out to the party. "Good."

The entire night left you in a daze. Between the stress of being around work colleagues in a non-work affair yet knowing whatever you did that night would still follow you into work the next week, breaking your grandmother's china, the embarrassment that followed, and then everything that happened with Alastor from being openly mocked to having a quick makeout under some mistletoe…

…well, you were exhausted. Exhausted enough to get through the rest of the party—separately from Alastor as you'd both decided to leave any announcement of your change in status for next week unless it came up sooner—and then head home and collapse into your bed, still fully dressed.

It was only on waking that you realized a couple of things from the night before.

The first of which was to remember the second half of the "Everything with Alastor" portion of the night and wonder if it all really happened. If it had all been a dream—and, admittedly, it wouldn't have been the first time you'd dreamt of him—it had been unbelievably vivid. Maybe there was something in the party punch.

The second thing you noticed was that you'd been so out of sorts by the end of the office soiree that you'd completely bypassed your scarf-bundled china wreckage when you'd gone to get your coat. So that was something you'd have to remember to collect from the back on Monday.

After settling in with a cup of coffee at your breakfast bar and easing slowly into the start of your weekend, you admittedly felt a little trepidation at what you'd finally concluded were the actual happenings of the night before with Alastor. He had apologized for his actions, he had admitted he actually liked you for all the reasons you'd thought he hated you, he had admitted to really liking you, and he had kissed you under a bit of mistletoe. Or rather, you'd kissed him and then he'd proceeded to really kiss you.

What if he regretted it? What if he'd woken up this morning and thought back and realized it'd all been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment fancy or some holiday impulsivity or the effect of some spiked punch like you'd earlier entertained the possibility of ingesting? What if you walked in Monday and he called it all off? Or worse, what if it really had been a joke and it was just a more strung-out joke than you'd originally fretted it might be?

You sighed, your breath stirring the steam wafting from your aromatic morning brew just before you took a deep sip.

What if, what if, what if. If he regretted it or thought it'd been good for a laugh or simply (more likely) played it off as either of those just because it was new and scary and maybe not something he wanted to commit to…despite not only kissing you but asking to court you, too…then there was nothing you could do about that. It was as much his decision as it was yours and you spent the off-and-on moments through the rest of your weekend in which you obsessed mulled over your memories of the Christmas party reciting that truth to yourself.

It was all a long game of prepping yourself for his eventual task of backpedaling to, in the best-case scenario, let you down easy in an attempt to make things go back to normal. Because there wasn't really, to your impending disappointment, a universe in which you could imagine Alastor not wanting out of this new dynamic of yours for any number of varying reasons that popped unbidden into your head.

The bouquet you'd find sitting prettily beside the meticulously repaired china set on your desk the following Monday morning would indicate otherwise.

[byler-alarmist]

Oof wow, just got hit with this feeling that I've wasted some of my best years. Truly one of those moments where you take a look around like "what have I got to show for myself?"

Am I about to have a mid-life crisis??

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[makeitlookdecent]

srry homie for what im boutta do

for the au[other colors] i thought it would be cool to have klugs parents show up for a couple scenes, but for the timeline of the major events i needed them GONE and UNRESPONSIVE.

hes smart so i think, even at a young age, he gets that they're busy with work and all, and he's not alone per say- his friends and teachers and everyone in primp would definitely look out for him, but ive just been thinking. because like, i thought itd be cool if it was almost like strange also helped raise klug. as a (malicious) mentor of sorts. after they made truce (that they both keep breaking)

i imagine klugs parents are probably good people, but are horrible as parents. like they just keep doing their own thing and just let the village raise him.

but then that got me thinking, in this setting, do you think he would unknowingly (or maybe knowingly but trying not to think about it) resent them for not being there for him growing up?

[reshinless]

──── day 2: dnd on the hotel door.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. wherein your friends give him.. more than just suggestive photos at your wedding. (you had a private boudoir photoshoot prior to it!)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich, neuvillette, zhongli, tartaglia, capitano x gn!afab!reader. !!NSFW/SUGGESTIVE CONTENT!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. saw a cute tt of this exact topic (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) will do diff characters next week!

kinich who'd already been so nervous for whatever was to come on this day; he was always more than willing. he knew the first laugh you both shared. the first kiss you both partook in, not everyone he's kissed had such a long-lasting impact on him, that's if he ever kissed anyone at all (that wasn't you.)

it wasn't all that special he said, but everything you've ever wanted in a wedding was there. he remembered what flowers you'd always pluck from the grounds you traveled on. or the colors that always had your eyebrow twitching just hearing the first letter of the pigment's name.

the venue wasn't necessarily small either, borrowing whatever he could in his homeland to make it perfect, even going as far as to asking others for help on what to embellish the locale in.

for as long as you've known him- kinich wasn't much of a romantic. letting you take the lead instead, switching up occasionally by spooning you alternatively. but you remembered he'd always laid his head atop your chest, from the nightmares of his own past, and regrets; he found peace in listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your torso heave slowly.

he wanted to make you feel special today & tonight. so he wants to do it right at least. he tried to fluster you in a way that you'd be surprised, aware he wasn't very amorous.

or at least that's what was in his point of view because you had a whole other plan ready for him. but you didn't know about the surprises he'd throw either.

the whole theme of the wedding was based on his tribe, encased with traces of your own home/favorite colors.

but something that you'd see as a surprise this afternoon was kinich's suit. it wasn't the usual black suit and tie. no- he wore.. your initial around his neck, and his tie was the color of your eyes.

you felt your eyes water a little, walking down the aisle, your arm entangled with the guardian who's been with you since day one. (or whoever you'd like!)

after the classic bouquet toss, and squealings later. you told your newly-wed husband your bridesmaids had a surprise for him. he didn't think much of it; meeting them before, they seemed nice enough. (one of them is mualani btw :3)

mualani who stands beside kinich briefly for the picture, she hands him a polaroid photo from the photographer's kamera. "what is-" he gets cut off, his face turning to playfully sour until it slowly changes to his usual stoic behavior (he doesn't know his face is turning redder by the second)

"you.. hmm." he awkwardly nodded after another picture was taken of his reaction, cheeks aflame; the picture was still so clear in his mind. now it couldn't get out!

the mental image of your body in frilly lace/in nothing but a blanket over you, a simple layer of clothing that stopped him from seeing your bare body- fuck he could feel himself get hard already.

and the more time that passed, progressing with each photo being taken, the worse his boner got. shit he can't believe you're his. and he's damn well lucky to have you.

even as he stood idly, talking to some of the guests, some more of the bridesmaids came up to him, handing him more scenes for him to visualize in his head.

"ahh.. may i excuse myself from this conversation?" he politely bows and walks away to where you were. the eventide's stellar in the sky definitely wasn't shining each time he saw you. oh there it is- that laugh he always loved and fell in love with again each time he heard it.

"pretty.. ahh.. there's something i.. need help with."

kinich who's already in your newly bought home, hurriedly stripping you of your clothes, ready to devour you and eat your cunt out to his content.

kinich who could only palm his erection, as his mouth latched onto your wetness was already waiting for him. your taste, how it smelled, how your slit was already so wet for him- you knew what you were doing. and it worked really damn well.

neuvillette who was already nervous, throughout the proposal, even you relationship before being fiancees, I mean, it was you, why wouldn't he be worried? he was ready to jump off a cliff if anything went wrong if he'd tell the truth, but he'd never say that.

neuvillette who sighed with relief, the days of worrying that something bad might happen to you on your special day with him. taking pictures with the bridesmaids for the wedding's little picture book for you to look back on soon, and maybe even for your kids to look at and call you both corny for.

neuvillette who suddenly received 3 photo frames from 3 of your bridesmaids, confused as he took a look at it, he could only feel the rush of warmth crawling up from his neck to his ears. his horns grew the more he looked into the photos.

