#but then like halfway through writing i realized that i actually might have had a good point

[minisugakoobies]

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted.��

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem. 

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you. 

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around. 

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around. 

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous? 

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye. 

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago. 

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him. 

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late. 

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs. 

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back. 

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that. 

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You:  It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me? 

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort. 

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little. 

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is. 

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one. 

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance. 

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response. 

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing. 

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man. 

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible. 

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.  

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not? 

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now. 

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide. 

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -  

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge. 

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?” 

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back. 

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands. 

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu. 

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon. 

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it? 

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses. 

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close. 

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.  

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?” 

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment. 

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now. 

“I want what you promised me.” 

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.” 

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.  

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him. 

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can. 

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.” 

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”  

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips. 

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face. 

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel. 

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.” 

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want. 

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation. 

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now. 

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?” 

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”  

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat. 

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes. 

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.” 

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you. 

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck. 

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly. 

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo. 

“‘Gyu, please.” 

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around. 

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?” 

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.” 

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you. 

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up. 

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements. 

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!” 

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.” 

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids. 

“It’ll be something like this.” 

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.” 

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over. 

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” 

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you. 

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again. 

“Kiss me.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.” 

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip. 

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.” 

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands. 

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.” 

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture? 

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.” 

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”  

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?” 

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” 

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?” 

“I might have some ideas.” 

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!” 

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© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[just-jordie-things]

you want to kiss me so bad! - fushiguro megumi

word count: 3k warnings: none :) summary: "ooh you just want to kiss me" "and what about it?" more info: aged up characters! everyone works as sorcerers for jujutsu tech, friends to lovers, yuji nobara and reader are besties with a gossip groupchat a/n: thank u stef for this idea, it was so much fun to write !!! (obvi i got carried away... classic me) but this one is ofc dedicated to u @delzinrowe here's the original brainrot ___

Normally, (y/n) and Megumi made a strong pair on assignments.  Having worked and trained together since high school and having known each other a bit longer than that, they shared a deep understanding on how the other fights, and normally this gave them a hefty advantage.  Having two capable sorcerers that could read each other like the backs of their hands was a threat to any curse.  Normally.

Or in other words, as long as one of them didn’t completely abandon their plan and start improvising halfway through a fight, they were the perfect pair.

If he gave her some benefit of the doubt, Megumi could admit that (y/n) disregarding her weapon and opting to use the sheer power behind her cursed technique actually meant exorcizing the curse quicker than planned.  

However, now she’s staggering on her feet, her blade retrieved and dangling loosely in her weak grip as she slowly makes her way over to him, grimacing at the heap of dead curse she had to sidle past.  There’s a lazy but proud grin that takes over her features as she assesses the damage, realizing her workload for filing this one would be far less than previously expected, seeing how quickly she’d handled it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Megumi scolds her as soon as she’s in close enough proximity to hear him.  

He’s pissed.  His arms are crossed, his face is twisted into a scowl, and when he pauses after his question (y/n) thinks he might actually be looking for an answer.

“Pretty quickly, I’d say” She scoffs back at him, not taking his irritation seriously for a second.

She’d say Megumi was a friend of hers, given how long they’d known each other, but she couldn’t say he ever eased up around her.  He seemed to always be wound so tight that he didn’t even relax when they weren’t exorcizing curses.  Over time she’d grown used to his reserved demeanor, and she didn’t mind it, so long as they were still the perfect duo on assignments, she could put up with anything.

Except his attitude.  It rarely made an appearance when she was around- not nearly as much when he was paired up with Yuji- but on the off chance that Megumi got cranky, as she called it, it never rubbed her the right way, and it never went over well.

And currently, Megumi’s attitude and irritation knew no bounds.

“That was reckless and risky and you know it,” He chastised, only bristling further when (y/n) rolled her eyes back at him.  “You need to take this more seriously, you can’t just go dropping your weapon in the middle of-” 

“It was fine, wasn’t it?” She huffed out, already bored of the conversation.  “It’s done, we’re not scuffed up all that bad, and honestly, you should be thanking me” 

“Thanking you?” Megumi seethes the words back at her, and the way the corner of his snarl twitches does not go unnoticed by her.

“Mhm, you’re welcome,” She muses back at him, knowing that her little smirk was going to absolutely set him over the edge.  “I’ve pretty much scored us a half day-” 

“You pretty much just ignored me completely and could’ve gotten us both hurt…” He trails off, his features softening from their contorted angry expression for just a moment as something else washes over him.  Something that makes his face pale and his lips curl into such a deep set frown (y/n) thinks it could form permanent wrinkles if he held it any longer.  “... or worse” He finishes, a bit quieter than before.

“But we didn’t,” (y/n) shrugs back at him, and his annoyance creeps right back into it’s home under his skin.  

Why couldn’t she take anything seriously, ever? 

“We’re fine, it’s done, and we’re heading home.  Why are you holding onto this?” 

He gapes back at her, pausing long enough to give her a chance to take back her idiotic statement and actually take some responsibility for her actions, but she doesn’t.  All she does is look back at him with something akin to disinterest in her eyes.  It makes his nostrils flare.

“You’re ridiculous,” He huffs, eyes screwing shut with his annoyance.  “Seriously, (y/n), one day your lack of critical thinking skills is going to put me in an early grave” 

“Early? But you’re such an old man already,” She teases back, knowing full well she was poking a sleeping bear.  “C’mon, I’ll treat you to lunch on the way back, better?” 

“You can’t be serious for even a second can you?”

“Why would I?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, self preservation?” He snaps back at her, stepping closer so she could get a proper look at the glare in his eyes.

“My job is self preservation,” (y/n) rolls her eyes again with the dismissive comment.  “Maybe if you loosened up once in a while you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time” 

“So I’m cranky for wanting us to make it out of an assignment with our heads?” 

“Looks to me like we still get ‘em” She shrugs.

“That’s it.  I’m not taking another assignment with you until you understand why acting on reckless abandon is stupid and going to get you killed one day,” He spits back at her, and for a second, her brows raise, and she actually looks shocked by his words.  “Does that make me the bad guy, (y/n)?” Megumi hoped he was finally getting through to her, he was so close to her now that when his eyes bore into hers she could hardly see anything but angry blue oceans crashing behind them.

With another roll of her eyes and a short giggle right in her face she scrunches up her nose and gives him the greatest, wittiest line she could come up with to diffuse the rising tension.

“Ooh, ‘gumi you just want to kiss me” 

What she doesn’t expect is that with all of his anger and frustration brewing, Megumi had been pushed past a brink she’d never seen him reach before.  

“And what about it?” He snaps, brows furrowed with his anger, mouth still pulled into a frown.  (y/n’s) eyes widen at the response

So in a moment of pure vexation and poor decision making skills, Megumi’s shifting gears and muttering, “Fuck it” 

Next thing she knows his hands have seized her cheeks and they’re soft and warm but so firm as he yanks her forward while dipping his head to her height.  Is he going to kiss me? Is the first stupid thought that runs through her muddled mind before his lips are slamming against hers.

Her eyes are as wide as saucers before she truly registers how soft and warm and pleasant his lips feel against hers, and she finds herself giving into the whirlwind moment sooner than expected.  Her lashes flutter before falling shut, and it seems that she’s just as soon floating ten feet in the air, lifted by an invisible force.  One foot pops into the air, the other extending on to the tips of her toes to better reach him, sending her hands against his chest.

He rendered her breathless in the matter of instant, which she blamed on both the surprise and the passion behind his kiss.  She can vaguely make out the feeling of his hands moving from her jaw into her hair, but just as his fingertips graze the nape of her neck and she hums in delight.

That little noise was her downfall, because as soon as the sweet sound hits Megumi’s ears, he’s pulled out of his reverie and instantly pulls away from the kiss.

(y/n) has to gasp for air once they’re parted, but it takes her a minute to gather her senses and open her eyes.

Megumi’s frozen, his hands still cupped around the back of her head, his lips parted but no words or air was coming out.  All he can do is stare at her with the shock of what he’d done sinking in.

No words are exchanged.

She stares at him expectantly, waiting for something, anything, but it doesn’t come.  Megumi releases her before putting as large of a step of distance between.  If he won’t say anything, she knows she has to… but all she can do is gape as he takes another step away and quickly pulls out his phone to check on their ride back to Jujutsu Tech.

It stays silent as they wait for their car.

Even their exchange with their assigned manager is uncomfortable.

With Megumi still choosing the silent route, she’s left no other choice.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and rapidly begins to type.

[y/n]: S.O.S EMERGENCY !!!!!!

[yuwuji]: OMG DID U DIE ON UR MISSION D:

[y/n]: NO WORSE [y/n]: MEGUMI KISSED ME

[nocapybara]: W H A T

[yuwuji]: oh shit :D

[nocapybara]: what happened [nocapybara]: did you kiss back

[yuwuji]: was it good???

The incoming texts from her go-to groupchat for panic spamming shot up so fast she’s barely finished reading one before another appears on her screen.  At least it was serving the purpose of keeping her distracted in the tense car ride.

[y/n]: he got mad at me 

[yuwuji]: aww again??? :(

[y/n]: and then i said ‘you wanna kiss me so bad’ and he was all ‘so what?’ abt it and then he just…. fuckin kissed me

[nocapybara]: oh shit he actually made a move????

[yuwuji]: damn that’s actually such a good line 

[nocapybara]: no it’s not, megumi’s just dumb  [nocapybara]: and u didn’t answer my question (y/n/n)!!

[yuwuji]: or mine! >:3

[y/n]: i might’ve kissed back a little… [y/n]: and it might’ve been…. the best kiss of my whole life

[nocapybara]: how much is a little??

[yuwuji]: aww megumi is a good kisser <3 good 4 him

[y/n]: uhh my foot might’ve popped up like in the movies 

[nocapybara]: oh shiiiiiit so it was a KISS kiss

[y/n]: yeah. it was a kiss kiss.

[yuwuji]: and u kissed back?? are u guys boyfriend girlfriend now??

[y/n]: he didn’t say anything after

[nocapybara]: WUT???

[yuwuji]: HEH???

[y/n]: I KNOW THATS WHY IM FREAKING OUT U GUYS ITS SO AWKWARD WTF DO I DO HE DIDNT SAY ANYTHING AND NOW IM STUCK IN THIS CAR WITH HIM HELP MEEEE

[nocapybara]: HES A COWARD !!!

[yuwuji]: did you say anything??

[y/n]: no!! what am i supposed to say??? he kissed me his first!! this is HIS FAULT!!!

[nocapybara]: damn right!!

[yuwuji]: no!! :( [yuwuji]: maybe he’s just shy and doesn’t know what to say

[nocapybara]: sthu he’s an adult, he can voice is widdle feelings >:/

[y/n]: i don’t think he has feelings for me.  I think it was a mistake.   [y/n]: idk what’s worse tbh

[yuwuji]: … r u sure ? 

[noapybara]: what do you know.

[yuwuji]: no nothing i just meant he’s shy and awkward

[y/n]: VERY AWKWARD YEAH I GOT THAT

[nocapybara]: yuji ur his best friend.  u definitely know something.  spill. does he have the hots for (y/n/n) or not

[yuwuji]: hey i don’t spill secrets!!!!

[nocapybara]: SO THERE ARE SECRETS TO SPILL THEN????

With every new message, (y/n) felt her heart pounding in her chest a little harder.  She hoped the radio was loud enough to drown out the sound of it.  They were still a couple of minutes away from Jujutsu Tech, and she needed a solution by the time they got there.  She had a feeling that if she didn’t come up with a plan and fast, then Megumi would continue to ignore her, and it would never be brought up again.

[yuwuji]: well… i guess it’s not a secret that he talks about her a lot… 

It was easy to mistake Megumi’s silence for disinterest- and at first, he would say that he was ignoring the entire thing.  He didn’t have an ounce of desire to bring it up in front of present company, but after a few minutes of riding in silence, he thought maybe ignoring it forever was his best option.  It was just an accident, people caught up in the moment all the time, right? What was one little… perfect… kiss anyways? 

Suddenly watching all the trees passing by the window made his stomach twist with nausea, and Megumi had to redirect his gaze to the back of the headrest in front of him.

It wasn’t right of him to kiss her, if he really thought about it.  He’d never even confessed to her- and to just kiss her like that? Megumi could barely recognize himself.  He was never so brazen, he was always the reserved, calculated one.  He was the one that thought things through before making a final decision, he was never brash, never bold, and he would never make a move on someone without telling them properly how he felt…

His stomach lurched again.  Was he getting carsick? 

