#ceramic knife sets

[raekensluver]

hearts aligned

description: you and your roommate spencer reid have always been there for each other. one night he comes back from work and you two discover a different side to your dynamic.

pairing: roomate!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: fluff!! mutual pining, typical criminal minds violence, reader is described as having shoulder length hair

song rec: fallen star by the nbhd- "you're in my dna, i can't keep away no matter how hard i try"

w.c: 2.7k

an: *sob* i love him.

it was a mundane tuesday evening, the kind that bled into the fabric of the week seamlessly. the apartment was quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator echoing through the hallway. the soft glow of the living room lamp cast a warm, buttery light, a stark contrast to the deepening shadows outside the window. you sat cross-legged on the couch, your nose buried in a well-worn paperback, the plot weaving in and out of your consciousness like a gentle stream.

the sound of the lock turning brought your head up with a jolt, the bookmark slipping from your fingers to land silently on the carpet. spencer reid, your roommate, stepped inside, his eyes weary but a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. his gaze swept the room before settling on you, the surprise in his eyes unmistakable. "you're still up," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to shake the very air.

you closed the book with a soft thud and gave him a warm smile. "yeah, i had some trouble sleeping," you admitted, your voice a little hoarse from the quiet of the night. "do you want some tea?" you offered, already pushing to your feet. his nod was all the encouragement you needed as you padded into the kitchen, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the living room. while the water heated, you listened to the soft thud of his shoes against the floor as he moved towards his room, the jingle of his keys a familiar lullaby.

but when you turned with the steaming mug in hand, you found him hovering in the doorway, watching you. "you know, i can do that," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "i don't mind, really." his voice was gentle, a hint of concern lacing his words.

you paused, the ceramic warm against your palms, and studied him for a moment. his tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled from a long day's work, and his hair, normally a neat cap of chocolate waves, was disheveled. "you've had a long day," you said, your voice firm but kind. "just sit." you gestured to the stool at the kitchen island, the one that faced the stove where you were already setting out ingredients for a simple meal. "i'll make us something light."

he hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "alright," he conceded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took a seat. the fabric of his pants whispered against the leather of the stool as he settled in, his eyes never leaving you as you moved with an easy grace around the kitchen. you could feel the weight of his gaze, a warm presence that made your cheeks flush, and your heart stutter in your chest.

you filled a pan with oil, the faint sizzle as it heated up a comforting sound. "so, how was work today?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the sudden thrum of anticipation that had taken root in your veins.

spencer took a sip of his tea, his eyes thoughtful. "it was… interesting," he said, his gaze drifting over the steaming liquid. "but i'd rather not talk about that right now," he added, his voice a low murmur. "do you mind if we talk about something else?"

you nodded, setting aside the knife you were using to chop vegetables. "of course," you said, wiping your hands on a dishtowel. "what do you want to talk about?"

spencer leaned against the counter, his expression pensive. "tell me about your day," he said, his eyes searching yours. "i feel like i never get to hear about it."

you felt a flutter in your stomach. "it was…normal," you said, the words feeling almost rehearsed. "work, errands, the usual."

spencer's gaze remained steady, a hint of curiosity lighting his eyes. "anything exciting happen?"

you couldn't help but chuckle at his persistence. "well, if you consider accidentally matching my socks with my shirt 'exciting,' then yes, it was quite the thriller," you said with a wry smile.

his eyes lit up with amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching. "i see," he said, his voice teasing. "that does sound like a tale for the ages."

you rolled your eyes playfully, the tension in the room easing a notch. "it was definitely a fashion statement," you quipped, tossing a chopped carrot into the pan. the sizzle filled the air, the scent of garlic and onions mingling with the warmth of the kitchen.

spencer set his tea aside, leaning closer. "i'm sure it was," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "but really, anything interesting happen?"

you met his gaze, a sudden realization dawning. "you know what, spencer?" you said, your voice earnest. "right now, this moment, is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all day." his eyes widened slightly, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. "just being here, with you, talking about nothing in particular… it's nice."

his cheeks colored slightly, and he ducked his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "it is," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "i don't get to do this very often."

you cocked your head to the side, studying him. "what do you mean?"

he shrugged, his eyes darting to the floor. "i spend so much time working, or reading, or… just in my own head," he admitted. "i don't get to just sit and talk with people. not like this."

you felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of connection that was more profound than any conversation you'd had with him before. "i'm always here, you know," you said softly, the words slipping out before you could second guess them. "if you ever need someone to talk to, or just to sit with."

his eyes snapped back up to yours, the surprise in them clear. "i know," he said, his voice a little gruff. "i just… i don't want to burden you."

you set the spatula down, moving closer to him. "you're not a burden, spencer," you said, your voice firm. "you're my roommate. and if you ever need anything, i'm here."

his eyes searched yours, the depth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. "i know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "it's just… i don't want to take advantage."

you reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. "you could never take advantage," you assured him, your thumb stroking a gentle circle against his skin. "we're friends, we're supposed to be here for each other."

spencer's eyes dropped to where your hand rested, the warmth of your touch seeping into his bones. "i know that," he murmured. "but i also know that you have your own life, your own things to deal with."

you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before retreating to the stove, the comforting dance of cooking resuming as if the moment had never happened. "and you're part of my life," you said, your back to him. "so, what's one more thing?"

spencer watched you for a moment, his eyes tracing the curve of your back, the way your hair fell in soft waves down to your shoulders. he took a deep breath, the scent of the simmering food filling his nostrils. "what's your favorite memory?" he asked, his voice a little rough.