"w- where did you get this?" he observed the room shyly, looking for any signs of you, why? to help him out with 'something' of course. no one could take care of it better than you did.

they simply shrugged and walked away, whispering and chuckling to each other. awkwardly walking to find you, pulling you to the side, inside one of the venue's main buildings, bringing you into one of the bedrooms.

"you didn't need to tease me like this." you were pinned to the bed once the wedding ended. the painful boner you had caused hadn't gone away, even now, throbbing, missing where it's supposed to be (inside you)

ripping your wedding dress off your body (not really, just making sure you get out of it without ruining it), he couldn't wait to fill you with his seed. he wanted to see personally if you could take all of him in. he could only caress the very rim of your hole, teasing you with his fingers before he would finally split you apart with his cock.

from the amount of time, he's been alive, his stamina would be unmatched, so it'd be entirely up to you for how long you wanna do this :)

it felt as if he was such a meanie, but his words were different- praising you, and gently holding your wrists in place. it didn't quite match the pace of his cock drilling itself inside you though, it felt deep, and it looked as if the night has barely even started. oh well.

zhongli had never thought of the idea of marriage until he overheard you speaking about it with a few of your friends. it wasn't you necessarily hoping he'd propose, but you were the only one within the group of four to have not been married yet!

he knows you'd never leave him for another, but adding a ring to your pretty little hand definitely would tell all the other men and women alike who try to hit on you to say everything for him.

the wedding was more than just a delight, it was planned to the very smallest of details. it was beautiful, even on a budget of somewhat a lot but not too much; it made sure to shine brighter than most of the stars that night.

before he could sweep you into his arms, and take you upstairs into the home you both chose out before the wedding; some of your bridesmaids, along with your maid of honor had handed him a book.

they said nothing but laughed and walked away to the food section, looking through the book and oh wow.

he hadn't learned what a boudoir was but he definitely enjoyed what he was seeing now. flipping through the pages, staying to the side so no one else could see what was happening. he'll have to ask you about that lingerie set later, white definitely complimented you..

"s'dirty.. you tease me like this, even on our special day? mmmf.." you sat down on his cock, as he showed you off in the mirror. the same lingerie set you wore in the photo book was already ripped off your body, and on the floor. geo marks that scattered, covering most of his arms caressed your thighs that trembled.

his strong arm ran over your body, carefully exploring every inch of you that he could. the thought of being legally, and weddedingly(?) yours. you have his last name now.

he could only imagine how much more pleasure he'd want to give you throughout tonight. he could only praise you for taking him so well, watching you try and use his cock for your own, but he's too big :(.

tartaglia who introduced you with pride to his family after proposing. but watching you treat his little sister and brother so well.. oh he had to get you pregnant.

but for now, he'd put those thoughts to the side, and enjoy his and your special day, no lust, just love.

you had other plans though. and he wasn't gonna complain.

a couple of your bridesmaids took pictures with him for the futurity of the book of photos for his siblings to look through as well. but after each photo, they all handed him Polaroids.

"what's this?" he looked at them confusedly, but all they did was "just look at it!" "you won't regret it!" and boy he sure did not!!! ssshit just covered in a blanket, no nothing underneath? you wanna get fucked tonight?

he pushed you against the wall of the master bedroom. "mmm.. w'na try to get me hard like that again in public, and I'm gonna do a looott worse than tonight, baby."

the ring on your finger he saw as your hand held onto the wall while he stripped you- he couldn't help but let out a loud as hellll groan. even when he held you down to the bed, he made sure to kiss the jewelry on your finger that meant you're his for life.

while you ride him, his eyes are always on the necklace that has his initials on it, watching it bounce up and down on your chest. for the longest time; he was foreign to the idea of even a relationship, let alone getting to marry someone. but he was gonna make sure you'll feel what he couldn't express throughout time.

when he's soo obsessed with nutting inside you, he holds your hips down onto his, making sure not a drop will be wasted. he could already imagine what your kids with him would look like.

capitano who preferred a more quiet wedding. one between simple friends, and I guess co-workers (he was against it but you invited them anyway.)

so in this sense, columbina, arlecchino, and signora had agreed to accompany you as your bridesmaids. tsaritsa also agreed to bless your wedding (because she agrees that you are strong, mentally, and physically, and give capitano something to look forward to, unlike before.)

i guess the others attended (most attended just to say congrats and leave, pierro was best man)

accompanying you down to a glass garden house nearby the venue you chose out, but before he could proceed, your three bridesmaids stopped him. cheeky smiles on signora, and columbina's lips- arlecchino handed him a book.

"they want you to have this." the fourth harbinger states, leaving with the two ladies simply giggling and walking off, opposite sides of arlecchino.

he questioningly opened the book while about to walk back to you but oh. wow.

as he catches up to you, he's still a bit flustered, but quickly composed himself once more. "are.. you trying to tease me, kitten?"

and as much as he hasn't had any experience in a long while, oh boy is he ready to find out if he still got it or not

but capitano never knew he'd be so turned on to think about what real married life had to offer.. like kids. he knew he couldn't necessarily have them since he's a harbinger, but a man can dream, right?

anyways he's already pulling your hair from behind, while he has you doggy style on the mattress. I don't know cause I get the feeling he would.

a tight hold onto the strands of your hair. "fffuck.. this is what you get for looking so fuckin' hot.." he groans.

even so when he isn't fucking your pussy with sloppy thrusts from behind- he's fingering you with his long fingers that make you go wild.

he does take note that his fingers are pretty long, so he's pretty careful when it comes down to that.

you sitting on his lap while he admires you in the mirror, watching how you reacted to simply him adding another digit inside your hole, as another hand held onto your left hand, caressing the ring that binded you to him. he couldn't be happier!

[maxivstappen]

DID YOU LIKE HER IN THE MORNING ?

[ masterlist / requests closed ]

☽｡⋆ distance can lead to stupid, reckless decisions. but lando knows better than that, right? — lando norris x reader based on “did you like her in the morning” by nikki

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst! pure angst 𝄞 1.7k words

You loved a loud life just the same as he did. You enjoyed the traveling, the partying, the sleepless nights, hell, even the stressful nights you wouldn’t trade for a peaceful, quiet, boring, normal life. You were eternally grateful for having a job surrounding the same tracks Lando is driving on, even if that was rather a lucky coincidence instead of a thought-through plan.

You loved it not only because it meant you’d get to be close to your boyfriend most of the time, more so because you got to experience the loudness with him. The parties, the race weekends, just everything. You’d have it without him too, and no doubt, you would have tons of fun doing so, but of course it’s better with a “super cool hot famous boyfriend” by your side, as he liked to call himself.

You loved it, until you couldn’t anymore.

Not as dramatic as it sounds. You were invited to a wedding of an old friend back at home, and Lando, for obvious reasons, couldn’t attend with you, so you flew out the country by yourself, giving Lando one last good luck kiss a few days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix. You missed him dearly, but you also missed your friends at home whom you haven’t seen in what felt like forever, and really, what’s a better reason for a reunion than a wedding?

But that’s where the trouble began.

You liked to call yourself independent. Very independent, even. You didn’t have a problem with being far from Lando for a few weeks, and while you of course loved him more than anyone else in this world, you’ve stated before that in case of you losing the job for whatever reason or if you just couldn’t travel with him anymore, you’d think a long distance relationship would work just well. At least for you.