He’d never really considered telling (y/n) about his feelings for her before.  Sure, he’d known for a while that she wasn’t like the others, she was different, special, held in a different, more secluded place in his heart away from all the others.  If he was being honest with himself, he’d probably felt that way since high school.  The problem was Megumi was always realistic when evaluating his options, so when his feelings for her were fully realized, he’d weighed his options and decided that the potential of losing a friend and a phenomenal partner over a confession would be pathetic.

So he packed his feelings up in a box and left it in the back of his mind.  And that box would just have to stay there.

The ping of his phone drew him out of his spiraling, stomachache-inducing thoughts.

[itadori]: yo u kissed (y/n)?? hell yeah!!!

It felt like his heart imploded, and all of the air in his lungs was sucked out before he could try to gasp to preserve it.  His eyes nearly bore a hole through the screen of his phone before his head shot up, peeking at the front seat where (y/n) sat, typing away on her phone.  He couldn’t see who she was texting, but he didn’t need to, because the recipient of her texts just told on himself.

Now he was sure he was going to be sick.  He made a mental note to pack anti-nausea for the car rides after assignments.

When they finally got back to Jujutsu Tech, (y/n) was swift in her exit of the car and stride towards the building.  She not only didn’t utter a word to him, but she didn’t cast him a second glance.  Her eyes were glued to her phone and her walking pace was, well, she was nearly jogging away.

He could just let her walk away, accept that the both of them would mutually forget about the whole thing.

“(y/n)!” Megumi had to call after her as he broke into a light jog in order to catch up.  She glanced over her shoulder, and her speed walking slowed to a normal pace as he caught up to her.

She’s quick to lock her phone and tuck it back into her pocket.

Megumi lets out a sigh as he gives in to instinct.

“Look, I didn’t mean to do that, and I’m sorry, alright?” 

She stops in her tracks then, effectively halting him too, but it doesn’t seem like it’s because she’s suddenly inclined to focus all of her attention on conversing with him.

“Are you trying to say you kissed me by accident?” She frowns.

“Well, I guess-” 

“Because that’s not a thing,” She interrupts him.  “You kissed me, consciously, and, like, for a good minute-” 

“But I didn’t mean to, you practically dared me!” Megumi argued, only making her scoff and let out a laugh, humored by his ridiculous argument.

“Who cares? You kissed me!” She reminds him with a tilt of her head.  “Are you saying if I challenged you to jump off a bridge would you do that too?” 

“Well maybe the bridge isn’t that tall” Megumi refuted, before frowning and rolling his eyes at how stupid he sounded.  There was no taking that one back, (y/n) was already laughing.

“Just admit it, Megumi.  Some part of you wanted to kiss me, so you did” 

“Not until you admit that you asked me to, technically” 

“Fine! I did ask you to! Happy?” 

“Delighted, because I wanted to!” 

“Well if you’ve wanted to so bad then why are you yelling at me and not kissing me!?”  

“I don’t know!” 

With a simultaneous groan of frustration, the pair don’t waste anymore time arguing before acting.  She all but throws herself against him but Megumi’s just as swift at wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her off her feet and at a height that gives him easy reach to slam his lips against hers.  Every once of passion he’d poured into their last kiss is revisited in full with this one too, and (y/n) starts to get the idea that every kiss is going to sweep her off her feet all the same.

With her arms wound around his neck to better keep herself secure, she hopes that he feels every bit of electricity that she does.

And he does, he’s just a bit too preoccupied trying to balance taking in oxygen and kissing her like his life depended on it to communicate that to her now.  At least in words.  Wandering hands filled in the gaps for now.

It took them long enough, after all, there would be time to talk about it later. ___

a/n: i imagine the groupchat lights tf up after the second one :3

xoxo ~ jordie

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 3

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.3k

c/w - language, slight homophobia

a/n - hi, i’m back! i wrote the majority of this part while high and she’s mostly unedited so if you see mistakes, no you don’t. i’m so happy with how y’all are receiving this story and i’m having so much fun writing it! i’d like to reiterate that i’m sure paige’s mom and step-dad are amazing parents and this is all fictional! as always, i hope you enjoy, and lmk what you think!

Finals go about as well as Azzi expected. With the way she and Paige locked in three days before, she’s not too surprised. They didn’t even go to the gym the entire time, instead staying shut up in Paige’s bedroom with highlighters and textbooks and laptops. Although, Paige did get pretty stir-crazy on day two and started doing push-ups on the floor. Azzi had gotten a weird vibe that she was showing off.

What did make studying a little harder, though, was the fact that Paige seems to be having trouble separating their acting from their actual friendship, and has thus taken to calling Azzi ‘ma’ and brushing her thigh even while they’re alone. Azzi doesn’t know how to tell her to stop, or if she even really wants to.

It’s now the day after finals and only two days before they leave for Montana, where the real challenge will begin. Needing some space from Paige, which is a rarity with them practically living together these days, Azzi has retired to own room to pack her bags. It’s not going well.

Usually, she’s an amazing packer. She enjoys it, even, finds it soothing to create a checklist, pick her outfits, and pack her belongings just so so that they all fit.

Today, it’s a little different. Because today, she doesn’t know what to plan for, and she doesn’t know her to make all her shit fit into this suitcase, and she can’t decide what outfits to bring because all she can think about with each article of clothing is whether or not Paige would like it. Would Paige like these leggings, the way they hug her ass? Would she like this tight top with the plunging neckline? Would she compliment these shoes, ogle this little skirt?

Being in love with Paige is nothing new. But this, this feels foreign to Azzi, feels like when they were teenagers and she was just beginning to realize that her feelings for Paige were more than platonic. It feels nervous and jittery and insecure, and over the years Paige has become safe. She is secure and strong and rooted deeply in Azzi’s very being. Azzi wants more out of her, sure, but that fact hasn’t made her this afraid in years.

Groaning, Azzi fists up the sweatshirt she’s holding and then buries her face in it to scream. She’s about halfway through her little tantrum when a knock on her door startles her out of it. She doesn’t bother to lift her head out of the sweatshirt to mumble, “Fuck off.”

The door opens anyway, of course, and then there’s Carol’s voice, cautiously asking, “What’s going on in here?”

Azzi finally lifts her head to stare at her best friend. “Trying to pack for Montana.”

“Yeah?” Carol asks, still speaking softly as if she were trying to soothe a rabid animal. “And, uh, how’s that goin’ for you?”

Azzi groans again. “Really great, yeah. It’s awesome.”

“Mm.” Carol hums, then perches herself on the edge of Azzi’s bed, looking down at her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says automatically, because she can’t tell her best friend what’s actually going on, or else she’d give away she and Paige’s secret. But Carol looks at her suspiciously, like she might start interrogating her at any second, and so Azzi quickly decides to tell a half-truth. “Ok, I just, I’m nervous to see Paige’s family in Montana.”

Carol furrows her brow. “But haven’t you met them before?”

“I have,” Azzi nods. “But only the times they came up to visit Paige, and those were far and few between.” Azzi can’t help the bitter tone that seeps into the last part.

“Yeah,” Carol says. “From what I’ve heard it doesn’t seem like they’re super involved with her. Not like her dad and step-mom.”

“They’re not, and they never have been,” Azzi says, clutching the sweater a little tighter as if she were choking it. “Paige’s mom left when Paige was like three and she didn’t come back to visit until an entire year later. Paige didn’t even remember her by then. She says she hugged her dad’s leg and cried the first time she visited,” Azzi seethes, remembering how Paige had laughed quietly when she first told Azzi the story, her eyes sad. “And now they’re homophobic and totally shut Paige out when she told them she was a lesbian and they’re going to hate me, it’s going to be so hostile and awful and—“ Azzi cuts herself off with another scream into the sweatshirt. Vaguely, she realizes it’s an old one of Paige’s, something she stole way back in high school. Fitting.

“Hey, hey,” Carol says, sliding onto the floor next to Azzi and patting her knee, “you gotta chill out, okay? You know Paige won’t let them say a word to you. That girl would protect you with her life,” she says earnestly, and it makes Azzi’s heart skip.

“Yeah?” Azzi asks, just because she wants to hear it from someone else.

“She loves you a lot, Az. And I think we all realized it a lot sooner than you did, because y’all were too fucking stupid to notice how different you are around each other.”

Azzi furrows her brow. “Different?”

“Yeah,” Carol nods, patting Azzi’s leg. “Ever since we got to UConn, the two of you are always in your own world. You listen to her for hours if she wants you to and she’s always touching on you, being all protective and shit. And don’t even get me started on the way she looks at you when she thinks you won’t notice. I mean, you two are dating now and she still does that shit.” She shakes her head affectionately, then laughs. “And y’all were like that long before we got here, too.”

Azzi isn’t really listening anymore, too stuck up on thinking, Paige looks at me?

It might seem like a silly thought because Azzi is stealing secret glances at Paige all the time, and she has done for years. But that makes sense, because Azzi is hopelessly in love with her. Paige has absolutely no reason to be staring at Azzi when she thinks nobody’s watching.

Carol must be saying all this to make her feel better. She always knows the right thing to say.

“Yeah,” Azzi says, instead of saying what she’s really thinking—There’s absolutely no chance Paige looks at me in secret—and when Carol leans in to hug her, she returns it, letting her head rest on her best friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Carol. You’re right.”

“I know, girl,” Carol responds. Azzi takes a deep breath, trying her best to chill out, and just as they’re separating, her door cracks open. Of course, speak of the devil, in pops Paige Bueckers, blond hair flowing loose around her shoulders. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nah,” Carol says, waving Paige in. “Just chatting.”

“Gossip?” Paige asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Don’t worry, we’d never gossip without you.”

Paige laughs and then looks down at Azzi, who is quite busy doing the very important job of picking at a scab on her knee. “Hey, babe. Everything good?”

Azzi looks between her two best friends, and Carol’s giving her a soft, encouraging smile which Paige clocks immediately—the three of them have gotten good at reading each other over the years—and she walks over to them, sitting down across from Azzi. “Okay, what’s up?”

Surprisingly, Azzi’s eyes begin to sting and a hard lump forms in her throat, emotion overtaking her more strongly than it usually does, and she only has to wonder why for just a moment before she remembers, her period should be starting any day now. Stubbornly, she swallows down the tears, refusing to embarrass herself by crying in front of them. “Nothing’s up. I’m just—“

“She was having a hard time packing,” Carol says quickly, pushing herself up off the ground. “How about you help her, Paige? Sit on her suitcase so she can zip it or something.” There’s a warning in her tone and Paige gets it immediately, based off the way she nods and scoots closer to Azzi.

As soon as Carol’s gone, Paige is reaching out to rest her arms on Azzi’s knees. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, but Paige doesn’t buy it one bit. “Really, it’s fine. It’s dumb.”

“Not dumb, ma,” Paige says softly. Her thumb rubs against Azzi’s knees, and this is something Paige only does when they’re pretending. Azzi wonders again if she should warn Paige about the fact that their dating habits are seeping into their normal friendship, even when they’re alone. That could become dangerous.

But right now, the comforting warmth of it is welcome.

“Seriously, just tell me,” Paige urges, impatience evident in her tone. “You’re makin’ me all nervous.”

“Don’t, it’s actually not a big deal at all.” Azzi figures she should say something before Paige builds this up in her head too much. “I just, I’m worried about seeing your mom. I know she’s not gonna like me because of…” she gestures between them, “this. But I know she’s not my favorite person either and I’m just kinda scared that everything’s gonna clash and you’re gonna end up getting hurt.”

Paige stares at her for a second, then nods and sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She looks down at her hands in Azzi’s lap, then back up at her. “But, like, if anything bad happens, it’s not gonna be on you. It’ll be on my parents for being shitty. You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

Suddenly, Azzi feels guilty. Here she is having a mental breakdown over a situation that ultimately won’t affect her nearly as much as it’ll affect Paige. And here Paige is, sitting across from her, comforting her. The hands on Azzi’s knees start to feel too hot.

“You must be nervous, too,” Azzi says. “You don’t know how they’re gonna react when you show up with me rather than some guy.”

Paige shrugs it off, but her throat bobs. “Nah, it’s alright.”

Paige looks chill as can be, shoulders slumped, face relaxed. But Azzi knows her too well, notices the way her fingers are twitching and her eyes are looking everywhere but her.

“You don’t have to act in front of me,” Azzi says, hoping it doesn’t sound too corny.

“I know,” Paige says immediately. She finally meets Azzi’s eyes. “Listen, I might be a little nervous. But it’s whatever. And you don’t gotta be nervous, either. Whatever happens, we’ll be there together, yeah?”

Azzi nods, lifting Paige’s hands off her knees to take them in her own. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I got you,” Paige says softly, and it flusters Azzi but she’s more focused on the way Paige is looking at her, this little crease between her brows like she’s trying to figure something out. Just like after their kiss. But Azzi clears her throat and Paige snaps out of it, pulling her hands away from Azzi’s to brush herself off. “And you got me. Just like always, yeah?” She stands up, then looks around awkwardly, suddenly all jittery and weird. “So, uh, do you actually need help packing? I’m basically a master packer, I could get it done in prolly five minutes, flat.”