you glanced over your shoulder, a smile playing on your lips. "just one?" you teased, turning back to the stove. "that's a tough one." you stirred the contents of the pan, the spices releasing a symphony of aromas into the air. "but if i had to pick, it would be the first time we moved in together."

spencer's eyes lit up, the memory obviously a good one. "that was… chaotic," he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "but also… nice."

you nodded, your smile growing. "i remember being so nervous," you said, the words bringing a warm rush of nostalgia. "i didn't know what to expect, moving in with someone i'd only met only once before."

spencer's gaze grew distant, his mind traveling back to that fateful day. "i was the same," he admitted. "i had this whole speech prepared about how we should respect each other's space and keep things clean, but when i saw you, it all just… disappeared."

you turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. "really?"

he nodded, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "i know it sounds ridiculous, but you just… you made me feel comfortable. like i could be myself around you."

you felt your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "i felt the same way," you admitted, your voice a little shaky. "i remember walking in and seeing all these boxes, and thinking 'what have i gotten myself into?'" you laughed, the sound a little too loud in the quiet kitchen. "but then you looked up from your book, and you just… you were so genuine, so welcoming."

spencer's smile grew, his eyes a soft brown in the muted light. "i've never regretted that decision," he said, his voice earnest. "you make this place feel like home."

you blinked, the sudden weight of his words settling in your stomach. "i'm… i'm happy to hear that," you said, your voice a little breathless.

spencer pushed himself off the stool, the sound of it scraping against the tile floor breaking the silence. he took a step closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating like a small sun. "i mean it," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "you're the best roommate i could ever ask for."

you swallowed hard, the heat of the stove behind you seemingly nothing compared to the warmth in front of you. "thank you," you whispered, your hand still clutching the spatula. "you're pretty great too."

his smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "yeah?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

you nodded, feeling your heart race. "yes," you said, turning back to the stove to give yourself a moment to compose. "you're always there when i need you, and you put up with my terrible cooking."

spencer chuckled, moving closer to peer into the pan. "i wouldn't say it's terrible," he said, his eyes twinkling. "just… adventurous."

you shot him a playful glare, but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "adventurous, huh?" you said, shaking your head. "i'll take that as a compliment."

spencer stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take the spatula from your grip. "i'll help," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. the air between you felt charged, the tension thick and palpable. your heart was racing, each beat echoing in your ears like the tick of a clock counting down to something you hadn't quite anticipated.

you let him take over, watching as his long, slender fingers deftly stirred the sizzling mixture. "i've been meaning to tell you something," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "i know we've been roommates for a while now, but… i've started to realize that i might like you a little more than just a friend."

you froze, the heat from the stove forgotten. your eyes searched his, looking for any sign of uncertainty or jest, but all you found was sincerity. "spencer," you began, but he held up a hand to stop you.

"i know it's weird," he said, his voice rushing out like a river that had been dammed for too long. "and i know we're friends, and roommates, but… i can't ignore it anymore."

you stared at him, your thoughts racing faster than the cars on the street outside. "spencer," you breathed, his name a question, a declaration, a plea all rolled into one. your hand hovered in the space between you, unsure of where to land.

his eyes searched yours, the warmth of his hand as he took the spatula a silent promise. "i know," he continued, his voice a little shaky. "but i can't help it. every time i come home and you're here, waiting for me, it's like… it's like coming home to a piece of sunshine."

you felt your heart stutter in your chest, the words resonating deep within you. "spencer," you whispered, the name a prayer on your lips. "i… i feel the same way." the words hung in the air, a soft confession that seemed to illuminate the kitchen with a gentle glow.

his eyes searched yours, a hopeful spark lighting them up. "you do?" he asked, his voice tentative, as if he was afraid to believe.

you nodded, your own heart racing. "yes," you said, your voice clear and firm. "i've liked you for a while now. i just didn't know how to tell you." the admission felt like a weight lifting off your chest, leaving you feeling lighter than air.

spencer's smile grew, a genuine, boyish grin that made your heart flutter. "really?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

you nodded, your cheeks flushing a soft pink. "yes," you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. "i just didn't want to mess things up."

spencer set the spatula down, the clatter against the pan a jolting sound in the quiet kitchen. "you could never mess things up," he said, his voice a soft promise. "not with me."

you took a step closer, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a magnet. "are you sure?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "i've never been more sure of anything in my life," he said, his voice a low murmur. "you make me feel… alive, in a way i haven't felt in a long time."

you felt your breath catch in your throat, the confession so raw and honest that it was like a punch to the gut. "spencer," you whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. your fingertips traced the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips.

his eyes searched yours, the question in them unspoken but clear. "what are we going to do?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

you took a deep breath, the scent of the food on the stove forgotten. "i don't know," you admitted, your voice a little shaky. "i just know that i don't want to ignore this anymore."

spencer reached up, his hand covering yours on his cheek. "neither do i," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. "i don't want to pretend it's not there."

you stepped closer, your hand sliding down to cup his face fully. "then let's not," you said, your voice a little tremulous. "let's see where this goes."

his eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours tentatively. it was a gentle touch, a question that hung in the air between you, waiting for an answer. you responded with a sigh, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body a comforting embrace that seemed to fit you perfectly.

the world outside the kitchen faded away, the only sounds the faint crackle of the stove and the thud of your hearts beating in sync. the kiss grew more urgent, more passionate, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time. your hands tangled in his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk.

you two broke apart, breathless, your eyes searching each other's for any sign of doubt or regret. but all you saw was a reflection of your own feelings - a wild, unbridled hope that seemed to set the room alight. spencer's chest rose and fell in time with yours, his eyes dark with want.