Of course, the constant missing your partner would complicate things, but that’s still no reason to break up a relationship that has lasted for longer than three years already. At least that’s what you thought.

Lando liked to call himself independent too. Very independent, even. Too bad it’s all a lie.

Lando has always hated the idea of being away from you, or rather the idea of you being far from him. It’s not like he didn’t have any trust in you, it’s just become normal for him to always have you at least somewhat in his reach. That’s how your relationship has always been, you were coworkers before you were lovers.

He didn’t mind you taking a few days off. He also didn’t mind you wanting to spend some time with your family and friends who were still located far, far away from wherever you two would usually have to travel to for the many races. However, he did mind you not being near him.

It bothered him more than he’d like to admit.

You’ve talked about it before, talked about him being too needy and too possessive from time to time, but never once have you two fought about it. You thought you never would, and you were right. Your departure was slightly painful for the both of you, but it was only 2 weeks that you‘d be gone, and it’s not at all like you couldn’t stay in contact. So there was nothing to worry about, right?

Or so you thought.

The moment you arrived at you local airport you saw your mom run up to you, caging you in her arms as if to never let you go again. Your father wasn’t far behind, and then came your brother. It was a sweet little moment of a family reuniting as a whole again. And even though you wanted to set your whole focus on the few next days to come, the lovely wedding and the friends you once lost on the way who you’d now finally see again, Lando never really left your mind. You just didn’t understand why, you weren’t usually like this.

Maybe it was just that after five years of knowing each other and three of those spent dating, you did grow somewhat dependent. you knew it wasn’t the truth, but blaming it on a simple thing like that seemed terribly easier than giving in to the thoughts of what could actually be the cause of it. You didn’t have any time for that. You weren’t here to think about work or about Lando, but about the things that were right in front of your eyes, which at this moment was the beautiful white wedding decorated with all sorts of flowers of sunset hues.

The wedding was held on a beach, surrounded by the dreamy sound of waves crashing and seagulls singing their own nupital melodies. You arrived with one of your old friends Nina, both of you wearing long and flowy pastel dresses, just as the dress code ordered you to. The day went on with you two crying at seeing one of your childhood friends getting married, listening to the heartfelt vows of bride and groom.

Your mind immediately went to Lando and you standing at the altar like they did. You knew it was too soon, and you knew he didn’t have time for marriage, even less for planning a wedding, but you still couldn’t help it. You really did miss him more this time, and throughout the whole ceremony, the feeling of something being incredibly off only intensed.

But the night came, and the feeling faded. Or at least the drinks made it do that.

You were sitting with Nina and two guys you used to be very close with at the dim bar near the dance floor when you suddenly noticed something light up inside your purse. You didn’t mind it at first, not wanting to be rude towards Tom who was trying to talk to you without stumbling over his word completely, but the shots you downed beforehand made it undoubtedly harder.

Your phone lit up again. Slowly getting on your nerves, you decided to wait until Tom’s attention was fixated on Nina again to then check your messages and - missed calls?

—

Lando hated how his mood changed whenever you were gone. It felt as if there was something missing when you weren’t there waiting for him at home after debriefing or after PR events and whatnot. He missed your hugs and kisses, your smile and most importantly, just your touch.

Truth be told - but never to you - when you first started dating, for Lando, the thriving point was attraction. One month in, that’s when he realized that he wasn’t getting rid of you any time soon. Not that he minded. Two months in and the two of you made it official, of course not without any drama because how was a McLaren driver allowed to date a McLaren employee? Two weeks and the conversations and the hate online slowly died down, but your relationship kept on blooming. There was just one thing that somehow had Lando incredibly confused - why did your relationship suddenly feel more like you couldn’t get rid of him? Why did it feel like he was the one attached to you instead of the other way around?

Not that it felt bad or anything, he was just very used to have the girl being that dependent on him, to always want his attention, to always ask for his opinion on everything. Now he was the one all over you, and you didn’t mind it at all. You had the man you love wrapped tightly around your finger, just like he had you. For three years now.

But that didn’t help him right now, not with jealousy nagging at his side like a demon. You were out, enjoying your time with people you loved, and while he should be happy for you, he spent his time rather annoyed at you not being where he was. It’s only been a week, and work has already failed to keep his mind off of you. And he hated it. He knew it was the day of the wedding, and he was done wasting his time only thinking about you, so what else was there for a man to do instead of going clubbing with the guys? He hadn’t spent time with them in a long time, neither had he gone clubbing these past fem months, too caught up with Formula 1. So this would be okay, right? Just some drinks to keep his mind off of you.

Right?

—

15 missed calls from carlos sainz.

that was weird, you thought, and your stomach dropped and you felt the dread creeping up your consciousness. It had you feeling weaker than ever.

You quietly excused yourself to go to the bathroom, though every step towards it made it harder and harder to breathe.

What if something had happened to him? A work incident? Then how did Carlos know? Were they hanging out and he hurt himself? Were they out and someone there hurt Lando?

Did something happen to your Lando?

Your finger hovered shaking over the green button until you finally decided to press it and call the Ferrari driver back. Not even a single beep was heard before he huffed out your name as if he had been yearning for you to finally phone him back.

“Carlos? Is everything okay?” The Spaniard could practically feel your distress through the screen and he swore he’s never felt an urge so strong to punch someone right across their face, let alone his best friend Lando Norris.

It took some time for realization to set in. Your breathing had slowed down but the chills all over your body told that it was a sign far from good. Very far from good.

You could still make out the faint sound of Carlos’ voice as you locked the door of the bathroom stall furthest in the back, however, every word that came after “Lando cheated on you” somehow wasn’t comprehensive to you.

You just hope he’ll still like her in the morning, cause you, for sure, weren’t coming back.

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day five.

Thigh riding (1k words)

summary: Lando is too busy to help you relieve what you are feeling, but he lets you take care of yourself on his thigh.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, needy!reader, bit of mean!lando

It was a quiet day in your shared home, but not the type you enjoyed. You were both home, and today was supposed to be your designated lazy day, given that Lando didn’t have a race coming up this week and you were taking a few vacation days to be with him. 

However, something related to work always dragged Lando into his office; you were just hoping that wouldn’t happen this time. But it did. 

You were in your room, bored out of your mind, trying to find something to entertain yourself with — anything, but nothing would work quite as well as your boyfriend did. After realising you wouldn’t find something on your own, you decided to join him in his office.

When you opened the door and came in, you made sure to be as quiet as possible to not disturb whatever was so important it couldn't wait another day. He was supposedly going over some important emails regarding a new helmet design for one of the upcoming races.

He looks so good when he is focused, you thought, and the fact that he was only wearing a black tanktop and matching shorts didn’t help your growing needy state. 

You knew that what he was doing was important and that some of these things had to be done by midnight so the design could be approved by the sponsors in time, so there is no way he was stopping. You were very aware of that, but you also needed him. 

Lando started feeling a little too cocky as he realised how needy his girlfriend was feeling, so maybe there was something he could do. Maybe not helping you as you were hoping, but a little teasing could be fun. For him, at least.

“Are you okay in there?” He asked after you shuffled on the couch for the millionth time since you got there. 

“Are you almost done?”

“No, baby.”

“But I need you.” You blurted out, not caring how pathetic that sounded. 

“Not now, Y/N. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Please, I’ll be quick.” You begged. 

He didn’t even look at you, and he was trying hard to suppress that smirk that was threatening to appear on his face. Lando maintained his composure and acted like he was considering it, even though that was his plan all along.

“Fine, but you will take care of it.”