Azzi knows Paige is trying to deflect from whatever that was, and it seems like, once again, they’re not going to talk about it. Amazing.

“You’re the worst packer I’ve met in my life, P,” Azzi teases, going with it. “I usually need to help you.”

“I’on need no help,” Paige waves her off. Then she looks down at Azzi’s suitcase and scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. “But, uh, if you wanted to come up to my place to help with some fits I wouldn’t be mad.”

Azzi shakes her head, deciding to leave her packing for later. “Come on, stupid head. Let’s go.”

“Yo,” Paige says, following her out of the room. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“Sorry you’re right,” Azzi says. “Shit-for-brains is way more fitting.”

“Yo!”

—————————————

Before leaving for the airport, their teammates act like they’re going off to war. They all hug them extra-long and talk forlornly about what they’re gonna do without ‘mom and dad’ around.

Now that Azzi and Paige are ‘dating’, the two of them get called mom and dad more often than they get called their actual names. It’s kind of cute, actually, even if it is annoying sometimes.

“You kids be good,” Paige says sternly, playing into the act, and Azzi ruffles KK’s hair and says, “don’t bother your brothers.”

“Yeah, don’t bother us, Camera,” Ice says, and KK tackles her. Paige and Azzi take the opportunity to sneak out.

They’re at the airport now, waiting in the lounge where they only get approached by two polite fans asking for pictures. Paige is just dozing off when their flight is called, and Azzi manages to drag her through the gate into the plane before she’s slouching in her seat, falling asleep as soon as she sits down.

She wakes thirty minutes later, and she rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder when they start up a movie to watch. When she does, instinct takes over and Azzi doesn’t really realize what she’s doing until she kisses Paige on the head, nuzzling into her blonde hair, and she’s mid-nuzzle when she remembers that they have no reason to be all up on each other like this. Paige is stiff on her shoulder now, and Azzi laughs awkwardly, lifting her head to stare blankly at the movie. “My bad. Habit.”

“You’re good,” Paige says. She softens on Azzi’s shoulder, and then she mumbles something completely incoherent.

“Sorry, what?” Azzi asks, popping an earbud out to hear better.

“Huh?” Paige says.

“You said something.”

“Nah, you’re hearin’ stuff.”

“Paige.”

“Shh, I’m missing the movie.”

“Paige, seriously, what’d you just say? You tryna talk crap?”

“No,” Paige says emphatically. She shrugs, then leans her head a little further into Azzi’s neck and mutters, “I just said I didn’t mind.”

“Didn’t mind what?” Azzi asks, scrunching her nose.

“Are you dumb?” Paige says.

“Rude,” Azzi responds, and then she says, “Wait. You didn’t mind when I kissed you?”

“Didn’t mind when you kissed my head,” Paige corrects.

It’s Azzi’s turn to mumble, “Well, I know you didn’t mind when we kissed for real, either,” and Paige hears it and lifts her head up, shoving Azzi away. “Hey, chill with allat. I said that to you in a moment of weakness.”

Azzi shoves her right back, hoping to hide the feelings she’s sure are written all across her face, because Paige has admitted that she wants to kiss Azzi again and now they’re bringing that up, and what does it even mean?

“Aw,” Azzi says, trying for casual, “you big ol’ softy.”

“I ain’t soft,” Paige says gruffly, looking out the window and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think you are,” Azzi sing-songs, then she leans over into Paige’s space. Paige doesn’t turn to her, but her breath hitches when Azzi whispers close to her ear, “I think you’re soft as hell for me.”

Paige stares stubbornly out the window. “No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Mm,” Azzi hums, and then she rests her chin on her shoulder, gazing out the window as well, even though her mind is elsewhere. “I think you like doing this with me, P.” Feeling bold, she sneaks her hand onto Paige’s thigh, clad in those basketball shorts that always do something to Azzi’s head. “I think you’re surprised by how much you like it. Having an excuse to be all over me whenever you want. Acting like I’m all yours when we’re around people.”

Paige gasps when Azzi presses her lips to her neck, not kissing her but just resting there, and she turns back to look at her when Azzi lifts her head.

They’re inches apart.

Paige looks at her lips. She’s been doing that a lot ever since their conversation in the bathroom. Azzi is a soldier for the amount of restraint she usually has, because when Paige looks at her like this—this new, unfamiliar look on her face while she stares at her lips—every bone in her body wants to close the gap between them.

Today, her restraint feels frayed. And so she leans forward, slowly, and kisses just the edge of Paige’s mouth. Not a real kiss. But not friendly, either.

Paige gasps.

Azzi breathes out shakily, and then she shoves Paige’s face away playfully. “Watch our movie, dumbass.”

Azzi is shaking for the entirety of the movie, but at least she’s pretending to watch it. The entire time, she can feel Paige’s eyes burning into her skin.

Azzi gets the sinking feeling that something unexpected is going to happen on this trip.

—————————————

They get off the plane at 7pm. By the time they get their bags, it’s 7:30. And by the time Paige’s parents pull up to get them, it is 7:45. Paige clutches Azzi’s to her side with one hand, her suitcase held tight in the other. Her mom and step-dad look at them strangely and whisper to each other before getting out of the car.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean is the first to speak. “How was the flight?”

Paige releases Azzi so he can pull her into an awkward hug while her mom stands back. “Yeah, uh, it was good.”

“Good, good,” Dean nods. “That’s good.” He glances back at his wife, who is looking between Paige and Azzi with this expression on her face that Azzi doesn’t like at all. “Here, um, let me get you ladies’ bags.”

He takes a suitcase in each hand and pops the trunk to start loading up their stuff. He murmurs something to Amy when he passes, by, and she nods stiffly before taking a measly step forward. “Hi, baby. Your…hair looks nice.”

Azzi almost squeezes her eyes shut at how awkward this is. But at the same time she can’t, watching mother and daughter like she’s watching a train wreck.

“Thanks, Mom.” Paige is the first to reach out, and even though Amy holds her stiffly, Paige falls into her mother’s arms, something she has never been able to do often. Azzi can tell Paige thinks it may be the last time and is trying to savor it.

“Paige,” Amy says, pulling away from her daughter after a few moments and glancing pointedly at Azzi, “I see you brought your friend.”

Paige looks back at Azzi, who, despite her own nervousness, gives Paige her most encouraging smile.

“That’s alright, we have a pullout,” Amy says after neither of them responds. “Would’ve been nice to know that I needed to shop for an extra person, though.”

Azzi winces. What a rude thing to say.

“So, where’s Ryan?” she goes on, and Azzi’s stomach churns. This is it. “Your father and I have been dying to meet him.”

“Not my father,” Paige murmurs quietly enough that Dean won’t be able to hear from where he’s still lingering behind the car, taking great care in loading up their bags.

“Don’t be like that, Paige, you know what I meant,” Amy sighs, then runs a hand down her face. “Ryan isn’t here, is he?”

At this, Dean perks up, closing the trunk door.

Paige backs up a few steps, back to Azzi, and takes her hand to pull her forward. “No, he’s not.”

“Uh,” Azzi says, speaking for the first time when everyone looks at her expectantly. “Nice to see you guys again.”

“Good to see you too, Azzi,” Dean says jovially, even though they’ve only met a few times.

Amy looks at Paige. “Why is she here with you?”

She looks as if she knows the answer and is dreading it.

Paige, always so brave, strives on anyway.

“Mom, Dean,” Paige says. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, I know it seems last-minute. But…” she looks over at Azzi, who squeezes her hand a little.

She smiles softly down at her, and doesn’t even bother to look at her parents when she says, “Azzi’s my girlfriend.”

Amy places a hand to her chest and Dean walks forward to rub her back soothingly. Azzi inches a little closer to Paige. Here they go.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.” You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

[lovebugism]

could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw

✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !

summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you." pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 3.8k warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3 a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth. 

He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.

It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.

Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him. 

“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.

You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”

Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.

When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.

Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.

Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.

“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”

Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.

You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”

The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness. 

“…I’m gonna try.”

He was pretty much a goner after that.

The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.

Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.

And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.

He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.

That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.

The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).

And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.

If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.

But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.

So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.

Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.

Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.

Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.

Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.

You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”

The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.

He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.

“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”

Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”

“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”

With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.

“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.

He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.

And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.

Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.

Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess. 

“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eds—”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”

“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.

“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”

Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”

You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”

He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”

“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”

“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.

It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”

“Eddie!” you scold.

“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod

Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.

“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”

“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”

He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”

“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”

With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step. 

You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.

Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.

“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”

You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.

“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”

A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.

Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.

You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.

“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”

You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.

“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.

“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”

You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side. 

You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.

It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.

Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.

You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace. 

You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.

Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.

You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.

“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”

“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell. 

You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.

But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.

Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.

You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch. 

He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe. 

You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.

The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?

Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.

Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.

His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.

He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.

As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.

“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”

“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”

You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.

But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.

“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.

“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”

“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.

The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.

He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.

You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.

“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.

“…What?”

“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”

You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different. 

“Better?” you tease.

Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.

You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.

“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.

Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose. 

You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.

You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I��ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[kinardsevan]

A hand written note for bucktommy if it inspires 💙

(literally stole this one from my parents)

Evan keeps one of them in his locker at work. Another in his wallet. A third is framed on his nightstand. Tommy actually got jealous about it when he realized Evan had kept them in such a way, so he’d ensured he left one on Tommy’s nightstand a week later. And coffee mug. And on the rearview mirror in his truck. 

. . . 

He’s coming off a long shift the night it happens. He and Tommy have barely seen each other in the past week, given the fact that they’re coming through the end of wildfire season, so Tommy’s shifts have been more scattered and run into overtime. Evan really hasn’t had it easy either, even though the 118 has been fighting from the ground. So after ten days when Tommy calls him halfway through his shift to let him know that he’s finally getting a few days off, it takes everything inside Evan to not run out of the firehouse.

Still, by some miracle, he manages to make it through the next twelve hours, although by the time he’s standing in the locker room, changing into his civvies, he’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Clearly Tommy’s schedule finally matched up with yours,” Eddie jokes as he tosses his clothes into his bag. 

“It’s been a week and a half, Eds,” Evan replies, tossing his toiletry pouch into his duffel. “Do me a favor and don’t call for twenty-four hours?” 

Eddie laughs at him as Evan hoists his bag up his shoulder, rounds the bench. “Sure, Buck. You and T have a good night. Don’t tell me how it goes.” 

Evan waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he walks out of the locker room and out of the firehouse, already dialing on his phone. When he gets to the jeep, he tosses his things in and starts it up, settles his phone on the dash when Tommy picks up. 

“You just get out,” his boyfriend asks, skipping the pleasantries. 

“Yeah,” Evan replies, pulling out of his parking space. “I may have told Eddie not to call for the next twenty-four.” 

Tommy’s laughter is audible. “Not a bad idea, Buckley.” 

Evan can’t stop the smile that tugs across his face or the pink that dusts across his cheeks as he heads for the road. 

“I’m like twenty minutes out,” he tells Tommy after a moment. 

“Okay cool. I just got to that little Italian store we like, so I might be a few minutes later. Gotta pick up some provisions. Plus they just got the good mozzerella in.” 

Evan groans softly. “Making me wait even longer to see you?” 

Tommy chuckles again. “All in due time, sweetheart. I shouldn’t be much longer. You can call me when you get there if you want.” 

Evan frowns, but doesn’t argue. 

“I can hear you pouting,” Tommy comments. “Soon, Evan.”

“Okay,” he responds, acquiescing. “Soon.” 

Tommy ends the call after that, and Evan focuses on his drive. True to his word, he’s across town in the promised time limit, pulling into Tommy’s driveway and yanking his bag from the passenger seat and crossing the yard to the front door. He practically hops onto the front step, slipping his key in the door to let himself in. 

Inside the house, Tommy has left a few lamps on to light his way. He leaves his bag by the door with his shoes, where Tommy usually drops his own duffel, and then heads towards the kitchen. Still, as he starts to head towards the fridge, he’s suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Post-its are everywhere. The fridge, the counter, the vase of mostly-dead flowers Evan bought two weeks ago. 

All with the same message. 

I love you.

His heart clenches as he reaches out for one of the yellow sticky notes plastered to the fridge, his vision blurring with tears as he reads the black sharpie. It’s written in Tommy’s better penmanship, like he didn’t just hastily scrawl it, but actually took the time to write each one out carefully and with purpose. 