"i've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

you nodded, your eyes searching his. "i know," you said, your voice just as soft. "me too."

his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his gaze never leaving yours. "are we… are we okay?" he asked, his voice a little unsteady.

you nodded, your heart racing. "yes," you breathed, the word a soft promise. "we're more than okay."

[peachesofteal]

18+ noncon, Simon drugs you/her, somnophilia

Girl who takes herself to her favorite coffee shop on the corner to post up with her laptop and a latte.

They serve them in those big ceramic mugs she likes. The white ones that seem so wide you could take a bath in them. Filled to the brim with an unbroken layer of foam on top, she always appreciates when the barista takes the extra time to draw her a quick little design. Makes her feel seen, special, almost.

She always sits a corner, headphones in, typing away on whatever it is she’s working that week, barely away of the comings and goings around her.

She doesn’t notice anyone, and no one notices her.

It’s perfect, really.

Until one morning when she attracts the wrong kind of attention.

It starts with the cup being just a tad too full, balancing on its saucer, ceramic trembling in her fingers. The shop is busy, and someone at the long table in the middle fails to look over his shoulder, sliding backwards in his chair to stand. Hot espresso and milk splashes down her chest, her shirt, and she gasps, sizzling pain shocking the breath from her body.

“Oh shit,” the man starts, turning to face her, hands out and frantic. It’s quiet now, eyes in the room fixed on her, watching, waiting, expecting a civilized reaction. They want her to say ‘oh that’s alright, it was an accident’ or ‘no harm no foul, it happens’ something like that, effectively releasing the burden of shame hanging over the perpetrator.

But, alas. She’s not the one.

“Oh shit?” She rolls her eyes. “You just made me spill my fucking coffee all over myself, and your response is oh shit?” If it was quiet in the coffee shop before, it’s pin drop worthy now.

She expects the man to back down. To cower, start stuttering a profuse apology. That, or the other option, the one where they get defensive, enraged, emotions running wild at the idea of being challenged.

The man does neither of these things. He crosses his arms and cocks his head, sizing her up like he forgot to eat dinner last night and she’s his next meal. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Are you going to let me finish, little spitfire?” Jesus Christ. She shoots him the nastiest glare she can conjure, then turns on her heels.

Fuck that guy.

Simon likes himself a little spitfire. A little piece of c4 in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Likes a girl with fight in her, one that scratches, that yells.

His cock aches thinking about how she’d howl under him, face screwed up with rage, salty, sweaty slick pooling between her legs. He’d jam his thigh right in that spot, and order her to rub her pussy against the grain of his jeans until she was cumming on them. He wants to hear her gag on his finger as he scratches her tonsils with it, pressing down on her tongue, forcing her teeth wide, testing.

So, of course, he does the thing he knows he’s not supposed to do. He’s got some time, some leave, plenty of time to hunt his prey and set a snare, a rope around her ankle, stringing her up like a pretty precious offering.

She’s got a nice home. It’s small, one story, windows open with the breeze. The curtains wave with the wind, exposing slivers of her living room, kitchen, bedroom. She putters around the house for a while before the lights go dark, noise of the street enough to drown out the sound of his knife surgically cutting an opening in a screen.

Once the window is open, it’s over. There’s no match, no matter how explosive she is, there’s no him vs her. It’s just him, with her underneath, throat clogged by his cock.

Probably not tonight. Tonight, he’s going to peel her free from the top sheet and jab a needle into her ass to push diprivan, enough to keep her loose and sweet, trapped in sleep long after he leaves. She’ll be more than groggy when she wakes again, chalking it all up to some sort of dream.

She takes it so easy too. Doesn’t fuss. Barely stirs when he rubs a hand over the fat of her hips, squeezes the flesh for his needle. She gasps in her sleep, brow furrowed, listlessly drifting away.

The first thing he does is roll her to her back. She sleeps naked, a pleasant surprise, muscles soft as he pushes her knees to her chest, exposing her cunt to his hungry eyes. He’s only supposed to look, to inspect, but he can’t help pulling a glob of spit from his cheeks to the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down in a long drop, oozing onto her clit.

“Pretty pet.” He murmurs, gloved finger stroking through her folds, fingertip barely pushing against her hole, sliding down to feel the tight furl between her cheeks. “Perfect little holes f’me, eh? Tight little things you’ve got.” Maybe she’s never been fucked before. Too much acid in her blood to bend or break for anyone. He buzzes with the idea that no one has ever had a cock, or anything, inside her, and spits again, this time a bigger wad, bubbles and all, thick and viscous. “Let’s check little spitfire.” He presses inside her, working his finger in easy strokes, feeling her walls, the heated clutch of her cunt. There’s resistance there, a flimsy, thin barrier separating him and the rest of her, his chuckle dangerous in the dark. It’s tempting to take it right now, but he’d rather watch her face when it happens so he can see the moment she realizes, when he ruins her, when he rips through her purity and makes her his own.

He unzips his pants, fisting his cock, precum already beaded at the tip and dripping, coating his palm as he pumps. She moans, like she knows somehow. It’s a high pitched, breathy thing, one that rattles his bones. He answers with a thumb on her clit, pressing, circling, still stroking himself, indulging in her shudders, the jerking of her legs as she she climbs to her climax.

He wants it at the same time. Wants to paint her pussy with his cum when she explode into hers, wants to do it together. As he gets close, he works both himself and her furiously, waiting for that moment when her muscles will go rigid and her pussy will flutter.

When it hits, he follows, white spend shooting up over her belly to her breasts, almost too much to be believed. It’s a mess, really, and he doesn’t want to leave her like this. Too obvious.