“What? I don’t wanna play with myself-”

"You can ride my thigh," he said, interrupting your failed attempt to seduce him. Your heart completely stopped when you heard those words come out of his mouth. 

“What?” You asked, and Lando simply repeated himself.

“I said you can ride my thigh. This is the best you will get, so make up your mind. And no touching, sweetheart.”

You made your way to where Lando was sitting, admiring the way his exposed thighs looked in those shorts. You would have said no and tried to beg for more, for him, but like Lando said, that was the best you were gonna get with how busy he apparently was, so you decided against it.

You slowly sat on his lap, placing your centre on his right thigh. Lando didn't even look at you; he just raised his eyes over your shoulder to keep working on his computer, making it clear to you that he meant it when he said you would take care of it.

Shyly, you started rolling your hips, eyes closed as your mouth let out soft moans every so often, but as the pleasure began increasing, so did your pace. 

Damn, he couldn’t deny how absolutely beautiful you looked riding his thigh, and as much as he tried to block out how needy he was starting to feel, he failed miserably. 

You hands gripped his shoulders for stability, but eventually they slowly travelled down his torso, finding the hem of his shorts. The plan was to slide one of them into his boxers and help him with his hardening cock, but he immediately stopped you, slapping your hands away and placing them back on his shoulders. 

“Stop. No touching, remember? Just take care of yourself.” You nodded and went back to work.

As you continued grinding him, he could feel his thigh covered in your arousal, filthy wet, and slick noises echoing through the small office. You left wet kisses on his neck and shoulders, your lips letting out more and more whimpers when he didn’t stop you as soon as you started devouring his thick neck, moaning even louder when you noticed him swallow hard. 

Lando tried his best to focus on the words in front of him, but having you being a complete mess literally on top of him made it hard, and it made him hard. It took his full strength and self-control to ignore his painful length and not ask you to take care of it like you tried a few minutes ago, but that somehow made it hotter for him.

You were getting close, and the sounds that left your mouth were making less sense, his name slipping out a few times, and just as he knew you were reaching your high, he couldn’t help it anymore, so he dropped everything and gripped your hips, guiding your movements.

“That’s it.” His forehead was damp with sweat, and there were a few strands of hair sticking to it, a single drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Lando’s touch made you feel more electric as he helped you quicken your pace, desperate for a release. “Come on, baby,” He whispered, making you give in.

Your entire body was shaking as your nails dug into the soft skin of his shoulders, gradually stopping as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good job. You can go now,” he said in a serious tone. You struggled to get back on your feet, but as soon as you did, your eyes went straight to Lando’s thigh, glistening in your arousal.

↺ back to navigation — Kinktober masterlist

[reidmania]

Hey😁 you said request were open and i was wondering you could write a spencer reid fic where him and the reader get into a petty argument or something and he says something a little mean and has to grovel to the reader because she’s upset? I love your work by the way and you can add or take away whatever you want👍😊

not so funny | spencer reid

summary; after a rough day, Spencer accidentally takes his frustration out on you leading to a lot of guilt and grovelling.

warnings; spencer is mean, fem reader, he calls reader a bitch but he makes up for it, arguments, hurt x comfort, crying, it ends up being pretty cute.

an; ITS MY BIRTHDAY GUYS!!!!

“Come on spencer” You almost groaned as your voice itched with irritation, your hands flew up before dropping by your side. You were stood in the kitchen, trying to make dinner but the pasta on the stove and vegetables half cut on the counter were long forgotten.

Spencer spluttered, “You aren’t listening to me!” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face dragging them down over his eyes as he turned his body away from you to the side. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes — this entire argument was pointless.

It started all because Spencer had come home after a bad day and was slightly snappy with you, just briefly and when you made a joke about it — he didn’t seem to take it as a joke.

“It was a joke — God” You sigh, turning back to the vegetables you were dicing before he walked in the door after work, but honestly with the annoyance bubbling in your chest you doubted you should be responsible for a knife right now.

His eyes widened, “But it’s not funny! You were just being a bitch” He mutters out, shaking his head before the realisation of his words fell on him the same time they fell on you.

Your entire face fell. Never had Spencer called you anything like that — he had commented repeatedly how much it pissed him off when peoples partners called them names like that. He had never been anything other than gentle with you.

He said your name as his eyes fell on your face. Before he could even open his mouth to apologise you were pushing past him to walk away. His hands reached out to grab ahold of your wrist as he repeated your name but you only flung his arm away from yours and you continued walking to the bedroom.

Spencer stood with his head in his hands as he knew better than to follow you right now. All the anger he had felt from the day that had built up slipped away when he saw the look on your face. — Hurt. He hurt you all because he had a crappy day.

He heard the bedroom door slam shut causing his shoulders to flinch slightly. He wanted nothing more than to follow you and spend the rest of the night apologising to you, he didn’t think there was anything he could do to express how sorry he was.

But he knew better than that. He knew it would just annoy you more if he walked in there right now and that was the last thing he wanted.

Instead he spent the next hour in the kitchen finishing the dinner you had started making — He knew wouldn’t taste nearly half as good as it would if you made it, his cooking skills no where near as good but he found himself doing it anyways.

He relished in the slight distraction but it only did so much as his mind continued travelling to you and the words that had left his mouth. He didn’t mean them. You weren’t a bitch. You were nothing of the sorts and the fact that he had even let that slip sent guilt coursing through his veins.

The day had been nothing but shit. To say the least. Everything was going wrong and Spencer couldn’t shake the annoyance. It didn’t help that right before leaving he had gotten into an argument with Morgan about something on a past case.

He didn’t mean to take his bad day out on you, he never did.

He finished the dinner, but the appetite he once had disappeared as it replaced the spot in his stomach with nothing but guilt. His feet trailed towards the door of your shared bedroom.

Every step was filled with dread as his mind traveled to every possibility. His heart shattered into a thousand little pieces as he heard your soft hiccup through the door.

“Honey?” He brought his hand up to knock on the door gently with his knuckles. His tone was the softest he had used his day — completely the opposite to what it had been the last time he spoke to you.

You didn’t reply but you went quiet. Probably trying to hide the fact you were crying. That made him feel worse — he deserved to feel worse. He knew that.

“Dinner is ready.. Are you hungry” He asked, not pushing his way through the door he was talking to you through. There was a pause on the other side of the door.

You, were curled up on the middle of your bed. Spencer’s hoodie was tugged up over your knees as they pulled to your chest. Your face was blotchy and scarred by the soft tears that stained your cheeks.

You hadn’t been able to shake Spencer’s words no matter how much you tried. You knew he was angry and had a bad day but you couldn’t help but be beyond mad — unfortunately when you are mad it ended in tears.

You wiped the tears from your face as if that would have any effect on the sound of your voice. “No.” You replied, trying to put on the most secure voice you could muster up but it wavered none the less and stayed quiet.

Your heart pounded as you closed in on yourself. “Can I come in?” He asked.

You wanted to say no, push him away and tell him to go fuck yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, a small part of you aching for his comfort no matter how mad you were, you wanted to hear him apologise, even if you failed to believe it.

“Okay.” Your voice was small.

The door was being pushed open gently a moment after and you avoided meeting Spencer’s gaze, keeping your gaze fixated on the plush of the crisp white sheets that covered the bed.

If you did look at him, you would’ve seen his heart break all in his features at the sight of your tear stained face. His feet pattered towards you as he sat down on the edge of the bed, a respectable distance away from you, not wanting to push any boundaries.

“Im sorry” He said quietly, it sounded genuine and it burnt a way into your chest. You never brought your eyes to meet his as your mind failed to comprehend a response. You didn’t have a whole lot to say.