They’ve been dancing around those three words for weeks now, even if it’s been months that they’ve been felt. Still, neither of them wanted to jump the gun on it, and selfishly, Evan wanted to find his own way to make it special. Everything about their relationship has been handled with such care from the beginning that he didn’t want it to be a quick thing. He wanted to put the time and effort into not just saying how he felt, but showing it.

Clearly, Tommy has beaten him to the quick. 

“I had this whole thing planned.” 

Evan turns then, sees Tommy leaning in the doorway towards the bedroom. He’s smiling back at the blonde with adoration. 

“W-what?” 

Tommy nods. “Bought all this food and these candles. I was going to make a whole thing about it. And then the wildfire happened, and the flowers I had on hold died, and because I couldn’t pick up the food, they refunded my order.” He strides across the room as he talks, sliding his arms around Evan’s waist. “And then I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. Didn’t want to wait another minute to tell you.” 

Evan hiccups a sniffle as the tears in his eyes finally run down his face, Tommy pressing a kiss into the side of his neck. 

“I love you too,” he rasps, clasping a hand tight around Tommy’s where it’s resting on his hip. “Kinda wanted to go first, but you stole my thunder.” 

Tommy laughs softly against his neck, continuing a row of kisses down Evan’s collarbone before he finally pulls up and turns the younger man in his arms, getting a full view of him. He lifts a hand and brushes it through Evan’s hairline, down his cheek, under his chin, pulling Evan into an open-mouthed kiss. The blonde moans into it, looping an arm around Tommy’s neck and cradling his head, keeping him close. There’s no rush to break apart, taking one another in and rebuilding the map of each other’s mouths. When they finally do break apart, they still remain in each other’s space, Tommy nuzzling up against the space in front of Evan’s ear, laying light kisses beneath it. 

“I love you so much, Evan Buckley,” he murmurs. Evan shivers, both at his breatha and the confession being stated out loud. He sniffles again, buries his face in the shoulder of Tommy’s olive henley. 

“Might love you more,” he rasps, clinging tightly to his boyfriend. Tommy chuckles and shakes his head, trailing his fingers up and down Evan’s back. 

“That’s debatable. Might have to split the days of the week,” he replies. “Can’t be at a disadvantage.” 

Evan just sighs against him, turning his face into Tommy’s neck. He closes his eyes and inhales Tommy’s scent, letting himself be wrapped in the knowledge that this isn’t just his boyfriend now. He loves Tommy, and Tommy loves him. 

When he finally pulls back after a few minutes, Tommy brushes his thumb over Evan’s cheeks, wiping away the tears there. 

“You good,” he asks. 

Evan nods. “Mostly.” 

Tommy furrows his brow at him. “Mostly isn’t a yes.” 

Evan can’t help the smirk that crawls across his face. “Well, my boyfriend and I haven’t had sex in almost two weeks. Been itching to get dicked down for days now.” 

Tommy chuckles at him, even as his pupils dilate and he leans forward, leaving light kisses on Evan’s lips.

“Well then. We’re just gonna have to do something about that.” 

[erinwantstowrite]

Let me just quickly say, cross-overs can sometimes get REALLY difficult to map out and write in a cohesive way but you have absolutely NAILED IT!! I absolutely ADORE LoF!!! I usually don’t even bother reading fics with the ‘Richard Grayson is Richard Parker’ premise cause I felt like they were super confusing and overcomplicated but this fic?? SUPERB. ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. OH MY GOD I ADORE IT. Everyone’s characterizations are so nice and wonderful aaaaaaah!!!! <33333

Ok ok I did actually have a question as well: would you be willing to share what your writing process looks like in terms of a chapter you’ve already posted? I was just wondering since I’m also currently working on my own fic (it’s been a few years but I managed to get fixated on an idea and it grew legs lol) and I’m currently fighting the organization of it haha.

How do you keep track of the plot points and/or foreshadowing you want to get a ‘lightbulb!’ moment for later? Do you have any tips?

Thank you so much! I absolutely adore your writing AND your art is so gorgeous omg it adds so much to the incredible story :DDD I hope you have a good day!!

I have a secret: I actually didn't like "Richard Grayson is Richard Parker' tag for a while for the same reason. Sometimes they felt like they missed the mark or it's just. A thing that's there? I almost didn't include it for LoF, but I'm glad I did because it changed the direction in such a big way.

Another secret: this made me incredibly happy because I have read so many wikis and scoured the internet to make sure that I had enough info on both fandoms so LoF could make sense to anyone who's reading it, whether they know Spider-Man, Batfam, or neither at all. Sometimes I worry a lot before I post that I'll miss a mark and will confuse people.

As for the question: I definitely am willing to share what my writing process looks like!

Be prepared for under the cut, I love to yap. It's in my blood to yap. And that's why it took a minute to get to this ask haha

(Spoilers for Leap of Faith!! Everything mentioned has already been published ((Chapters 1-11))

I had to go and find out which chapter I wanted to use as an example and I think we're gonna go with Chapter 5 for the most part :)

My writing process is, as described by alighterwood:

I think the description fits because while I'm all over the place, I have to be very detail oriented and I store everything in one spot.

Starting with the overall process, what I find is most helpful for me, when organizing, is having a notebook rather than doing it all digitally. I've been using a 70 sheet notebook that I had lying around waiting to be used, and as of yesterday, I officially filled the entire thing front to back. It's been an incredible help, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it's a lot easier to remember something I physically wrote down than it is to remember something I typed. I'm now on to my second notebook for LoF, and I might even have to get a third.

In another ask, startupkat asked me this:

And I shared a little about my outline process there, but I'll try to go into a little more depth here. Emphasis on little because this is so long.

I write a truly insane amount of outlines in this notebook.

This is just what I can show you, but a good chunk of the notebook is just outlines. Over and over and over again. That's because they're always changing/adapting based on so many different factors. Sometimes I get to a chapter I thought I had fully planned out and then realize it just doesn't work anymore. Other times, I get to the chapter and realize I don't want to write that anymore/isn't as interesting as I thought it would be. A few times I got halfway through a POV of a scene I was struggling on and decided to switch POV's, which will change up the outline for a chapter every now and then.

Which is why I don't write incredibly detailed outlines and try to keep it vague until I actually get to that chapter. It's a lot less daunting to rewrite a chapter outline than it is to rewrite the entire outline.

Fic outlines and Chapter outlines look a lot alike.

This is what I said in the other ask, but I didn't elaborate on it all the way.

I make a list just like that, and then I try to put it in chronological order/in an order that makes sense. I keep the Fic outline vague by writing down "Goals" for a chapter rather than scenes. But I also keep notes to myself if I really think something is important. The more important I think a scene needs to be, the more details I write down to make sure my future self recalls what I had in mind when I thought it up.

Really simple example:

Chap 1 Goal: Peter gets to Gotham and meets Babs while running around. Meet Nightwing too? Get shelter.

Chapter 2 Goal: Bats are like "???" about Peter. Batfam dynamic important... Peter stalking Batfam back? Peter meet Batman >:)

When I get to a chapter, that's when I make a far more detailed list of wants/needs/goals. It's the Step 2 from the Step 1. Here are some examples from Chapter 5:

Needed to have:

More POV's from universe 1299 (Peter's home universe)

Tony's POV more specifically, how he's doing/feeling, what he's figured out

What they've figured out on 1299 side vs what's going on in 1300 (Gotham)

Explaining more about Peter's trauma/his past

Dick learning more about Peter, and vise versa

Wanted to have:

Ned being a more central character

Natasha :)

Loki being a little shit

Tony and Cap bickering

Peter talking to Nightwing again

The last name Grayson

Gymnastics!!

(This is the shortened list, because the chapters are so long)

When I looked at this list before writing my outline, I had to figure out how I could incorporate everything. If I needed more 1299 POV's, and I wanted Ned, Natasha, and Loki, there's one scene accounted for. I had to get their side of things and wanted that trio together. I needed a Tony POV, and I wanted Tony and Cap bickering, so those went together, plus I got 1299's POV of Ohnn and his plans explained.

I needed to have Peter explaining more about his trauma, and Dick and Peter to talk/get closer. I wanted a Nightwing POV, to have Peter say his last name, and them doing gymnastics. I knew Peter wouldn't willingly talk about that, so I had him have a nightmare. Not only did it give readers perspective but it made Peter more susceptible to talking to Nightwing because he was more emotionally vulnerable/lonely, and that's how that scene came together.

That's when I would write down the chronological order of these events by writing out "Scene Blocks." (This is what I wrote down but my handwriting was so bad I can't subject y'all to it):

scene 1- Ned talking to Loki. Natasha should be nearby and observing Loki's behavior. They are not on friendly terms. Ned is more worried about Peter than he is as to what Loki could be up to, so Natasha takes on that role.

scene 2- Tony is freaking out about Peter being in an alt dimension. He should attack Ohnn when he's not prepared for it. Beat his ass? Beat his ass. Cap there too.

scene 3- Peter's nightmare. "Ben, where do you go when you die?" "Where do you think?" "With you. Where you went."

scene 4- Nightwing and Peter.

Of course, things come to attention when writing. Like originally, Tony and Cap were arguing in the Tower. But it was a little too much like his and Natasha's argument, and I kept in mind that Tony is smart. Sometimes I forget that the characters are smarter than I am, so I have to account for what they would figure out. So Tony would have picked up the puzzle pieces and come to more conclusions than I originally thought about, and I figured he'd be way more proactive about it than just. Being in the Tower and waiting.

Which means that that scene ended up being as listed above: having a squabble with Cap, learning more about Peter's dynamic with the Avengers in this universe, and seeing how Tony is reacting to it by throwing himself head first into trying to capture Ohnn.

I'll realize I need something else to be mentioned or put in and I'll have to shimmy things around, but that's basically how it goes.

As for other forms of organization:

Keeping a timeline is so important because it tells you a lot about the environment your characters are in. It's also important to remember what a character has on them, what money they've spent, who they've met/who you have mentioned, every alias that is being used, to read your work and write down edits you want to make before you make them, to write down ideas beforehand of situations you can use, and, most importantly: MAKE A MAP!! This has saved me so many times. Sometimes your brain WILL trick you or make it harder on you to envision a scene. Make a map of where your characters are physically!! It will save you too!!

As for foreshadowing and plot points, I'll let you in on yet another secret:

Your subconscious is doing a lot more than you think it is.

Sometimes when I foreshadow something, I didn't even know I was until I got to it. I very often go back to read chapters that came before this to see what I've mentioned and what I haven't, and when I do, I'll see something and go "I have to bring this back" or "I almost forgot about that!"

Other times, I am very aware of what I'm foreshadowing, and that's because I follow a mystery plot formula. You have to keep in mind everyone's intentions, all the time. How are they feeling? What are their motivations? And: what are they doing right now, while this character is doing this?

Like Beck and Ohnn. From the very beginning, I knew I had to make sure that it was obvious Ohnn wasn't working alone. From there, I had to weave through the story and slowly build him up as someone who's working behind the scenes. Even from Ned's first POV, I made sure to mention that this person knows Tony and is tech savvy.

My biggest tip is to make sure you reread your work or at least skip through it, because sometimes you don't even know that you placed something there.

And sometimes, it's very purposeful. :)

I hope this helped! I really tried to keep it short but I am insane and the process is sooooo long. It sounds complicated but it really is simple when you're actually doing it I swear

[witchywithwhiskey]

Only one bed professor Steve 😳

ohhhh ok so only one bed professor steve rogers was actually a fic i started for a challenge way back in February, based almost entirely on the cevans look in the above gif. i knew about halfway through writing it that it was going to be too long for the challenge's word limit, so i rushed the ending and shelved it.

the set up is basically that steve and reader are both professors in the writing department of the same university, but while steve is a world-renowned literary novelist, reader is a romance novelist who writes under a pen name for fear of losing her position with the university (because she writes erotica basically) so reader HATES steve because he has more prestige recognition whereas she has to hide her success. so it's enemies to lovers + only one bed 😈

but the story starts when they're both attending the same academic/literary conference and because they're going as representatives of their university, they're put up in the same hotel room—buth there's only one bed. and throughout the weekend, reader starts to realize steve isn't as bad as she thought...

i really really really love this fic idea, but the first draft is a mess and i know it's going to take a lot of effort to edit so i just haven't gone back to it, but i will!!!

anyway, here's a little snippet from the first morning after sharing a bed together 🤭

You weren’t sure if it was a conscious decision on Steve’s part, but your colleague didn’t return to the room by the time you were ready to go to bed. You took advantage of having the room to yourself, taking your time as you went through all the steps of your skincare routine. If Steve was going to make you scowl and grimace so much, it was more important than ever. 

When you were done, you changed into a silky nightdress and set about building a wall of pillows in the center of the bed. It occurred to you that Steve might need more room, considering he was bigger and broader than you, but it secretly delighted you to have plenty of room to stretch out on your side of the bed while he might be a little cramped. Once you were done, you slipped beneath the blankets, read for a little while, then finally turned out the light and went to sleep.