He takes his time licking her clean, filling his mouth with his own cum, holding it against his teeth, under and over his tongue. He breathes through his nose until he’s satisfied he got it all, and then sticks a thumb between her teeth, prying her jaw wide-

so he can spit it, drool it, into her unsuspecting mouth, letting it drip to the back of her throat, white sticky load of spit and cum coating her tonsils, her teeth, her tongue.

See you tomorrow.

[wesstars]

hot tea

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: your addams just really needs some physical contact :) wc: 737 tags: established relationship. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters involved are 18+. ooc wednesday. idk something about tooth rotting fluff a/n: first wednesday drabble wednesday, in collaboration with @evilrawr! fluff has been requested by @melrodrigo. still not my strong suit but we’re going for it anyway. 

masterlist

Steam rose from the warm mug that you carefully wrapped Wednesday’s fingers around, but the heated ceramic was nothing compared to the searing lance of your grasp around her wrist. She watched as you settled yourself down on bended knee in front of her, respectfully pulling back your hands. Her own twitched, minutely. 

It hadn’t been that difficult to come knock on your door, 10 minutes before curfew was over. Wednesday knew you’d be there in your dorm, making something absurdly sweet with your—respectably contraband—electric kettle. You’d stepped aside to wordlessly let her in, and she’d taken her usual seat at the foot of your bed. Strewn around were your day’s assignments, a jacket or two, and she wrinkled her nose at the mess. Your lamps cast a gentle candle-eseque light across everything, blurring every sharp edge. The exact reason why she was in your room, well…

“Long day?” Your gaze was inquisitive but warm, as always. Wednesday watched you, taking in your socked feet and soft pants. Then, she did the Wednesday Addams equivalent of what might be considered a frustrated huff from Enid, or a desolate sigh from you: she looked away first.

The reaction was immediate, she noted absently. You tried to catch her gaze again, the slope of your shoulders and the wring of your fingers imploring her to look back at you. “Weds… talk to me?”

She took a slow sip from the mug, avoiding your eyes. To tell the truth, Wednesday was busy aching in the way that she wished you’d reach across the sea between your knee and hers. Her intense feelings were something that she typically kept locked away, not just with the protection of a key, but with a castle moat, bolted doors, and plenty of booby traps. Inside that cage lay other previously dormant feelings, ones that you managed to pull out, sharp knife to soft underbelly, with startling ease. Wednesday set her mug down on the floor, cocking her head at you. Often she’d feel a baser, visceral urge to blurt out whatever thought she had to you. Restraint was becoming more and more difficult, the more you seemed to flay yourself open in front of her for a perusal akin to autopsy.

There was a muffled thump as you got up just a bit to shift from your kneeling posture, and Wednesday couldn’t take it anymore.

She grabbed the collar of your shirt, pulling tightly until you were about nose to nose. Her mind knew that your actual body temperature wasn’t that high, even lower than the average, but her cold heart felt the bone-deep bonfire of your proximity as your hands slammed into the bed next to her thighs, preventing you from tumbling into her. You took a sharp breath, a fateful one, as it seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room, leaving Wednesday blissfully bereft of that life force. She didn’t need it, anyway; she was convinced she could sustain herself on the dilating of your pupils, the flickering of your eyes down to her lips.

“Come here.” Wednesday’s voice came out in a rasp, but she reasoned with herself—it was the best she could do after you yanked the air out of her still lungs. That ache of absence turned into a yawning chasm, reserve and restraint tumbling down into that eager maw. Her demand fell into that same ravine, eclipsed by the endless depth of darkness.

You stood from your position to sit on the bed as soon as the plea left her, and Wednesday was impressed at your speed. You pulled her into your arms not a beat later. Everything smelled like a faint mix of linen and honey, between your sweater and your tea, and something in it brought Wednesday’s world to a halt. The skin of your collar was warm against the tip of Wednesday’s nose, grounding like the nip of winter air. The two of you fell easily into your sheets, and Wednesday’s mind finally felt like it had found the smoking gun for the investigation. It settled like a content cat right in her diaphragm, making it easy to breathe you in.

“Is this what you wanted?” Your voice, already sleepy, sent vibrations down Wednesday’s spine. She hummed back, leaning her temple up against your shirt and letting her head fall onto your chest. You didn’t say a word more; you didn’t need to.

--

a/n cont'd: so... playing with words… what do we think :0

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[itsokbbygrl]

Just Stay.

- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story

For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡

Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)

WC: 4.6k

A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)

Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking. 

The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway. 

He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe. 

The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks. 

“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed. 

His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok. 

That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine. 

He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok. 

Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history. 

“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub. 

You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”

“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.

You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”

He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return. 

After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair. 

Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms. 

“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten. 

You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen. 

You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him. 

You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his. 

You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth. 

You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious. 

You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth. 

“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar. 

You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck. 

“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand. 

“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives. 

Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest. 

“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter. 

“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”

You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt. 

“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself. 

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered. 

“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that. 

You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that. 

In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled. 

“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork. 

“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in. 

The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry. 

“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”

You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”

“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze. 

You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him. 

Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”

Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”

Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan. 

Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you. 

“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”

“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it. 

“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”

And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else. 

thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[shewroteaworld]

PCOS

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

100 Follower Celebration Request: "🤨 + 'You’re braver than you think and more beautiful than you know.' "

Premise: You've been keeping a secret from your boyfriend. At the most inopportune time, it thrusts itself into the light. He doesn't have the reaction you feared.

Warnings: mentions of Criminal Minds--typical violence, mentions of nausea, discussions of chronic illness, mentions of poor self-esteem

Word count: approx. 3,000

When the unsub impaled you with the knife, you gasped awake.