So instead, you just nod.

He frowns. “I am really - Im so sorry.” He said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, eyes trailing over your face, uncomfortable silence washing over the room as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I had a shit day — which isn’t an excuse. I should’ve never called you that. I shouldn’t have taken my bad day out on you” He muttered.

You nodded curtly. “Okay.” Was all you said in response. There wasn’t a lot you could muster up as despite his apology his words burnt into the back of your mind, leaving a engravememt on your brain.

He frowned deepened. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness and he didn’t expect it. He hurt you and he apologised hated that.

“I love you.” He said softly. Even if you didn’t believe his apology he wanted you to at least believe that he loved you.

You just nodded feeling a lump in your throat as your chest grew impossibly tight. You kept your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, holding them close to your chest almost as if to try and numb the burning sensation that made its way through to your ribcage.

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll leave you a plate in the microwave okay?” He muttered after a moment of silence. The silence dawned heavy and cold. You didn’t bother replying as he stood up.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before a soft sigh left his lips. “Im really sorry” He apologised again.

You didn’t see him again that night, you assumed he slept on the couch which made you feel slightly bad but you were so.. hurt.

The argument was stupid. He knew that, he knew it was a joke and any other time it wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest, he hated how the one time it did he took it out on you.

The next day you didn’t see Spencer when you woke up, you assumed he went to work which made a puddle of relief fill your stomach as you realised you were able to self indulge in your feelings while he was away.

You missed him.

The door opened at 7:34, a lot later than when Spencer usually arrived home and for a while you were genuinely considering maybe he wasn’t going to come home.

You turned to face him as he stepped into the kitchen where you were, the same positioning the two of you had been in when the argument first arose.

“Hi.” He said softly, placing his car keys on the counter. You looked over him and guilt fell as you he looked a mess.

He pulled his arm from behind his back, handing you a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. He chewed at his lip nervously as you didn’t say anything but took the flowers from his hand, looking over them.

Your favourites.

“I know flowers aren’t an apology, thats not why I got them” He said quietly, you remembered a conversation you had with him about hating how guys got their girlfriends flowers as an apology — and he agreed, going on to say that guys should be getting flowers constantly.

You perked up slightly as you furrowed your brows in confusion — if not an apology why now.

“The last ones I got you are browning.” He said, reading your look of confusion. Your lips pursed as you looked over at the vase you always kept the flowers Spencer got you in. They were in fact browning.

He dragged his hand through his hair as he placed a grocery bag on the table, before looking back at you. “You aren’t a bitch, you weren’t acting like a bitch, if anything I was.” He said, taking a few things out of the bag.

Your favourite snacks, your favourite drinks and a small velvet box.

Your heart tightened slightly.

He took a step towards you and you stayed in place, pulling your eyes away from the items on the table. “Im really sorry I ever said that. It was stupid and disgusting of me” He hesitantly brought his hand up to your face.

You tensed slightly but didn’t flinch away, allowing him to push strands of hair behind your ear. “You are gorgeous, inside and out. There isn’t a bitchy bone in your body and Im sorry.” He said gently.

“I am so mad at you” You said, the first proper thing you have said to him in days. He knows it shouldn’t but just hearing you talk made his pulse relax slightly — and then speed up all over again.

“Good.” He said gently, “Thats- Its a good thing. You should be mad.” He said softly, “Id never want it to be a situation where you allowed that.. where it happened often enough for you not to be mad. Be mad, mad is good. Don’t be silent” He said as his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

You hummed. You knew deep down silent treatment was the worst for Spencer, but honestly last night you had nothing to say. “You can yell at me, scream — hit me if you want” His tone was so gentle. You just scoffed, “Im not going to hit you” You said.

He smiled, “I know.”

“You have a lot of making up to do you know.” You pushed out, trying to ignore the way your face instinctively leant into the warmth of his hand, relishing in the soft roughness of his hands.

He nodded, “I’ll do anything, sweet heart.” He said and his tone held nothing but genuine emotion.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Okay.. Spence I just said that” You huffed out. A smile lit his lips, he leant down to place a gentle kiss to the top of your head, you tried to hide the smile on your face.

“Okay.” He repeated making you groan but you were smiling nonetheless.

Spencer spent every second apologising for the next two weeks, buying you everything he saw that he thought you would like and going above and beyond until you physically and verbally said that you forgave him.

[goldenstring6123]

Sylus: Naked and feisty

Warning: 16+, Suggestive content, almost nudity, female!mc

Author's notes: I wrote this 6 days ago and i just wanted to share even if it's not in the posting calendar lol.

"Why are you only in your underwear?" Sylus stops in his tracks the moment you set your foot out of the guest bedroom, towel around your neck and a comb in your hand.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing," The brush in your hand combed through your wet, freshly washed hair, leaving a few droplets onto the polished cement floor.

A sigh escaped his lips and an evident frown on his face. "This is my house, you brat, I can do whatever I want." thick and veiny hands traveled to the ribbon of his robe, un-doing the knot that held his cover in place. Swiftly, he threw the robe towards your way and pointed at it: "Put that on."

"It's night time," She tilted her head with a smirk, "I like to sleep naked." You lied to him and he, for sure, was not buying into it. A quick gruff escaped his lips and he made his way to the kitchen, ignoring your attempts at getting on his nerves.

"Do what you want, but just so you know," he tilted the moka pot into his small mug, opening a cabinet and getting a jar. "There's eyes all over my house, not mine, of course. Your images would be in the black market by tomorrow morning. You wouldn't want that *do you?"

"Hundreds of men lusted after seeing you at the auction, even with the mask on, they would be fools if they don't notice you right away." He sipped on his coffee, eyes on the woman that sat on his black couch, smirking at him in her lacy, maroon underwear.

It was a feast for his eyes

The n109 zone is a cold and chilly island, much less inside the home of the onichynus' leader. The hairs on your body was practically standing from the cold air, yet you remain determined to walk around in your bare clothing. Why were you doing this in the first place? There was only one reason:

You wanted him to loose his composure.

Petty and childish? Most definitely, but Sylus' irritable yet in one way or another: tolerant.

*towards you at least.

It was pure curiosity and presumably something that you can use when the time calls for it - A tool against him, his weakness.

"It's not as if this is the first time someone has seen me in this state," You chimed, almost worried that you sounded over confident to the point of faking it — No one has seen you naked before, not even your doctor, Zayne.

"tch—" Sylus clicked his tongue at the thought. God knows what he was imagining to have a scowl on his face.

Swift, and calm, almost tempting like a fox, you make your way to the towering curtains that blocked the full length window. A slither of silver peeked through the awning, hitting the floor.

"Let them see what they want to see, yeah? My body's not that different from any body else," Your fingers tugged on the black out curtains, pulling it to reveal the view of the dark, decrepit city, and a bunch of ravens and crows flying about the night sky.

Certainly there was no one in sight, yet you feel a gaze - more than one, and the strongest one coming from from that behind you.

You turn your heel and came face to face with his bare chest. A hand pressed you back against the glass with slight force, a knee squeezed in between yours. His fingers under your chin tilted you up to look at him and his eyes - filled with uncoceivable emotions, bore holes into your own eyes.

"If you like to parade your body around so much, Should i carve out a statue to your liking and display it in the middle of Linkon city? Or would you like me to commission that damned lemurian to paint you naked, You decide." there was a lace of venom in his voice, irritation colder than the breeze. "But between you and me,"

Behind you you hear the crows gawk in their flight.

He pulls himself closer to your neck, "i'll kill anyone who lays his eyes on your bare body."