You woke in the morning a little while before your alarm, feeling like you’d had the most restful sleep outside your own bed. Maybe even in your own bed. As your surroundings slowly came back to you, you felt a warm, heavy weight shift around your waist. 

You were clinging to a pillow, your body wrapped around the plush softness, your arms cradling it against your chest. Another pillow was wedged between your thighs, pressed tightly against your core through your panties. Your fingers brushed against something warm and hard, and when you opened your eyes, you realized Steve was wrapped around you and the pillow you hugged from the other side of the divider you’d constructed the night before. 

A giggle caught in your throat at the perfectly imperfect sight of Steve sleeping. His mouth was open, rumbling snores spilling from it freely, and a little trail of drool dripped from the corner of his lips to the pillow beneath his head. Your body shook from the effort it took to hold back your laughter, and the weight on your hip shifted again. Suddenly, your laughter evaporated as you realized it was his arm, slung around your waist in his sleep.

thanks for playing my WIPs ask game!!

[lurkingshan]

(Different anon) I agree with and understand your points re: ~why you watch GMMTV if don't like??~ and why the question is/feels hostile.

But taking the question itself in good faith as "why do you (should I) keep watching shows I think/know I will not like based on how others have been handled?" in the genuine spirit of "explain like I'm 5 because I don't understand the lingo and background but want to understand the concept, how would you explain it to people not as into/knowledgeable/etc BL and the history of GMMTV?

Hi anon! This is an interesting question, because it depends so much on you as an individual and what makes you happy.

I think there is often a misconception that people who post critical meta are having a miserable time and torturing themselves with media they hate, but it's just not true. For folks like me who enjoy thinking critically, this is how we have fun. When I love something, I want to rip open its guts and see how it's all assembled. It's what stimulates my brain and gets me excited. And when I don't love something wholeheartedly, I am interested in figuring out why. I've often had the experience of watching something that I know should be working on me, and if it isn't, that creates an intellectual puzzle that I find very satisfying to solve. Why isn't it working, and what can that help me learn about storytelling? This is also fun for me.

Another misconception I often see in fandom is that if you like something, you can't have negative thoughts about it and you have to pretend it's perfect to be a good fan. Nonsense! Being a hater is fun, especially about things you truly love. I'll give you a really concrete example: Bad Buddy is one of my all time favorite shows. It first aired three years ago and I still think about it nearly every day. It's a show that stimulates my brain but also hits me straight in the heart. But I do not think it's perfect and I get a lot of joy from thinking about the parts that did not work (Wai's redemption, that stupid fake out in the finale, all of episode 9) and making fun of it (have you heard that PAT GOT SHOT??). This, too, is a form of love and source of joy.

So with those misconceptions addressed, why do I keep watching shows I suspect I won't like? First, because you truly never know until you try, and I like to be pleasantly surprised. Two of my favorite shows of this year, Cherry Magic Thailand and Knock Knock Boys, shocked the hell out of me. I went into CMT deeply skeptical only to be charmed against my will and so impressed by how they adapted it, and I went into KKB expecting it to be like 95% of weak Thai pulps only to realize its writing and themes were stronger than they had any right to be. If I stayed away from all media I thought I might not like, I would have never had the amazing experience of watching and discussing those two shows live with friends who also loved them.

Second, like I said above, I still have fun examining shows that are not quite working for me, and sometimes I am compelled by the ambition of shows even if I don't think the execution is serving. A great example of that is The Sign. I wanted to support that show because of who was making it, and it had so much early promise that when it fell apart halfway through, I stuck it out to try to make sense of what went wrong. In cases like that, I like to figure out what a show thinks it's doing, what it's actually doing, and where the disconnect is. It's a fun puzzle for me to sort through such an ambitious mess of a show. This is why, btw, I am never really moved by fanwanks to fill in gaps in story and characterization. I understand why others enjoy fixing shows in their brains and then pretending that's what they actually saw, but it's not what motivates me. My goal with shows like this is not to get myself to like it no matter what, it's to figure out why I don't like it and what could be changed to address that.

Third, I care about ql as a genre, and I like to be aware of how it's evolving and be part of the collective experience of watching it. QL fandom is tiny and I like to know what my friends are talking about! I can't watch everything because there is simply way too much content these days, but I like to watch or at least pay attention to most of the big buzzy shows to track trends and see what's getting the fandom frustrated or excited. I didn't watch We Are because I knew enough about what it was doing and who was involved to understand it was not for me, but I did pay attention to reactions to it. Watching Jack & Joker with Thai bl fandom right now is some of the most fun we've had since Only Friends killed our spirit. J&J is directed by my parasocial frenemy Tee Bundit, whose shows often frustrate the hell out of me and whom I have ripped to shreds on this platform many times over. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from having fun with this new show, because Joke is The Moment and we're all in this together.

So truly, anon: whether or not you should be like me and watch things you may not like or continue watching shows you don't think are very good depends on what motivates you. You should figure out what is most fun for you re: media consumption, and do that. You can seek out people who enjoy media the same way you do, and also befriend people who think differently if you want to learn from each other and don't mind a bit of productive discomfort from time to time. I have gotten better recently at recognizing when I'm just getting nothing out of a show and dropping it like a hot potato (because some shows are not bad in an interesting way, they are just bad), or realizing which shows I will like better on a binge (usually the ones with terrible pacing, that is not as tortuous for me when I can just watch it all in one go). You gotta do some testing to figure it out.

All of this has all been a really long-winded way to say you should do what makes you happy, and don't assume that just because someone else's happiness looks different from yours, that it's wrong.

[lesbianrobin]

hang on. your tags on the lightning arc post......my eyes are so open. they should have had buck join a cult!!!!!!!!!! like. even pre-lightning he was already part of the way there with the Happiness Convention (self-help conventions are basically low-level cults right) HE SHOULD HAVE JOINED A CULT.

they could have kept Natalia and made her his gateway into the cult. like im so serious i would have eaten this storyline up and im sorry but it does actually makes perfectly sense for his character.

And then everyone is like Buck i think you're in a cult. and buck is like no these are just all my cool new friends! And then they could have had their requisite copaganda episode and had Athena bust the cult for money laundering to get him out.

LITERALLYYYYY like okay the academic in me feels compelled to say that anybody might be susceptible to joining a cult and cults are good at providing people with what they need to draw them in etc etc all of that said. buck is absolutely the type of person who would So easily join a cult. ESPECIALLY when he's just had an insane one-in-a-million near-death experience and he's searching for meaning in life!

and like no natalia slander she seemed fine but you're RIGHT she could have made for a perfect entry point for buck to join a cult... the way buck was like She Sees Me literally lowkey the way somebody halfway into joining a cult talks about the cult members. if i ever get through my insane backlog of 9-1-1 fic ideas and get the urge to write something long i may have to give this concept a shot because GOD it could have been so good

EDIT: this also could have worked So well with like bobby and/or eddie exploring their relationship with their faith and like they could have asked the question of like When faith crosses the line from comfort to delusion when it is helpful vs harmful... leading into eddie gay realization..... i'm ruminating

[tokiwarcube]

Hello! I've discovered your blog recently and your writing is really good! Can I request nsfw headcanons for dethklok (if you don't write for all of them it can be either Nathan, Pickles or Murderface) about the reader being a Dom? Nothing to harsh but maybe just leading them or taking initiative after a difficult day.

If you're not comfortable with this it's okay! Thanks for reading anyway, have a great day ♡♡

Hello my love! I realized about halfway through that you had actually wanted headcanons (the cons of writing in an area without WiFi, I suppose.) so this ended up turning into a set of drabbles... but please, feel free to resend this if you want headcanons still, too! <3

Nathan Explosion

Silence, marred only by the labored breaths of your lover, clouds the room with a lustful air so thick its almost suffocating. His chest heaves from his kneeling spot on the floor, sweat glistening in the dim lighting. You can’t see his expression from your place above him — His hair falls down against his chest in rivulets, obscuring his face with a dark shadow. Although you suppose you could hazard a guess, with how long you’ve been at this.

“Nathan.”

His dick twitches between his legs at your voice, and he leans forward on his knees just a fraction. A single drop of precum runs down his shaft at the movement — achingly hard after your hours of teasing. And yet, he refuses to ask for what he wants. Instead, his larger hands move up your calves, up and up towards your thighs. It’s slow, cautious. You watch for a moment, savoring the submissive trepidation, before growing tired. The ball of your foot meets his chest, pushing him back firmly, and his hands drop to his lap for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Black tresses sway, revealing the flush adorning his cheeks and his averted eyes. Whether it’s from shame or embarrassment you can’t quite tell, although the reasoning doesn’t really matter to you.

Only the fact that he’s still not following the rules of your arrangement.

His chest heaves beneath your touch, fingers twitching in his lap. A pause. And… nothing. You sigh, dropping your foot and leaning forward. Carding your hand through his hair you wrap your fingers around the strands, pulling firmly to force his eyes to meet yours. And oh, what a sight it is.

His pupils nearly swallow his eyes whole — loving and needy. His bitten lips part, panting worsening under your unwavering gaze. Open. Close. Swallow. He leans forward yet again, although this time, his hands stay at his sides — he’s learning, but not quite fast enough for your taste.

“Words, Nathan.”

Pickles the Drummer

The party on the other side of the wall falls into a dull thrum, voices muffled less by the drywall and more from the needy groans that bleed from the throat of your lover. Your index and middle frames his cock, wet and twitching with every word you murmur into his ear, and his hips roll feverishly against you. As much as you’ll allow, anyways. His hips are all about all that he can move with how you’ve caged him against the wall, forearm pressed tightly against his chest to keep him pinned. You suspect you might bruise a bit tomorrow with how hard his hand grips you, although with the show he’s putting on for you, you can’t find it in you to complain. His head knocks against the wall, exposing the column of this throat, and you have half the mind to bite down on the tender skin. You file the thought away for later — tempting, but then you’d have to pull your gaze away from him, and how could you miss a sight like this? His tie was loosened long ago, top buttons of his shirt undone and pants pulled down to his mid thigh for just that extra bit of room.

And of course, for the extra risk.

Anyone could walk by and see how malleable he is in your hands, how easy it is for you to take him apart — the evidence would be undeniable. Disheaveled, flushed, panting, and humping your hand like a dog. You smile and lean forward to ghost a kiss across his lips, faint and sweet, but pull away before he can actually reciprocate. The mean move draws a whine from his throat, and you press him just a bit firmer against the wall in warning.

“Stay quiet baby, don’t wanna get caught tonight.”

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Candlelight glimmers off the stark white walls, casting dancing shadows and heavenly light against your limbs, intertwined. It brings with it a sort of warmth — a stark contrast to the sweat-slicked, cool skin of your lover. You run your hand slowly up his spine before winding your hand meanly through his hair, coaxing him into an arch as you thrust forward. The strangled moan he releases is heavenly, and his hand comes up to cover his mouth soon after. The tips of his ears flush just as rapidly — from embarrassment? Pleasure? You’d hazard its a bit of both, as when you pull back to thrust again he drops the silencing digits to instead scramble for purchase against the satin sheets. The fabric scrunches in his white knuckled grip, warping further with each of your own movements.

Strands held tight in your grasp, pulled more taught with each successive thrust, he’s held too stiff to bury his head in the pillows — treating you to all of his pretty little noises. Every gasp, then moan, then whine as you pull him apart bit by bit. His hips rock back against your strap eagerly, finally chasing his high of his own accord, and you grin.

“Go on baby, give me a show.”

Toki Wartooth

It’s not often that you get him like this, all splayed out and pretty. His cheeks are flushed, eyes hooded as he gazes up at you. He leans up, searching, and you can’t help but give in and kiss him yet again, lips tilting upwards into the connection. It’s sweet, not unlike your typical kisses with Toki — but the tenderness in your movements is novel for the bedroom. The laziness, saccharine and heady, as you work your hand over his cock — taking him apart bit by bit.

Toki has always maintained some level of control in the bedroom — it’s taken a long time to get him to this point at all. Plenty of patience played a role in that, and while you don’t think you’ll ever reach the same level of bruising grips and commanding words that he brings to the table with you, you savor the modicum of submission he’s trusted you with. You run your hand down his side, gently quelling his bucking hips, and his breath shudders against your lips.

“Such a good boy for me, huh, baby?”