You blinked open your eyes to pitch black darkness, a pulse of 200 beats per minute, a stomach frothing with queasiness, and cold skin sticky with sweat. 

Something velvety constricted your body like cling wrap. The suffocation was akin to being buried six feet under. Fortunately, the feather pillow cushioning your head and the soft foam squashed beneath your fingertips broke through your sleep-addled mind. 

It was only a nightmare. You were still laying in bed next to Aaron Hotcher.

Your breath caught, and you went rigor mortis still. Once A’s soft snoring reached you, you relaxed.

 Tiredly, you smiled at a ceiling you couldn’t see. You didn’t wake him. The last thing A needed after a horrifying case was to not only be woken before dawn but also be woken by his girlfriend gasping in terror. 

Your boyfriend of six months, Aaron, was an FBI supervisory special agent. As a civilian, there was plenty of work information to which you were not privy, especially if a case went south. Often, Aaron didn’t tell you where he flew for work. All you knew was, he’d be away for days. However, sometimes you’d know where Aaron was flying back from once the case was handled. Either, he could tell you once the target was apprehended or you found out via news report.

Based on the news reports from New Mexico that featured the BAU's media liaison, Jennifer Jareau, a cult leader ended his sadistic campaign with an AR-15 shootout and a murder-suicide that caught the state police completely off guard. The FBI caught the scent of his plan, but by the time they sniffed it out, they were 5 steps too far behind. Thankfully, Aaron nor any of his unit members died. 

Aaron returned to his DC brownstone to ceramic pans full of your best dishes— all piping hot— on his kitchen counter.  You made sure to prepare enough food to last him a couple weeks; emotionally trying work events and tons of paperwork were the perfect recipe for Aaron to not eat enough, and you weren’t going to make it easy for him. The past work weeks had been a whirlwind for you as well; you’d billed 15 plus hours every day for the past week to resuscitate a major merger on its deathbed. You set the last dirtied spoon on A’s drying rack two seconds before he unlocked his front door.   

Aaron left the details of his past case vague. He kept the details of his emotional state even vaguer. But you could tell in the extra tight grip of his hello hug that he was in need of grounding. You anchored him with a constant, comforting grip, on his calloused hands. You fed him your best mac and cheese; you even cut back on your beloved pepperjack for his spice sensitive taste buds. Later that evening, you took a soothing shower together and collapsed into bed. You broke your typical bedtime routine: instead of discussing the latest novel you’ve read or life realizations, you watched a so-bad-it's-good corporate soap and ripped it a part for its inaccuracies.  That’s when Aaron laughed for the first time since he came home. 

You were relieved you didn’t wake him. Even though food comas were “scientifically disproven,” a factoid Aaron passed on to you from his team's young genius, Doctor Spencer Reid, you hoped the welcome home dinner you made him helped sustain his deep sleep.

Your adrenal glands calmed. You closed your eyes, but, not a second later, you were rudely interrupted by a sharp pain three inches below your belly button--- right where the unsub stabbed you.

It was just a dream. With a quiet huff, you rolled onto your side and curled against Aaron’s back. 

That’s when you felt it— a tacky liquid sticking your satin pj pants to your thighs. A swell of nausea overtook you, and you feared it was not a byproduct of anxiety alone. 

Gingerly, you slid out of bed. With the nausea sliding up your esophagus and the sensation of the room spinning, it wouldn’t take Holmes to confirm the cause, but you refused to panic without irrefutable evidence.

Gently, you folded the covers back.  Not daring to turn on your phone flashlight, you tapped your home screen and raised the brightness. 

When you hovered the light over the bed sheet, deep red splotches of smeared period blood screamed against Aaron’s stark white sheets. 

Something deep and cold coiled in the pit of your stomach. You clicked your phone off. Carefully, you took a few steps back from the bed. 

Your stomach whirled. A shiver crawled up your spine. You hurriedly tiptoed across the carpet to Aaron’s ensuite. Even in your haste, you quietly shut the door behind you. As soon as the door was in its oak frame, you turned the lock.

You pulled the roots of your hair with an iron grip. Shit. Shit.

You collapsed onto the edge of Aaron’s bathtub. There was blood all over your pj bottoms. You stood in a panic. You looked back and, of course, in a matter of three seconds, you stained the white acrylic.

You went to his faucet and patted ice cold water on your cheeks. Get a grip. Stress would only make the inevitable worse. Why it was possible for your body to malfunction this severely, you’ll never understand. 

If you’d only been blessed with a normal body, one that menstruated on a timely schedule and didn’t come with a laundry list of ugly, graphic symptoms, tonight would be nothing more than a minor embarrassment.

The guilt for waking Aaron on tonight of all nights would be strong, but all you would have to do is tap him awake, apologize, and attack your blood splotches with a hydrogen peroxide–soaked cotton ball and the night would revert back to a typical night with your boyfriend.

You wished you were well enough to clean his sheets. Unfortunately, for you, it wasn't possible. You’d get even more nauseated. Or too lightheaded. You already felt sick when you woke up, which meant you were menstruating for a few hours. 

How did you not catch this? Your body at least has the decency of shooting some warning flares, and the new medication your OB/GYN prescribed three months ago was far from 100 percent effective at calming your PMS symptoms.

You ran a hand over your face and through your hair. You were two weeks early after billing unbelievable hours for that merger dispute. This was stress induced.

You forced a deep breath. You needed to find a way out of this.

Suddenly, your vision swam. With no other option, you sat on the stained portion of Aaron’s bathtub. You gripped your stomach as the pain twisted deeper into your abdomen. You hunched over yourself.