Before your could retort, a spine chilling sting traveled from your neck, a pinch in your neck caused by his teeth nibbling, sucking until you pushed him away.

Sylus smirked at the sight of the hickey before turning his attention to the bird on the branch. Seeing a crow jerk its head in curiosity, he let out a chuckle.

"I don't share, Little brat." Sylus whispered to you, his voice deeper than anything you have heard someone speak. "and if you want to walk around naked," Without warning, he slung you onto his shoulder like a sack of cement and pulled on the curtains to a close.

"You can do so in my bedroom."

[luveline]

If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…” 

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 

“I do?” you ask finally. 

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: piercer!eren x reader

warnings: smuuuttt 18+, eren is the president of the subby men club, pegging ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶꒱ྀི১

a/n: I'm nervy to put this out omggg

pt.2 to Good girl but ofc can be read as a standalone

Boss

You heard him before you could see him. The slam of the front door, throw of his keys and heavy sigh alerting you he wasn't in the best mood.

“Baby?” You peeked your head out before walking into the living room, where he sat with his hands over his face, fingers separating wide enough to look at you before he put his arms out.

A telltale sign he had a bad day. Eren was usually the energetic one of your pair, always coming home with a smile on his face before he made you take a break from whatever it was you were doing to ramble on about his day, and happily listen about yours.

However, on bad days he just wanted to be held, quiet for the night as you whispered affirmations in his ear.

“Wanna talk?” Your hands cradled his face as he pulled you close.

“Today was annoying. We had two shipments come in, and of course one of them was wrong. Then one of Mikasa’s clients was being a perv and when I tried to handle it the asshole swung at me, so of course I had to beat his ass, and call the cops. Their asses didn't even help because they tried to accuse me of selling drugs out of the shop. Shit was a fucking mess.” He groaned. Crescent indents formed on your hips as his grip tightened.

“I'm sorry, pa” Your plump lips littered slow soft kisses on his.

“Anything I can do to make your day better?” The tension in his shoulders dissolving as you massaged them.

“Just you- fuck just you being here is perfect, baby” He groaned as your hands traveled down to his biceps, the tension high in his muscles.

He leaned back into the couch, eyes shut as you worked your magic. His body had finally started to relax after the events of the day when he felt you get off of him.

“Where are you-” He opened his eyes, pausing when he saw you down on your knees in front of him, fingers hooked around the waistband of his sweats.

“Y-you don't have to baby. It's okay” He let out a shaky breath.

“I want to. All you have to do is relax. You've been the boss all day. Let me have my turn.” Your thumb grazed the growing bulge under his sweats before pulling both his boxers and pants down in one swift motion.

“Ahh” He whimpered, low eyes watching as you stroked his length a few times before your lips parted, kissing his tip as your tongue swiped up the precum.

“Baby, please” He whined, hips bucking as you swirled your tongue around his frenum piercing.

As badly as you wanted to tease him till he cried, you knew he was due for a break. Allowing your gathered saliva to slide onto his length as you shined his dick, fingers wrapped tightly around his base as you slowly took him in your mouth, getting halfway before letting your hands do the rest as you bobbed your head.

His chest heaving as you took more every time your head came up to lick along his slit.

He was needy. You could tell by the soft whimpers he tried so hard to contain whenever you took him out of your mouth to suck on his balls, tongue circling his ass for a quick second before coming back up to wrap your mouth around him.

“D-don't stop, mommy” He whined as you widened his legs, thumb applying pressure to his aching hole as you took him fully into your mouth.

You couldn't tell if it was the blowjob, the pressure to his puckered hole, or the mixture of the two as he cried and whimpered, thighs tensing as his dick jumped in your mouth, salty cum filling your mouth.

Letting him slide from your mouth with a pop, you kissed along the underside of his dick, tounge running over his veins as you stroked the last few drops of cum from him.

“What do you want baby?” You coaxed him, looking up into his needy eyes while rubbing soothing shapes into his thighs.

“Need you to fuck me, mommy, please” He whined, slowly pumping his dick with a tight grip.

He eagerly followed you to your shared bedroom, patiently spread out on the bed while you fished out your favorite pink confetti strap and a bottle of lube from your closet.

You couldn't help but smile down at him as you situated yourself between his legs. It took weeks of begging him to at least think about allowing you to do this, finally caving when he felt your tongue accidentally graze over his ass one night while giving him head.

Nothing would ever top him fucking you from behind when it came to your sexual encounters but having him needy and whiny under you as he begged you to go faster definitely came second.

Apologizing for the cool sensation of the lube you prepped him, basking in the way his standing dick twitched when your thumb slid in. After coaxing a second orgasm from him just from foreplay you squeezed a large amount of the gooey substance onto the dildo, coating the object before slowly easing into him.

You took care to tease him with slow, deliberate strokes, your fingers tightly wrapped around the base of his dick as you stroked him with the same pace of your thrust. Green eyes staring up at you as he moaned for more.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” You murmured, watching him squirm.

“Feels- fuck feels so good, mommy” He whimpered, abs tensing as your fingers ghosted over his tip.

“Yeah?” You smirked, free hand gliding up his abs to pinch his tiny pink buds as you increased your pace. His grip tightening on the sheets as he panted your name.

“H-harder, please” He moaned, trembling under you.

Who were you to deny your boy? Changing positions you gave him exactly what he asked. A hand wrapped around his dick as your hips ricochet off of his cheeks. Your name left his lips in whiny muffled cries as he arched back into you. The sound of wet slaps echoed through the room as he cried from pleasure.

“C-can't hold it anymore, mommy” You already knew he was close, his dick twitching with every thrust and stroke.

“I know, baby, let go” Your fingers wrapped tightly around his base, thumb circling his sensitive tip.

“Fuck- nghh” He became a moaning mess, cum spurting on your hands and the sheets as you milked him dry.

Slowly retracting from him, you licked your fingers clean, kissing up his back as you whispered I love you's and praises, before helping him clean up and change the sheets.

With a smile on your face, you climbed into bed next to him.

“Feel better?” You pecked his lips, giggling at the slap earned on your ass, as he deepened the kiss. He truly just needed his frustration fucked out of him to get back to his usual self.

“Almost” He smirked.

“Almost? And what would make you better than this?” You asked, confused by the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Sit on my face?”

[womanmanipulator]

prove your love

spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

synopsis: lila gives your boyfriend heart eyes. when he’s assigned to stay over at her place you’re pissed. when spencer comes home, he makes sure to show his love for you. SMUT!!! minors dni

warnings: dom/sub, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), piv, various positions, overstimulation, pet names such as trouble, sweetheart, love, etc. very cheesy.

~

you slip your heels off in the hall with an aggravated huff. ‘look on the bright side, the case is over.’ your brain tries to tell you but the many sights and experiences of lila disrespecting you and glaring at you wasn’t going to leave your brain anytime soon. meanwhile, spencer got the opposite treatment, compliments, heart eyes, and lingering handshakes the entire time. she even slipped him her number, that little—

“hey,” spencer says, knocking you out of your thoughts. he can tell your brains conjuring something up. he can practically see the cogs turning in your head. “what’s got you so worked up?” he asks, taking a step towards you. his hands settle on your hips then travel to your lower back. he smiles down at you.

“nothing.” you dismiss, light and airy. trying to act unbothered. “why do you think i’m mad?” you question back, a little too defensive for your liking. “are you asking me to profile you?” he grins. you don’t get the chance to speak before he starts, “for starters, you practically ripped your heels off and threw them, you’re all tense, your fists were balled up and i can tell your thinking hard about something.” he exaggerates.