Willliam Murderface

William is deceptively strong — it’s a fact that most, including himself, don’t realize. You take the time to appreciate the muscle along his arms, tensing with every harsh thrust you grace him with. His fingers flex in the curls of his hair, forearms covering his expression, although he can’t seem to control the whines that fall from his mouth. You grin, gripping his hips a bit tighter for leverage, and pressing just a bit further into him. It’s a fine line he walks — cover his face, or his noises? He’s always been sensitive, but this? Oh, you could keep him pinned beneath you all day, panting and whining just like this. You think he could cum untouched if you just angle yourself just a bit—

You take his wrists in your hold, bunching them in your hands before thrusting forward yet again using his own body against him for leverage. It’s then that you see his expression, drooling and flushed under your touch. His eyes widen at the movement, and then the pleasure, mouth parting invitingly. You have half the mind to run your thumb along his waiting tongue, just to see what he’d do, but instead you savor his dazed expression. You smile again, peering down at him from beneath your eyelashes.

“Eyes on me baby. Let me see that pretty face, yeah?”

[shhrrroooommmmmyyyyyy]

HB Generational Trauma: Paimon → Stolas

→ Octavia

*Before I get attacked, nothing I say is to defend the actions described. I am simply trying to explain and make sense of it.*

Many fans approach the topic of Stolas being a good or bad father with either black and white-good or bad or completely gray answers. The black and white are pretty straightforward, usually going something like "he says this but does this anyway" or "he's neglectful", which are all valid opinions here. As well as the gray opinions, usually saying "he really tries, he just doesn't get it right".

Honesty, I can't say I disagree with any of these opinions honestly. I don't have evidence to back this up, but I have a feeling I know where the writers are going with this. I think they will, maybe sometime soon after hearing via's line in the trailer, have Stolas sort of "wake up" in a sense and realize what exactly he does. Get hit by the good ol' self awareness train, if you will. It's called character development.

I've seen many people call this bad writing but I disagree. I think that's the direction they're going for Stolas's character development. I think with the episodes so spread out, people forget we're only three episodes away from only being halfway through the series as a whole. There's still plenty of room for development.

Anyways, back on topic. Let's look at Paimon and Stolas from the Circus episode. I love the Loo Loo Land parallel with it.

Paimon enjoying himself from home while Stolas is miserable and clearly doesn't want to be there. The only thing that gets him through it without crashing out is Blitzø. Paimon seems to not notice he's even there at all until he starts enjoying himself watching Blitzø. And when he figures out what's making him so happy, he literally buys Blitzø later to keep himself from having to deal with him all day. Of course Stolas is too oblivious and distracted by Blitzø to realize, but that makes complete sense seeing how oblivious he is as an adult.

So now let's look at Stolas and Octavia in the Loo Loo Land episode.

Stolas is enjoying himself, but actually present. Him actually being there is an improvement; however, Octavia's not enjoying herself. She already didn't want to go because she was too old to enjoy it. And on top of that, Stolas flirting with Blitzø the whole time made her uncomfortable (which he was also too oblivious to realize).

I think the parallels here are interesting. Overall I think the writers ave done an excellent job of writing generational trauma, hence the title of this post. Now let's look at Stolas' line from Western Energy:

This line made a slight change in their dynamic from my perspective. It's clear he loves her and would do anything to protect her. Much different from Paimon. I think he tries so hard to be better than Paimon that he subconsciously ends up doing what Paimon does. This is called the ironic process theory or ironic rebound (psychology nerd here, as you can tell). However, the difference between him and Paimon is that he apologizes and recognizes that he made a mistake. He's trying. And even so, what examples of a good dad would he have had growing up that would've guided him in the right direction?

Although he keeps making mistakes, he is still trying. He's not prefect. I think Via knows this; nevertheless, it's hard for her not to get frustrated at him for making them sometimes. Especially when he promised he would do something with her and didn't in Seeing Stars.

No matter the extremity of the efforts made toward doing so, generational trauma will never be completely healed in one generation (look at me using smart words). While Stolas has made a pretty big dent in the healing process, it takes more than one person to erase the trauma. Although Via is as far as the line will go with her being confirmed asexual, I think Stolas has done a lot more for Via than people realize.

I have a few notes about Blitz and Loona on this topic as well. I might wait till after Ghostfuckers in case it gives more info to put in that post

[m0chisenpai]

strike

˚｡⋆ mike schmidt x black!fem!reader

in which mike finally gets the guts to ask the sweet librarian out. the iconic sunshine x grumpy pairing but its more tooth rotting fluff

Mike finds himself hoping he would see more of Ms.Y/N. He hoped Abby would forget her bag, or book again so he could stumble back into your library and just soak in the warmth of those big brown eyes. And to his luck she forgets a folder, a book, a lunchbox over the span of two weeks.

And each day he comes back into your library he swears he's fallen deeper and deeper.

So here he is, bright and early on a saturday morning, the smell of aftershave fresh in his nose, the curls on top of his head are softer and smell like pine for some odd reason and he's wearing his good pair of blue jeans with a relaxed flannel.

A bundle of flowers sits beside him terribly hidden under his work coat from Abby's prying questions.

"Your gonna ask her out aren't you?" Mike's eyes snap to hers in the mirror.

"And if I was?' Mike grumbles trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

"She said she's never been bowling before" Abby hums looking out the window. And so Mike hums again, when really he hopes and knows that Abby takes that as his thanks.

Abby walks ahead of him as Mike keeps a steady pace behind, wondering if he doesn't look like he's about to vomit or drop. But the sight of you int hat soft worn reading chair calms all his nerves. "Mr.Schmidt! Back again so soon? I think you might get mistaken as staff" you giggle meeting Mike halfway.

"You'd be surprised" Mike huffs watching Abby dive into a bean bag.

"Here" he pulls his arm from behind and feels his pride sweell as you coo and take the bouquet into your arms. "You shouldn't have! Thank you Mike" You reach forward pulling him into a hug and its then he realizes today you smell good. Expensive. Was that a new perfume?

Now that he's looking down at you, he sees that your lips have a little shine, your eyelashes are curlier. You look even more beautiful. And as you walk to your desk with him in tow, you have a gentle, sensual sway to your hips clad in one of those skirts that hug you in just the right areas.

"I was wondering if you had any plans Friday night" Mike finally speaks up rubbing his hands onto his knees to keep them as still as possible.

"Actually I don't! My friends and I were suppose to go out for drinks but mommy duties cut in and they had to cancel."

Luck must be on Mike's side today because your eyes slant and you lean forward to and cup your chin in your hand. "Are you asking me out Mr.Schmidt?"

And Mike leans forward, "I just might be Ms/L/N." And you lay your hand upon his arm.

"Call me Y/N."

Work dragged by for Mike that Friday. But before he knew it he was flying home to shower, shave, fix his hair and pick out an outfit decent enough for a bowling alley. And as soon as Abby's babysitter hit the threshold he booked it to your house.

You lived a few streets over and Mike parked in the drive way of your home jogging to the door. You were beautiful, a black overall dress with a red off the shoulder sweater underneath and matching knee highs to pair. You cradle a small leather bag in the nook of your elbow, covered by the fall chill with a jean jacket that clearly you owned for some years.

"Too much for a bowling date I know" you bashfully giggle.

"No you look beautiful" Mike smiles holding his arm out for you to slip through. He’s a gentlemen opening the door for you to get into the passenger side.

“Now where do you plan on taking me Mr Schmidt?”

“That’s a surprise Ms L/N” he smirks and you let out a silent hum. A silence falls over you and Mike clears his throat.

"Why a librarian?"

"Hm, I was always a book worm but I didn't see myself writing any books of my own. So I though why not work where I find myself most days" you explain now looking to Mike you rest your hand beneath your jaw.

"I know we're away from school, but you truly do n amazing job with Abby."

"I think you're one of the rare few who would think that."

You huff placing a hand on his bicep, "i'm serious. She loves you dearly from the drawings she's always making of the two of you, and she's a kind soul. Clearly she gets that from you."

"Thank you" Mike takes his left hand off the wheel to give your hand a quick squeeze before it returning it to its original spot.

When the neon glow of the alley illuminates, your eyes glow up as well, clutching Mike’s arm. It’s the new place thats opened in town, not just an alley, but an arcade tucked away inside as well. The place is shiny new and you two pay for your shoes and sit down at one of the lanes. Mike quickly ties his shoes, and you struggle slightly, he assumes cause your names must be new and he kneels in front of you.

“Here.” Mike taps his knee and you sigh.

“Mike you don’t have-“

“I insist. I’ve heard breaking one of those hurts bad.” He nods to your short french tips, and you place your foot atop his knee and he quickly laces the left, thenn the right.

“Alright, ready to get demolished?” Mike smirks down at you as you both walk to the lane.

“Don’t get cocky now Mikey, beginners luck might be on my side!” You exclaim picking up the shiny green ball while Mike picks up the darker blue one, he hopes you can’t tell its heavy and he’s struggling to keep hold of it.

“How about a wager then?” You raise a brow, “ winner gets to request anything from the loser?”

You grin rocking side to side. “Anything?” And Mike echoes back the promise. “You got a deal Schmidt!”

The first two rounds you can barely knock down three pins. Mike gets a strike and knocks more than half the pins down. But after he starts letting up. And by some miracle you win by the skin of your teeth.

"HA I told you!" you twirl pointing to the screen displaying you are the winner.

"Yeah, alright. What's your prize?" Mike tilts his head. You hum tapping your pointer finger to your chin as you scan the alley then point.

Its the food station, with fried foods among other sweets displayed on the menu. "I want to share a milkshake with you. With a big cherry on top!"

The night feels magical to Mike, too good to believe as he carries a red tray balancing two cartons of fries and a burger with the comically large milkshake sitting in the middle.

You sit together devouring the alley's greasy treats. With your reward, the shake, sitting between the both of you.

You steal Mike's fries scrunching your nose when he swats your hand playfully, but he lets you eat them. And you lean forward giggling as you two share the shake like some romcom high schoolers. Your hands just barely brushing against one another, your eyes start to glaze and you pull back sharply.

And Mike starts to apologize, thinking he'd misunderstood.

Your hand begin to tremble and its then Mike realizes you aren't even looking at him, its whatever or whoever is behind him that's got you looking like you've seen a ghost.

Mike looks over his shoulder and to his disgust, the arcades got a booth where a bright pink hippo is singing some high pitched song for a kids birthday party. Its jerky movements take him back to the same ones buried in rubble from the previous year.

But Mike can only focus on you now, your having a panic attack. He's seen plenty at his job. So he takes hold of your hands and begins to massage them.

"Hey, you're safe, breath Y/N" he's got sight of your eyes and he holds your gaze as he tries to ground you. "Match my breaths," he breaths in for three, holds then lets go. You do the same.

In and out. In and out.

You do this a few times till your hands relax into Mike's. Embarrassment flashes across your face as you look down to your hands. "I'm so sorry. I just can't stand those...things." you whisper.

"I understand. Mike smiles.

"Really?" You finally look up.

"Yeah, my sister used to be obsessed with them. But it just feels like they're.."

"Watching?" You finish for him and he nods. "Yeah, creepy things." Your nose scrunches again, and Mike can't resist and playfully pokes it making you huff a giggle.

"There you are" he whispers as your smile lights back up. You finish your meal and head back to the car. Some old song plays on the cars radio, your body is turned to Mike. His hand on your knee, your hand atop his.

He drives a bit slower, wanting to enjoy this peace. At one point you lift his hand to your mouth and place a kiss to the back of his hand leaving a glossy red stain and Mikey has to stop the car from swerving.

When he pulls to your home he's reluctant to let go so he can go to your side to open the door and walk you to your front door. The light from your front door illuminates you. The wind tosses your hair a bit. You look too perfect in this moment.

"Thank you for tonight, it was so much fun."

Mike smiles his thumb caressing the back of your hand, "do you think we could do this again? Minus the creepy robots?"

"Of course. Maybe I can beat you at skee ball?" You're leaning closer to Mike and he hums, his eyes closing just when you press your lips to his.

It lasts for a quick moment, a peck that leaves Mike breathless when you pull back.

"Good night Mikey" you whisper opening the door finally letting your hands fall apart. Once your door shuts, the breath Mikey seems to hold releases as does a soft laugh as he walks back to his car.

You truly had him wrapped your little finger.

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 3-Fukuzawa/Reader w/ Lingerie and Wedding Night

Notes: btw the lingerie im describing is the Lorna Lace collection in white. It's super pretty you should google it. Haha lol, and i also realized halfway through writing this that this is technically a rich CEO au, jumping on the hype train i guess

I actually have a healthy relationship with my father, but like any good woman i have a weakness for sexy middle aged men

You had always known this would happen. It was the oldest daughter's duty to marry a man and carry on the family line. This was the fact that had been drilled into your head since you could walk. A girl could not inherit the daily company no, that duty went to the male children, no matter how dumb they were. And you had accepted it as well. It's not like you liked it or anything, in fact you thought the entire rule was old fashioned and doomed to fail, but there really wasn't much choice in the matter.