Tonight could not become Aaron’s baptism by fire into your PCOS. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He shouldn’t have to deal with all the baggage that comes when you experience the most natural thing in the world for a woman. 

The nausea crawled up your throat, and you forcefully swallowed it back with a groan.

You put your head in your hands. You didn’t bring enough pads. Or tampons. You didn’t have any anti-emetics. What if you got a migraine? What if you fainted and A woke to what appeared to be your corpse lying on his bathroom tile? 

Your spiral was interrupted by the man in question. “Honey?” Aaron called, voice strung. 

Before you could respond, he yelled. “Honey?!” 

You stood, and Aaron’s bathroom tilted on an axis. You barely managed to stumble to the doorway.

Fumbling, you unlocked the door just as Aaron reached the it. 

His brown eyes were wide blown and wild. You'd never seen that expression on him before. “Are you okay?” He held your forearms as if he were afraid you’d crumple with too harsh a touch.

“I saw the blood and I…” He swallowed. He scanned you from head to toe repeatedly. “I thought the worst.” He whispered. Your heart fell through the pit of your stomach to the soles of your feet. 

He cupped your cheeks. “Baby, you’re really off color. I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?” The blood stains on the back of your pants were out of his view.

“I’m not hurt, A.” You said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Your side of the bed is blood stained.” He said, his voice taking a sterner edge. 

“I’m on my monthly.” 

“Oh.” He released your arms. His cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, honey, I…” He ran his hands over his bedhead. “I should’ve…I jumped to conclusions.” He sounded shocked with himself.

“You’ve had a long day.” You whispered. “Give me a minute. I’ll clean.”

Suddenly, everything went blurry. Your muscles slacked, and your forehead dropped onto Aaron’s pectoral. 

A hand was back on your forearm, this time with a tighter grip. A calloused hand tapped your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Baby. Stay with me.”

Carefully, he walked you away from the door. “Sit.” Fully supporting your back, he sat you on the floor and leaned you against the bathtub. 

As soon as your back was fully supported, his ensuite regained color. You could take a deep breath again.

Aaron knelt in front of you. “Honey,” Aaron said, his stare piercing through yours. He stroked your hair out of your face. “I need you to be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

“I told you.” More accurately, you began to tell him. 

You shivered. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and stroked down your cheekbone.

“I don’t have a fever.” You insisted. “It’s just my monthly.”

 He pecked your forehead. He didn’t believe you. “Is it always this bad?” He asked with a mix of concern and skepticism. 

“Yes.” You sighed. “I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.” 

“PCOS?” He asked. 

You were shocked. “You know what that is?” 

He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.” 

“It can make my time of the month super severe.” Stubborn tears leaked from your eyes. You wiped your cheeks with the cuff of your pajama shirt. 

You were supposed to be the woman who kicked ass in the boy’s club of corporate law by day and kicked ass as the perfect girlfriend by night.

He was not supposed to see you trembling before him, huddled in pain. He was not supposed to see you on the verge of throwing up from period cramps when he almost died in a hail of bullets less than twelve hours ago. He was never supposed to see how weak you truly were. 

He took over wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Scale of 1 to 10—how bad is the pain?”

“Maybe an 8?” You said. It was a 9. If you could’ve managed without your head aching, you would’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. The one thing about dating a profiler is they always know when you’re fibbing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked. 

You sniffled. “About my condition or that I’m in pain?”

“I think those are a package deal.” He said gently.

You sighed. Your instinct was to lie, but you stopped yourself. Aaron could see right through you. He was one of the best behavioral analysts in the entire world. For the first leg of your relationship, you’d managed to avoid this confrontation which was a blessing in itself. 

“I didn’t want you to see how sick I get. How sick I am.” You toyed with the ends of your hair. “I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.” You whispered. 

His eyes softened. “Honey, you’re not weak because you have PCOS."

“There are months where I can’t even stand up.” You said, voice taught with tears.

“And that’s why I need to know." He smoothed your hair. "Have you been going through this every month by yourself?”

“Since I moved out of my mother’s place for undergrad, yeah.” You sniffled with a watery smirk. 

He wrapped an arm around your back, then hesitated. “Can I hug you?”

“Please.” You whispered

He pulled you into a hug. His hold was looser than normal, but his embrace still filled you with warmth from head to toe. 

“Darling, I love you so much.” Aaron said.  “I would never look down on you for this.”

“It’s just…I’m not used to….”

“Being this vulnerable.” Aaron finished sympathetically. 

You nod. “It’s just…I get so sick. It makes me so ugly.”

He shook his head. “Hey.” He made sure you were looking him in the eye. “You’re never ugly.”

You chuckled. “You’ll revisit that answer when you see me dry heaving at 3 in the morning.” You said, unpleasant nights resurfacing.

His lips don’t do so much as quirk upwards. Rather, he looked shattered. He squeezed your hands. “I won’t.”

“What can I do to help?” He pivoted.

“You can change the sheets.” You looked to the top corner of the ensuite door frame as more tears welled. “And go back to bed.”

“I won't ever leave you on the bathroom floor in pain, alone.”

“But you should.” You said. He cupped your cheeks with his homey hands. He gently pulled your chin back to level your gaze, but you resisted. 

“Why should I?” He asked.

“Because you’re tired. And I’m sick. And I’m broken. And there’s nothing you can do.” You make eye contact and immediately are wracked with full body sobs. 

Suddenly, every second of you’d spent building up your self-esteem went out the window as your deepest insecurities broke through. You were never supposed to be a burden to him. 

He pulled you into chest and wrapped you in his arms..“Helping you when you’re sick is never a burden. I love you so much.”