“you’re wrong because i am perfectly fine.” you state matter of factly. brushing his hands off you and walking to the bedroom. he follows after you. “holding in emotions, specifically anger, can have detrimental effects on one’s mental health. the constant internal struggle to suppress emotions can lead to even more stress, anxiety and even depression.” spencer explains. you just hum in response, searching in your closet for something comfortable, your mind doesn’t stop running about stupid lila though. he watches you. it wasn’t uncommon, he loved to observe you. most of the time it was just to see your pretty face while you were in thought but other times he liked to study your behavior and learn your routines. spencer liked to do it with you.

“you’re staring,” you comment. “i can’t help it.” he flirts. “oh please, did you tell lila that too today?” you let slip. you flush. glad you aren’t face to face with spencer right now. “that’s what this is about?” he chuckles. “cmere,” he says. you stumble over to the bed and he pulls you onto his lap. “you know i love you right?” he says. you nod. not looking at him. “so much, like i am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you, or whatever bella said.” he makes a twilight reference. you were the one who forced him to watch it. you giggle a little, meeting his eyes. he smiles. “there’s my girl.” he murmurs. your heart swoons. his hands settle on your waist and he leans in. you kiss, it’s almost like a breath of fresh air. when he pulls away, still keeping close he speaks. “i think i need to prove how much i love you, hmm?” he hums. “you don’t need to.” you mumble. “but i want to, please?” he pleads. you don’t protest for long. “okay.. if you must.” you giggle. he smiles. he’s so pretty you feel like your going to explode.

as he places you on your back, unbuttoning your shirt, he starts to spit out another fact. “did you know men are more jealous of sexual infidelity than emotional?” he asks. “women are actually the opposite, they get more jealous with ‘emotional cheating’ than sexual.” he takes his time, you always loved how smart he was. it turned you on.

“i wasn’t jealous,” you say. “oh really?” he snorts. slipping off your shirt. “yeah.” you say. he instructs you to lift your hips so he can slide your pants off. “mhmm..” he says. eyes focused on your body, he’s too distracted to make a smart comment. “she was pretty, i guess.” you try to say. lila was gorgeous. he just chuckles and shakes his head. not bothering to comment. he dips down and kisses you. nose accidentally bumping against yours and teeth clashing. it was messy, just how you liked it. “what was that thing about kissing and shaking hands?” you ask, just to hear him talk.

“the number of pathogens transferred from just a single handshake is staggering. it’s safer to kiss,” he says into the skin of your neck. “that’s interesting, tell me more.” you smile. he groans. “i can tell you all about it later, can’t i just take care of my baby now?” he smiles. “baby? what happened to trouble?” you grin. “you are trouble,” he sighs. lovingly of course. you giggle as he kisses down from your neck to your collarbone, then unbuckles your bra without struggle. pulling it off. he trails down to your tummy, pressing little kisses here and there. making you antsy. he reaches the spot you need him most and smiles into your skin as you squirm a little. “patience, trouble.” he says. he plants a firm kiss on your hipbone and pulls your panties down with one hand. “you’re so pretty,” he smiles. eyes flickering to your face. “all mine, hmm?” he hums and you nod enthusiastically. he chuckles and thumbs experimentally at your clit.

you press your hips up into his touch, leaning into it. chasing that feeling. he smirks, inserting two fingers slowly. he paws at that spongy spot within your walls. you let out a quiet moan and spencer doesn’t deem it good enough, he starts punching at the spot. abusing it almost. this pulls another moan out of you and he speeds up the movements on your clit. you almost see heaven as you arch your back, eyes rolling back. he leans down, attaching his lips on your clit and sucking harshly. thank god you weren’t standing because you would’ve doubled over with how strong your orgasm was. you try to get the words out but only pant. spencer can tell, “gonna cum, trouble?” he asks. then continues his attack on the bundle of nerves. the coil in your belly snaps, climaxing with his name on your lips.

the sound of your slick fills the room as spencer works you through your organism. eyes trained on your pussy. his fingers are pulled out, given a quick lick and suddenly his mouth is on you. lapping and drinking up your release like a man starved. “spence, wait— gimme a minute-“ moan.

your begs fall on deaf ears as he’s absolutely lost in you. there’s no pulling him out. you reach your hand down and bury it in his hair. pressing your hips into the bed to escape the overstimulation. trying to tug him off, he doesn’t listen though. moaning into you when you pull on his hair. the vibrations make you even more sensitive before, his nose brushes up against your clit as two strong hands come to hold you down on either side.

you moan, tears pricking in your eyes from the overstimulation. everything’s magnified by 10. the obscene sounds of your pussy fill the room as your poor clit is abused, spencer’s tongue prodding into you, milking you for everything you have to offer. the familiar hear fills your belly and you can feel the coil start to unwind. “spence—“ you sob. cumming again. riding against his face. you can feel that bastard smirk against you as he greedily laps up your release. “you’re okay,” he coaxs. finally pulling off of you. he presses a kiss to your mound then pulls himself up, he kisses your cheek. then wipes the stray tears on your cheek.

“hi pretty,” he says with a smile. your eyes meet his and you smile, a little dazy. “you have something on your face.” you say, remaints of cum. “do i?” he chuckles. he wipes it off with the back of his hand and kisses you. you can taste yourself on his tongue. “love you so much,” he mumbles against your lips. you don’t get the chance to respond before he’s kissing you again. a little tongue slipping in as he gets carried away. he messily kisses the corner of your mouth, then latches onto your neck. he works at his zipper, multitasking.

begrudgingly, he pulls away from you, slipping down his pants and kicking them off haphazardly. you tug at his shirt and he takes the hint to pull it off. undoing his tie and throwing it somewhere. when he FINALLY takes his shirt off you get to run your hands along his torso giddily. “y’so pretty,” you mumble. “this isn’t about me, it’s about you, trouble.” he says. slipping off his boxers. his cock slips angrily against his stomach and you almost whine. he leans down and kisses you as he slowly pushes in. the stretch burns but is bearable. “i know. its okay,” he whispers. he presses to the hilt, nudging against your cervix. you feel full, his hand slithers down and presses against your lower belly. “mmphh.” you whimper against his lips. he devours the sound and keeps his lips on yours as he starts to thrust in and out of you. pulling his head back to see your face every so often as the tip nudges against that sweet spot. it’s torturous how slow he’s going. you’re so overstimulated, tears start falling out of your eyes.

he smiles down at you, picking up the pace a little. his face contorts and he lets out a moan. you involuntarily clench at that and it punches out another sound. “trouble— can’t keep doing that.” he slurs. the wet sounds of him shoving your slick out of you fill the room as your hips collide. teeth and noses brush together messily and he’s practically devouring you. everything’s happening so fast. before you know it you’re coming again, his name recited on your lips. he works you through it, slamming into you with a feverish pace. you constrict around him and he’s not long after you, pressing himself as far as he can into you and coming. he’s whining,

you pant, he’s collapsed ontop of you. buried in your neck. tears roll down your face. “good girl, good job. taking me so well.” he praises breathily. taking? “..taking..?” you say. “don’t you mean took?”