And you weren't too unhappy, you yourself didn't want to run the company, but your second sister deserved to, not your arrogant, lazy brothers. Second sister had worked hard all her life, was intelligent and beautiful and kind and deserved to inherit the company over the men. Everyone knew it, the servants whispered and gossip was prevalent around high society, but father refused, so intent on tradition that he doomed the company to fail. All you wanted in life was to live a comfortable life with a handsome man who treated you with respect, and maybe have a child or two.

So that's why you were here, a newlywed woman to a man twenty years your senior, sold off like cattle with no choice in the matter. You had never even seen your new husband. The marriage talks had happened without your input obviously and the ceremony was shot down by your father who, ‘didn't want to waste resources on a stuffy event like that.’ All you had were rumors, for your new husband did not like public appearances, and there were suspiciously few photos of him.

Yukichi Fukuzawa, the president of ADA corp, and a man of high social standing and wealth. He was forty-five, apparently a ‘highly upstanding person from a highly reputable background,’ and very wealthy. And also your new husband. You supposed you were lucky to ‘score’ such a highly sought after man, even if he was a lot older than you but you had at least hoped to marry a man closer to you in age. But if you were lucky he would leave you to your own devices and let you live your life happy, if a little lonely.

A knock sounded and second sister peaked her head in, sending you a smile. You relaxed, sinking back onto the soft silk of the bed you were sitting on, and shot her a nervous smile. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Second sister Helena was tall, and with her long golden hair and blue eyes she could have easily been mistaken for a model. She looked nothing like you, and it made sense, given that you had different mothers. Father had sired each of his children with a different woman in an effort to create the perfect male heir. And because father was a man of high standing many women were lining up for the chance to have a child support check. And of course, he picked only the most attractive women. Second sister’s mother was a Swedish runway model, while yours had been a movie actress. Your brother's mothers were also varied, from models to actresses to intellectuals, all with stunning looks and the brains to match. Your father might be a douchebag but his theory held water, all the children of your family were stunning beauties, and all intelligent as well.

She came to sit next to you on the bed, and passed a small box in your direction with an apologetic smile. “I missed your twenty-fifth birthday sis, so here.” You shoot her a grateful thanks, fingering the box in your lap. It's small, maybe five inches and perfectly square, wrapped in colorful polka dot paper. You carefully slip the sides open, trying not to make a mess. Your sister giggles beside you.

“You wanna hear something funny?” You stop, raising an eyebrow in her direction. Whenever that line excites your sister's mouth, she's usually talking about one of two things. Boys, or the most horrific thing you can think of. You'll never forget the one time she preceded that one line by telling you most gleefully that her ex boyfriend had ‘accidentally’ gotten run over then lit on fire then drowned in the ocean. She glares balefully at your expression. “What…it's nothing bad. I met your new husband, and girl,” She pauses, wiggling her eyebrows excitedly. “He's such a dilf! I'm so happy for you!”

It's about now when you get the paper off the present, and see the pink box with black letters scrawled across it that say , ‘Agent Provocateur’ in a pretty curly font. You choke on your spit, and start coughing violently. Your sister pounds you on the back in good spirits. When you finally finish your coughing fit, you turn to her with a bemused smile on your face. “I dont no weather to hit you or hug you, Helena.” She smiles. “Open it.” She says, excitement all over her face. “I just know you're going to love it.”

You do as she instructs, and from within the crinkly tissue paper you pull the naughty treasure inside. You shake your head with a smile, if nothing else your sister has always had good taste. Its white, befitting of a wedding/birthday gift, and the small amount of fabric it possesses is a pretty floral lace. The bra is a half cup, with little white bows at the spot where the strap starts. The panties are lace as well, with a diamond pattern line of holes going all the way around, leaving the embarrassing parts uncovered. It even comes with white lace stockings, and a garter to hold them up. You shoot your sister an embarrassed smile. “Thank you Helena, they're absolutely beautiful.” She gives you a small side hug in response. “I know.” She says. “Now try them on.”

All complaints are useless against her, she uses everything from pleading to guilt tripping and at some point you just give up and do as she requests. And as you gaze on yourself in the mirror, you can really say you're glad you did. You look innocent, but also sexy and powerful and you think that if you were marrying the man you loved you would wear this gift. You feel kind of bad that it's going to stay sealed away in a box for your entire life. The bra hugs your breast perfectly, shoving them up a little to provide the perfect amount of cleavage, and the lace panties frame your butt perfectly. The stockings and garter just add the perfect bit of naughty to the otherwise innocent(as innocent as Lingerie can get) picture. Your sister pokes her head around the bathroom door, grinning as you shriek in embarrassment and yank on the silk robe she had left you. Is suspiciously short, only reaching mid thigh but it's better than nothing.

She shoves you into a chair, and gets started on your makeup. You sigh. “Why do I even need makeup, it's not like anybody is going to see me.” She tuts threateningly. “It's to complete the look. Now don't move.” She starts on your base, and for a while the only sound is her gentle humming, and the squirt of makeup products.

It's not until Helena moves onto the hair that she breaks the peaceful mood. “And did father not tell you? You're supposed to ‘consummate’ the marriage tonight.” You open your eyes abruptly with a shout of surprise. “What?” She shrugs. “I guess he didn't, well anyway he should be coming…” Helena checks her watch with a glance, as she skilfully braids white and pink ribbons into your hair. “In about two minutes!”

Even with your shrieks of protest you're not allowed to move until she finishes her hair, and by the time she does it's already too late. She sends you a smile as she picks up her purse and kisses you on the cheek. You glare. “Helena! You took so long i dont have time to change.” She opens the door and you receive a playful grin. “I know,” She says, and you have the dreadful feeling you’ve fallen into a trap. “That was the plan. Have fun big sister.” And with that, she’s gone, leaving you a nervous wreck done up in lingerie, a honey trap just waiting for a man to fall right in. You rush to the bathroom, throwing a glance at the large mirror. You must admit she did a good job, you look very pretty with pink eyeshadow and gold glitter and your hair done up a sexy half updo, but you don't want to look good. You don't want to look like you were waiting here to seduce him. Hopefully you can just explain yourself and the two of you can just sleep. Of what if he thought you were trying to seduce him and got all cocky. That would be humiliating. Your pride would be forever tarnished and your dreams of a quiet life ruined. All because of Helena and her terrible ideas!

Your (probably too dramatic) spiral of doom is interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. You take a deep breath, steady your heart and tie your bathrobe tight, and answer the door.

The sight that greets you when you open the door is surprising to say the least and you suddenly understand what your sister meant when she said he was ‘a dilf’, for the man in the hallway is, quite literally, the quintessential dilf. He is tall, and oh so handsome, with silver hair and piercing gray blue eyes surrounded by the slightest wrinkles. He clears his throat. “Are you Miss Name?”

You thank your sister for making you learn a poker face and send him a small, blank smile. “Yes, are you Mr. Fukuzawa?” Those sexy eyes scan your face, catching on the gold glitter in the corners of your eyes before he nods. “May I come in Miss?” You open the door wider and allow him in, your smile never wavering. You take your seats, sitting across from each other conveniently ignoring the bed on the other side of the room. In horror you realize the box from your sister is still sitting on the table, but a sigh of relief escapes your lips as you see the top of the box is flipped over, the incriminating lettering hidden from sight.

It's hard not to notice how unfairly sexy Fukuzawa looks in a suit, and it makes all these really inappropriate thoughts of sitting on that lap pour into your brain. But still, you do your best to uphold your smile as you speak. “I'm sorry Mr. Fukuzawa, my father unfortunately forgot to inform me that you would be coming tonight.” Your father most definitely did not forget, it's more than likely that he didn't tell you in fear that you would escape. You cursed your father out in your brain, all while maintaining that smile on your lips.

He nods. “It is alright. I didn't intend to consummate this wedding in the first place.” This is what you wanted, but for some reason you feel a little let down. Maybe he doesn't find you attractive? You sigh, he must be blind then. Or gay.

“I see.” is all you say. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence. It's almost comical how your mood has taken a dramatic turn. Not five minutes ago you were lamenting the fact that your husband might be interested, and now you were unhappy that he in fact, was not interested in you. A slight glare entered your eyes and with your mouth still curved into that small smile you made quite the threatening picture. Fukuzawa spoke again, probably fishing for things to say in an effort to make you more comfortable, because of corse he was kind and able to read the room, and of course he didnt want to fuck you.

“The weather is lovely today isn't it Miss Name?”

“I suppose.” You know you sound curt and unfriendly, and you know it's not fair of you, but you're really annoyed. Fukuzawa’s smile wavers a bit at your curt attitude, but he still smiles comfortingly at you. This only makes you angrier. How dare he be kind and handsome and rich, and not want to fuck you. Life is unfair.

$$$

Fukuzawa feels very uncomfortable right now. Because of course his new wife is a beautiful young thing who deserved someone more close to her age, of course she was upset with the plan that had been forced upon her. He most dearly wished he had been born ten years later, so he may woo her properly. He had read the report he was given of her. Miss Name was highly educated, of excellent parentage and absolutely gorgeous. She probably had a young and handsome boyfriend she wanted to marry.

If not for this whole ordeal she could have been with the man she loved, not a stuffy old man like him. It's really no wonder she’s upset. He sends her a small smile, hoping to sooth her probably injured feelings.

“I'm sorry you had to be involved in this mess Miss Name, I know this situation isn't ideal for both of us.” For some reason, her expression doesn't change at all. Her smile is still in place, but Fukuzawa can tell from her eyes that she’s upset. Her voice is curt when she responds.

“Thank you.” The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. He shivers involuntarily as the room falls back to silence, forcefully keeping his eyes away from her legs, covered in pure white lace, and the hint of a garter peeking out from under that small silk bathrobe. She didn't wear those for him for heaven sakes, she didn't even know he was coming tonight. He has no right to fantasize about what she’s wearing under that bathrobe, she may be his wife, but she will never desire him like that.

He clears his throat. “There's something I must tell you, I have an adopted son.” She perks up, the collar of her bathrobe falling a little, revealing a small strip of tantalizing white lace. The room feels too hot. “Really? How old is he?” The cold tone of her voice is melting away and Fukuzawa congratulates himself on the change of topic. “His name is Ranpo and he's five years old. Would you like to see a picture?” She nods, and Fukuzawa pulls out his phone, and shows her the lockscreen. She leans forward, and Fukuwawa is treated to a flash of white bows and lace as she coos at the photo. “He's so cute!”

Fukuzawa wonders if god hates him. Because of course his new wife is a pretty young thing who doesn't mind the fact that he has a son, and is whose collar is falling more and more, treating him to a divine temptation of white lace, and who will never love a boring older man like him. He wonders why the hell he's acting like a young man with these dirty thoughts, and takes a deep breath as she hands his phone back. The ice on her face has melted a bit, and she looks a bit less like she wants to flay him alive, although she still looks a bit sulky. It's much too adorable. Her lips are in a little pout, and it only succeeded in highlighting how plump and silky they look. They have a pink gloss smeared across them, and all Fukuzawa can think about is those lips wrapped around— he almost smacks himself across the face.

Ok so, Fukuzawa can admit that he is very much in lust with his new wife, it's pretty clear and he feels quite like a degenerate, he just hopes she cant tell. It's clear that she doesn't want him, heck she doesn't even seem to like him that much. And he would rather die, than ever force himself on her in any way. He clears his throat with a cough, shifting a little in his seat. “If it would make you more happy, you could have a lover, if that is what you wish.”

Any ice that had defrosted with Ranpo’s picture is immediately incinerated by her burning hot anger. She sits upright, her spine straight and her eyes burning. “Are you implying that I will cheat on you?” Fukuzawa waves his hands anxiously in denial. “No, that's not what i—” The fire abates, then returns in full force. “Wait, do you have a lover?” Fukuzawa shakes his head. ‘No! I only thought that you might have a younger boyfriend you wished to marry instead of me. After all, this decision was made without your input.” Fukuzawa is relieved to see the fire abate, replaced instead with a sweet kind of thanks.

She leans forward a little, a small sincere smile curving across her pretty lips. “I have no one. But it was very kind of you to ask.” She says, as the ties holding the bathrobe come looser and looser. “And even if I had someone, I would never ask for something like that.” Fukuzawa is horrified by the spike of hope that rises in his chest, pillaging through the walls around his heart and stabbing right in, warming his heart with a futile hope. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and emotions as she speaks.

“Would you like something to drink? I have some delicious green tea.” He nods, hoping the soothing aroma and taste will calm him down. She stands, and moves to the small kitchenette across from the bed, starting the tea. She speaks as she works. “So, I heard you met my sister Helena? Tall, blond…” Fukuzawa vividly remembers Helena, a tall blond woman who barged into his dinner and in no uncertain terms told him that if he mistreated her sister she would ruin his life. “Yes, she said hello to me at dinner.”