“What if you get tired of me?” What if this made him stop loving you?

“I won’t.” He promised. 

He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “We’ll return to this conversation when you’re feeling better.” He stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “What helps? Do you have medication?”

“I have daily medication. I’m still working with my doctor to get a regimine that works.” You wiped your eyes. “Heat helps. I drink this peppermint tea to help my stomach when I’m at home.” You rambled.

“The one by that British brand?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“When I saw their tea in your apartment, I bought some to keep here. I might have some peppermint. I’ll be back, honey.” He left you with a kiss on the cheek.

The tailoring he did to his world to accommodate you would never cease to flutter your heart.

The pleasant moment was quickly halted by your stomach bubbling. 

As A’s slippers padded down the stairs, you crawled across the tile floor over to the toilet. You forced your head between your knees.

About ten minutes later, you heard the clack of his slippers against the bathroom floor. “Nauseous?” He asked.

You nodded. 

He sat the mug close to you. “Your tea to your left within arm's reach. I’m going to grab some blankets and pillows. I’ll be right back. Shout if you need something.”

You learned by “some blankets and pillows” Aaron meant an entire blanket set. 

As you leaned your head back against the wall, Aaron began prepping your makeshift bed. In your peripheral vision, you laid pillows as floor cushioning.

“I won’t judge you if you go to sleep in bed. This gets ugly.”

“Baby, I’m an FBI agent for the BAU. Even if you threw up on me, it wouldn’t make the list of the top fifty gross things I’ve experienced by miles.” 

You scooched onto a pillow. Aaron slipped the blankets around you.

Your head found the soft crook of his neck. He pressed his head onto yours, and the pressure instantly relaxed you. Unfortunately, your your uterine muscles corkscrewed. You squirmed in pain.

Aaron shushed you. “You need to breathe. This will pass, just breathe.”

You clasped his hand like a lifeline. What feels like hours later, when the pain begins to ebb away, you pant, “It’s alright if you need to go to sleep.” Aaron already relayed his plans to go into the office on Saturday morning to attack some dense paperwork. 

He placed his free hand overtop of yours. “You will always be a priority for me. I hope I’ve shown you by now that I will always take care of you.”

You smiled into his shoulder. 

“Also, the heating pad is charging in the bedroom, and, before you ask about the sheets, they’re already in the wash.”

You sighed in happiness. “I could kiss you right now.” 

“What’s stopping you?” Gently, he pressed his lips to the top of your forehead.

You smiled again. You could count on your hand the number of times you’d smiled when you’re like this: on the bathroom floor, nauseous and dizzy.

You squeezed his knee with your free hand. “You promise you’ll stay with me?”

“Of course I’ll stay with you. I love you. And, just for the record…this may be tough, but you're not ugly and you're not weak. You're braver than you think and more beautiful than you know. I'm grateful to be the one holding you through this."

In the coming days, you’re certain you’ll have a laundry list of next steps from your boyfriend: call your doctor, check in with a dietitian, monitor stress, anything he could think of to lessen these symptoms. He’ll probably want to talk more about why you didn’t tell him sooner.

But, for now, you're both satisfied with sitting on the bathroom floor and riding this out. And in a moment where the pain could split you in pieces, you somehow felt whole. 

Author's Note: I'm happy to say the 100 follower celebration fics are finally going live!

I hope you're having a good day or night! Thanks for taking the time to read my work! And, to anyone struggling with a condition similar to the reader's: you, too, are braver than you think and more beautiful than you know!

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

[yesimwriting]

pleaseee write smth about that fight between Felix and reader

a/n i've been thinking about this scene for days so when i saw this ask i got so hyped

warnings: reader being AFAB/female is plot relevant (reader's father has always wanted a son), implied emotional/financial parental abuse (not described in too much detail), potentially inaccurate portrayal of early-ish 2000's phones bc i was a toddler during their oxford era, hurt/comfort

we're getting into reader's background!!

itallic texts = from felix, bold texts = from reader

There's a scratch embedded into the dark mahogany. It's small, no wider than something you could make with your finger nail.

"How's your food?"

Your attention shifts towards the ceramic plate that's almost covering the dining table's only blemish. "It's good," you mumble with a slight nod, fork instinctually jabbing at a piece of food without you even looking at it. "Yours?"

"Great," he hums casually, cutting into his steak. "Part of the reason I picked this hotel is because of the restaurant. The visiting chef's a guy that I met in New York when he was looking into financing an international expansion of his franchise."

You bring your utensil to your lips. "That's cool, daddy."

The comment only strengthens the question that's been silently ebbing at your mind since your father first suggested lunch. Why did he order room service instead of taking you to the hotel's restaurant? Your dad has always loved the ambiance, the leisure of sitting in a nice restaurant.

"Is that why you're in town?" You reach for your glass, taking a sip of your drink before continuing. "To finalize something with the chef?"

He sets down his knife. "That and a few other business arrangements that needed to be checked on." He pauses, shoulders relaxing. "And to see you, too, Ace. It feels like it's been awhile since we talked."

Your lips quirk into what's almost a smile. When your father called to let you know that he'd be staying near Oxford for work and that he wanted you to visit, you had been apprehensive at first. Your mother was cautiously supportive of the idea.

Things with your father have been relatively stable recently. He liked the way no university seemed off limits to you with your grades and extracurriculars. He loved the idea of a daughter studying abroad at Oxford (which, is part of the reason you seriously considered Princeton for some time). And he's been drinking less. Part of that whole reborn, second marriage to a late-20-something methodist thing.

"Yeah, dad," you agree, as sincerely as you can manage, "It's been awhile."