“we aren’t done.” he lifts himself up from your shoulder, pushing his glasses up. the both of your climax leaks around his dick and spills out of you slowly. “i can’t!” you start to cry as he pulls out, he presses your knees to your chest and shoves himself back in. so much for catching your breath. “you will,” he says softly. beginning to thrust in and out of you, he’s so deep you feel it in your stomach. “that’s it, my good girl huh?” he praises into your neck, a pang of arousal shoots through your body and you can feel yourself get wetter. “spence—“ “none of the whining, you can take it.” he says. he bites at your jawline. you moan loudly. everything feels so good, it’s too much. he reaches down and starts to rub figure eights into your clit gently, a contrast to the brutal pace he had going. “there ya go, taking me so well.” he murmurs, pulling his teeth off and kissing gently. “ah- i- gonna.. cum.” you force out. almost forgetting how to talk. “let go baby.” he says. your back arches, eyes rolling back, clinging to him as if he was the one keeping your grounded. he follows after, shooting cum into you with a whimper and a “nngh.”

it’s unreal. you see stars.

when you come down from your high, your sat on spencer’s lap, dick still intact. you sob, falling into his shoulder and clinging onto him. “i can’t spence.” you sniffle from the overstimulation. if you had to come again you’d probably scream. you’d also scream though if he pulled out.

“the world record for most female orgasms in an hour is a hundred and ah- fuck, thirty six” he says as you clench around him. “i think you can.” he smirks. you push his glasses up.

you bite back, “nerd.”

-

that’s it

not proofread

i’m sick asf rn 🥰

[luludeluluramblings]

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Conner Kent - Spin-Off

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Spinoff based on this ask, and combing it with this AU. I was just having fun with this and kinda practicing. So apologies if it’s weird! Hope I wrote it decent at least!

A/N: Probably will follow this same idea with the main story.

Warnings: Potential baby trapping, is it voyeurism if it's just ease-dropping?, Fem!Reader, Yandere themes, obsession, stalking, a bit NSFW, pregnancy

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Could you blame him for not taking the opportunity when it was offered so readily to him?

Conner would easily admit he was weak for you. To anyone. Tim, Bruce, Lex, Clark. Anyone.

While none of them may not take him seriously when he says it, he meant it. Devotedly.

He still had to play his cards right after that night. The night he had heard you at a party in Gotham while he laid in his bed on the Kent farm. He was always listening for you. Your voice, your complaints, your tears, your breath, your heart beat. It was his favorite song, his favorite lullaby. Angels singing couldn’t compare to it.

And, when he heard your drunken giggle as some pathetic asshole flirted with you, he moved. He didn’t really think of taking you. He just wanted to keep the trash off you.

But, then his lips were on yours, and your legs were around his waist. Your hands in his hair, his hands on your thighs.

Conner memorized each slight hitch of your breath. Every single gasp, moan, and whimper the escaped you that night. Even the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in his head when he had been in the manor the next day. Listening to you sleep off your hangover and wonder aloud who the stranger you slept with had been.

Disappointment filled him when he realized you couldn't remember who he was, but he could hear your heart pick up when you thought about the faint memories you did still have of that night. That was enough for him. For now.

When he heard the faint sound of a heat beat slightly out of tempo with your own appear less then a month later, he had to stop himself from doing something stupid.

He'd at least let you make the decision when it came to that. Whatever it would be.

That didn't stop him from sneaking into your room in the manor while you slept, pressing his ear to your chest and holding his hand over the second heartbeat. Some nights he whisper. To you, and to them. Conner fights the temptation to peak. He doesn't want to take away you being the first to see them at the very least.

Of course, duty calls eventual and he has to take a space travel. Coming back to Earth weeks later, the first thing he searches for it that same sound in your chest. It soothes him to hear it. It gives him further delight to still hear the second one too. You must have found out about the second by now.

He can hardly hide his stupid grin and pay attention to anything going on around him.

Conner lets people think he's just excited to be home. Even he wears the exact same smile on his lips while visiting Tim.

His world crashes when he doesn't hear your heartbeat in the manor. You're not even in Gotham anymore. He can still hear your pulse, so his world doesn't burn. But, he sticks around long enough to realize you had left while he was gone and no one had even noticed.

It broke his heart for you, but now he didn't have to worry about the rest of them and could focus solely on you.

As soon as he left the manor with a casual wave, he was off like a hound dog on a trail. He nearly breaks the sound barrier as he tracks you down.

He isn't even mad when you scream in surprise at his sudden appearance. Doesn't even dodge the objects you start throwing at him before his arms are around your waist and his head is buried in your chest. All he can do is sigh in relief at your confusion.

"Conner… What the hell are you doing?"

"Shhhh, I missed you both."

"Missed? Both? The hell?" Futile you start trying to worm your way out of his grasp when it clicks in your head what exactly he's talking about.

"Hang on. Please. I didn't want to overwhelm you." He murmurs while nuzzling into your skin.

"Instead you let me freak out by myself like a dick. God, I've been throwing up, and filled with anxiety-"

There you go complaining, again. Muttering to yourself. But, this time it's about him, so he loves it even more. Letting you go on and on until he peppers your lips with apologies from his own and makes them stop. Gasp and moans taking their place. It's hard to tell which he likes more. Each sound you make has him falling further and further in love.

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.

[gojoacedia]

Vi has severe attachment issues, meaning it took you a long time to break the walls surrounding her heart down to get to the point you are at with her now. And boy was it obvious how attached she was.

-She would get nervous if you left for even a few seconds. She would always go grocery shopping with you, workout with you (even though your workouts were half of what she did), sit on the counter while you did your makeup, and even sit on the floor of the bathroom if you were taking too long in the shower.

-If you managed to escape her arms in the middle of the night she would panic in her sleep and grab you back as fast as possible. You couldn’t be an inch away from her.

-She looks at you like you’re insane if you do anything nice for her. She could be standing behind you and kissing your neck the whole time you were cooking and still not realize you were making food for her. When you do serve her a plate she tells you to eat it. “You need to eat too! I can’t eat this if you don’t have anything!” She would complain. “Vi, honey, I have my own plate. I made enough for two.” You would reply, rolling your eyes at how she never considered you making two portions.

-Every day when you come home from work or school she greets you at the door like a dog who hasn’t seen their human for weeks. She would bury her face in your neck, smelling your hair like it was a drug. You would drop all of your bags (some of which had gifts for her) and hug her back. “What’s up with you today? I was gone for 30 more minutes and you're acting like it’s been years,” you laughed, grabbing her face in your hands and giving her a long kiss. She would just roll her eyes and tell you to shut up, never wanting to admit how much you affect her.

-When you have sex she will always force you to make eye contact. She didn’t want you thinking about anything other than the way she made you feel. If you ever threw your head back in pleasure she would immediately stop and grab your chin, forcing you to look back down at her. “Eyes on me, princess, or you don’t get to cum,” she would say. She couldn’t help herself from getting exponentially more wet when you whimpered in protest, following her orders anyway.

-After you came (and after she came if she was in the mood) she would carry you to the shower, giving you butterflies every time she picked you up like you weighed nothing. She would make you pee before you went in the shower so you didn’t get a yeast infection, knowing your body better than your other partners ever did.

-She had absolutely no shame when it came to the nastiest aspects of your life. She could never see you as anything other than a goddess. Even if you were sick and snotting your brains out into an entire box of tissues. Even if you were on your period, disgusted at whatever left your body that week. You could have pink eye and she would gently wash away all the eye crusts with a warm washcloth. Nothing could phase her when it came to you.

-You eventually needed to have a serious talk with her about how she treated you. She would burn the whole world down for you and then get mad if you traveled to her favorite restaurant in the underground to get take-out slugs. You needed her to know you were also allowed to be attached.

-Going off of that, if you ever needed to have a conversation about boundaries you had a rule that you had to say 5 nice things about her for every complaint. You knew she didn’t take criticism well due to her past, so you made her feel like royalty before trying to have any serious conversation with her. She noticed this, of course, and it only made her love you more. Her impatience mixed with your patience was a match made in heaven.