“I hope she didn't bother you, Helena is harmless, I promise.” It's clear how much love she has for her sister, it drips from every word as she chatters on, excitedly telling Fukuzawa story after story of her sister. Fukuzawa hopes dearly that one day, she will speak of him and Ranpo so fondly. His thoughts are imputent, he knows that, but it's in his best interests to not deny them. He's too old for all of this.

“Here you are, Mr. Fukuzawa.” She leans down, placing a fragrant cup of green tea on the table in front of him. “Call me Fukuzawa.” She shoots him a smile and a nod. “Call me Name.” It's small really, but it feels good. The atmosphere has become pleasant, so different from the earlier tense and icy landscape, and Fukuzawa feels relief, until of course, disaster strikes.

She trips slightly, and the glass of green tea she is carrying spills all over her chest, staining the white fabric green. Thankfully it's iced, but she still panics, probably worried about staining. And you see, the thing is, Fukuzawa knows he should turn around, he knows she’s panicking and she forgot herself for a moment, and he knows he should clear his throat or turn around or something. But he still watches in slow motion as she undoes the ties, pulling off that bathrobe and tossing it hurriedly away.

It's somehow straight out of his fantasies, and yet a curse of his nightmares. It's white, and lace and see-through and Fukuzawa feels all the blood in his body rush south. Maybe it's that the slight glimpses were teasing him the entire evening, or maybe he’s just too pent up, but he feels just like a virgin again, discovering porn for the first time. And it kind of is porn, forbidden 3d porn and he's going to die. She looks heavenly, the lace hugging her pretty boobs, the panties hiding nothing at all, and the garter and stocking combo just straight out of any man's wet dream. He feels like a creep, like a gross disgusting perverted old man and he wants her to suffocate him with that pretty pussy all wrapped up in white lace, he wants those pouty lips on his cock, he wants those legs wrapped around his waist while he pounds her into the bed—

His dick is hard, his mouth is open, and then she looks up, meeting his eyes and Fukuzawa feels fear for the first time in a while.

$$$

You know what happened, you were panicking about expensive lingerie and green tea stains and all you wanted to do was get the stain away from the actual underwear as fast as possible. But as your eyes meet Fukuzawa’s own and you take in his state, you can't really say your sorry. He looks wrecked. His eyes are hazy, his mouth open in shock, and the most telling evidence of all is the bulge in his pants. You let a small smirk overtake your face. He wanted you after all. Elation and arousal are the confusing cocktail at work in your stomach as you saunter around the kitchen table, and sit yourself directly on his inviting lap.

This seems to snap him right out of his daze, and he gestures frantically, an apology on his tongue. “I'm so sorry Name, i didn't—” You press a finger to his lips, feeling sexy and confident as you grind down slightly on the rather large bulge in his pants. He lets out a gratifying grunt, as you lean down, running your hands through his soft silver hair. Your voice is a pur when you speak. “You wanna know something?” you know you look devastatingly sexy, and it makes you feel powerful. “I really like you Fukuzawa.” His cheeks flush all cute, and his dick twitches under you. You continue. “And I want you. Do you want me?” His voice is husky, but still slightly formal when he speaks. “Yes. But are you sure you want me?”

You let out a coy little giggle, and grind down again. His little stifled noises are unfairly sexy, you can feel wetness in your panties already.

“I want you so bad hubby. Now kiss me.” With no more words he grants your request.

Fukuzawa kisses just like he looks, gentle and deep, devouring your very soul with his tongue. It makes your pussy throb desperately, and it makes you feel rushed and hot and the whole thing feels somehow even more sexy. Your hands knot in his hair, tangling the strands with your sweaty fingers as you rut together, barely covered pussy on still clothed cock, cores together. You know your whining, letting out little gasps and breaths and as he hoists you up, draping you right across the kitchen table, hands carefully pulling the crotch of your panties away from your drooling pussy. Its so dirty somehow, here you are, about to be fucked senseless by your sexy new husband, right on your kitchen table. You can't wait. He steps back, shedding his coat and tie, and unbuttoning a few of the top buttons.

He looks so sexy above you, panting as he slips a finger into your pussy, stroking your inner walls slowly. “More.” You whine out, the needy tone in your voice embarrassingly clear. Fukuzawa chuckles, adding another finger as per your request. “Do you have condoms? I'm afraid I didn't bring any.” He speeds up his fingers, playing slightly with your clit, and your head falls back. “Don't care. Maybe you can get me pregnant, hubby.” You can tell it affects him by the way his fingers retreat, swiftly replaced by his cock. You moan loudly as he bottoms out, as he hoists your legs over his shoulder, still almost fully clothed. It turns you on greatly, the contrast from your almost naked self, and his composed, still clothed person. His cock is thick, stretching your walls apart and it pulses inside you. You want him to fuck you stupid senseless.

Your hands grip the side of the table as he begins to move, his pace betraying his sense of urgency. Each thrust is deep, hard, and it moves you back on the table, before his hand on your legs pulls you back. His hair is sweat soaked, sticking to his cheeks as he fucks you, his eyes locked on your own.

“Feel good baby?” He pants, his voice a groan. “Yes, ohh so good.” Your voice is loud, and slightly husky with panted moans and breathes. You're seriously going to explode. For the first time in your life you want to thank your father, for finding you a sexy husband who could fuck you crazy. You still hated the man, but he had done some things right in his life.

He's ruining your insides, and you can feel every pulse and twitch of his dick inside you, all berriors gone. You feel unimaginably full and hot and purfect. He stops to lean down, and grips your thighs in both hands, speeding up his thrusts. Your eyes roll back as he hits that spot, over and over and over again.

“Oh Fukuzawa!” He stops his thrusts, pausing deep inside you and you pant. “Yukichi.”

“What?”

“Call me Yukichi.” Your clenches, even as your heart rate speeds up and you gasp out his name, panting it like your last breath. “Yukichi!” The last of your sentence dissolves in a moan as he resumes, all pretense gone, slamming in and out and in and out, and destroying your insides. “You sound so pretty like this, screaming my name.” His voice is rough and full of pants, and so, so sexy. Your hands leave the edge of the table and reach for your breasts, playing with your nipples harshly. You can feel your orgasm building, that familiar heat in the pit of your stomach, begging to be released.

“ ‘m cumming.” You warn, as his thrusts stutter, losing their rhythm. “Me too.” His voice is deep, and as he slams in one more time, and a hot feeling shoots inside of you, you lose it. You know you scream when you come, and at some point he drops your legs and kisses you, his dick still lodged inside of you. And as you come down from your high, and you feel his strong arms carrying you to the bed, you feel hopeful for your future with your sweet new husband, and all the good fuckings that will come with it.

Taglist: @mulit05ho3st4n

[stoned-writer]

A request where chris evans fucks his assistant, reader in his trailer

so so sorry this took the longest ever but here we are !

side note- i shall no longer write for c.evans

photo not mine*

the assistant - Chris Evans

summary- after being friends with chris for years and working for him, the feelings boil over and tension breaks.

warnings- p in v unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it yall), choking, use of daddy, oral (m & f) not sure of any other pls lmk !

word count- 1,351

a/n- not totally happy with this but i hope yall enjoy.

MINORS DNI 18+

You had been friends with Chris since high school, you knew his life and all its chaos better than anyone so it only made sense when you inevitably became his assistant as his career grew. 

You did have one tiny problem with your little arrangement…

You’re unbelievably in love with him. 

It was especially hard on days like today when you’re on set with him watching him walk around like he isn’t the sexiest man alive. You don't really know when it happened, maybe you always felt this way about him, but all you knew was you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You were sitting in his trailer answering some emails when he strolls in wearing the most simple outfit, jeans and white t-shirt that is at least a size too small, almost instantly the dirty thoughts start running through your mind “his arms look so sexy, i wonder what it would feel like to have them wrapped around my-” you’re snapped out of your daze when you realize he's talking to you shit “hey pretty got a lot to do today?” he asks sweetly, tilting his head slightly, you blush and look away hoping he doesn’t notice “no actually all done for the day” he plops himself down on the couch next to you, arm stretched out behind you. He’s so close you can smell his cologne so casual like he doesn’t know he's driving you insane. 

You finally look up at him and find he’s already looking at you with a cheeky little smirk on his face he’s up to something “well what do you know i'm all done for today too.” The sexual tension between the two of you is off the charts right now you think you might explode if someone doesn’t make a move soon. 

He catches you staring, “see somethin ya like doll?”  Your eyes snap up to his - is this really happening right now ? taking a second to catch your breath you look from his eyes to his lips briefly before replying “yeah would there be a problem with that?” he laughs lowly casting his eyes over your body before making his way back up to your eyes “not at all” he leans in a little bit and you find yourself leaning to meet him halfway, his hand makes its way to the side of your neck, lips barely touching he says “are you sure about this pretty girl?” you nod your head instantly but that’s not enough for him, “words baby” he demands shit you're wet you lick your lips “yes i'm sure.” 

He doesn’t waste any more time and crashes his lips to yours. You both moan out at the new contact between the two of you. It was like the dam finally broke after years of pent up tension and pining it was finally happening. 

He brings his hand down to the back of your thigh and grabs you to sit up and straddle his lap as both his hands now slide to grab your ass, he moans into your mouth at the feel of the flesh between his huge hands. You instinctively start to grind down on him feeling how hard he is through his jeans. You slide down off of him to rest on your knees in between his legs as he adjusts himself to be manspreading looking down at you with a lazy smile on his stupidly handsome face. You reach to undo his belt and make quick work of sliding his jeans off, you can't say you're surprised when you see how big he is through his boxers, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of getting him into your mouth. Reaching up to slide his boxers down, he mumbles almost to himself “i can't believe this is actually happening” you almost didn't hear him but you chuckle and say “oh believe it baby.”

You lock eyes with him as you spit onto his cock “jesus christ” he exhales, and you proceed to take him into your mouth as much as you can, his eyes roll back at the feeling of your mouth working on him, he brings his hands to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail- “look at you angel so pretty with my cock in your mouth goddamn so good honey, such a good girl for me aren’t you?’ you moan around him at his praise. His hips buck up into your mouth as you take him further down your throat, “fuck baby as much as I would love to cum in your mouth I need to be inside you right now” he growls as he pulls you off of him as he undresses you insanely fast and pulls you back into his lap. 

He brings his hand under your chin to make you look at him as you position yourself over him, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip and pushing it into your mouth, he exhales “gonna be the death of me pretty girl”

You both moan out in sync as you sink down on his cock, giving you a minute to adjust, he rubs his hands over your hips as he starts to move you back and forth. “So big daddy oh fuck-” “shit say that again baby, go on what’s my name?” “daddy- feels so good, so deep” he then takes this opportunity to stand and place you down on your back on the way too small couch. 

He then starts destroying your pussy at an alarming pace but you couldn't think past the immense pleasure you're feeling, he brings his hand up to your throat and applies just the right amount of pressure, “eyes on me angel” he growls to keep you present with him, he looks down to where the two of you are connected and spots a bulge in your lower stomach, it drives him crazy, he presses down on it and says “fuck honey feel that? Feel how deep i am in your guts, god this pussy was made for me.” you're a moaning mess, unable to form a complete sentence “uhh fuck - daddy” he laughs lightly, “got you cockdrunk already huh? Feel you squeezing me baby i know you’re close go on give it to me cum all over my cock baby” thats quite literally all it takes till you’re screaming “oh my god chris- daddy fuck i’m cumming.”

Your orgasm triggers his own and he’s twitching inside you and spilling his whole load inside you. Moaning at the warm feeling, he leans down to kiss you. 

“I’m not done yet honey, eyes on me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he’s pulling out of you and sinking to his knees as he dives in to eat your pussy like a man starved. His tongue lapping up the mess you both made has you arching off the couch and grabbing at his newly buzzed hair and your eyes rolling back. “Come on doll, you got one more for me right?” “uhh fuck- yes daddy” he moans into you, “thats right yeah you do.”

You can feel the band getting tighter and you know you’re close, he knows it too.

“I know baby, go on cum, you can do it for daddy, let go” 

And you certainly do. 

As you start to come down from your high he sits up wiping the sides of his mouth bringing his fingers into your mouth so you can taste yourself. He leans down to connect your lips to his, he squeezes himself back onto the couch with you bringing you back to sit in his lap. Before either of you can say anything there's a knock on the trailer door, “uh Mr. Evans you're needed back on set” says a surely traumatized crew member. 

You both sigh and start to get dressed, before he steps out he places his hands on your hips and says “we will definitely talk about this when I get back” with that he kisses you sweetly like he didn't just rearrange your insides, throws you a wink and out the door he goes.