"You know I'm friends with one of your deans." He doesn't give you a chance to reply. "We had coffee together, and he told me you're on track to finish in the top 10%." Rumors about the top percentages had been circling around Oxford for the past month. Still, it's relieving to know. "Congratulations, Ace."

This time, your smile meets your eyes. "Thanks."

He smiles, a flash of something practiced and charming. "When I get home, the first thing I'm doing is picking out a gift to send to you."

"If you need time, you can always wait and give it to me over the summer."

The infamous summer. Your mother is going to be spending most of the summer volunteering for an organization that brings counseling to children that have survived traumatic experiences but can't affording therapy. Your father suggested that you stay with him for a little while so that you wouldn't have to spend an entire two months in an empty house.

He stretches an arm like he wants to pick up his fork, but decides against it. "I--I want to tell you something." His tone is softer now, almost hesitant. "But you have to promise not to cry."

You try to swallow around the lump in your throat, body familiar with the command. "Okay?"

"I don't know if this summer's going to work out the way we talked about." He taps his fingers against the surface of the table. Your eyes lock on the scratch marring the wood. "Things have gotten complicated."

"Complicated?"

Your father sighs. "I'm sure you've noticed Christine's not here." You can't bring yourself to react at the mention of your step-mother's name. "She isn't in--she isn't in the best condition to travel." The tapping continues. "Christine's pregnant. She's due in early June, and she isn't having an easy time. I think it'd be best to not do anything that could potentially be stressful."

Oh.

"It's a boy."

Oh. A boy. With his perfect wife, in his perfect penthouse on the Upper East Side. Of course. Of fucking course.

You can't breathe right or thing of the way you're supposed to react. All you can do is stare at the scratch. At the only thing that indicates that anything bad has ever happened to the table.

"You promised you wouldn't cry." The words feel far. "You look too much like your mother when you cry."

That seems to force you back to earth. Any and all reminders of your mother must be eradicated in his presence. "I know. I'm not going to cry." You blink once, hand moving to wipe away tears you refuse to let spill. "Congratulations."

He's quiet for a moment, pressing his lips together, before finally settling on a perfunctory, "Thank you." After a beat of silence, he continues, "Were you planning on staying tonight? I was thinking of flying back early, but I can--"

"Oh, no," you shake your head once, "I actually have a lot of homework, so it's probably better for me to get back."

Your father nods, "Always the academic, Ace." He pushes his seat back. "If you're done eating, I can walk you to the lobby and have my driver take you back."

"Yeah," you push back your own seat and stand, "Sounds good."

The two of you reach the front doors of the suite. "Hey," your father starts, "Why don't you travel this summer? That's all I did during college breaks. I'll pay so you can do it up right. You should go somewhere with a friend. Paris, maybe. You two always had fun as kids."

You nod once, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, daddy, I'll ask Paris about what she's doing this summer."

"Good." He pauses at the door, reaching into the pocket of his slacks. He pulls out his wallet and counts out a few bills. "Here. A pre-gift." You hesitate. "C'mon, top 10%."

Your mother's voice rings in your ears. He won't change, you might as well take the money. You stretch out a hand, forcing a smile as you take the cash. "Thanks."

----

Stupid. You're so fucking stupid.

You really thought you'd be there all weekend. You really thought Christine would let you into her home for longer than a day or two.

And the pregnancy thing? That--that's going to get back to your mom in one way or another if you don't tell her. And hearing that, hearing that your dad's finally getting his son is going to kill her.

It's all you've been thinking about since you got back yesterday afternoon. After mumbling a halfhearted explanation to your roommate, you changed into some pajama shorts and a giant T-shirt that you only realized was Felix's after the fact and crawled into bed. You've moved as little as possible since.

Something near the foot of your bed buzzes, snapping you back to the present. You flip the phone open, immediately noticing three text notifications. From Felix.

hope ur weekend's going better than mine

lovie

i feel abandoned

Despite your angst, you smile to yourself before sending a response: it's been one day.

After a minute, there's another text on your screen: so it's a crime to miss u. You roll your eyes, fondness pooling in your stomach. how are u doing.

The second question, though sincere, forces you to spiral. You want to be honest. You don't lie to Felix and he doesn't lie to you.

But, everything comes with exceptions, and making sure no one finds out how tense things actually are with your dad is yours. Before you two got close, it felt too private, and once you finally did, a few comments from Felix's friends made you feel like the worst thing you could do for your friendship was let him see any kind of darkness.

It's not that he'd judge you, he'd just want to help you so badly that it'd take over everything else. Farleigh's made it clear that Felix loves a charity case. And you don't want to be that. You won't let your dad take that from you, either.

You want to say that you're fine, maybe text a comment about things being a little awkward because it's no secret that your mom took care of you after the divorce. But lying about being on campus feels like something that could easily morph into something else.

Felix, who actually has enough of a social life to pull sleazy moves like that never has. i'm sick. came home early.

ur back!

why didn't u tell me

i'm sick, can't hang out

are u ok

do u need anything

Guilt prods at you. You've been texting him on and off since yesterday and never mentioned that you came back early. Felix is always so good to you. But, you're in no place to see him. no just need rest

You shut your phone. You're not sure that saying you're sick is enough to keep Felix away all weekend, but it could be enough to keep him away tonight. It's Saturday night. He'll have plans.

And tomorrow, you'll feel better. More stable.

"I have some time before I'm supposed to go to Jake's. I stole some bread from the dining hall." Nadia's offer is gentle. "Do you want to go feed the ducks?"

You wipe at your face. "That's a really nice offer, Nadia, but I'm feeling a little sick. Maybe when you get back?"

She frowns. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," you mumble, "I just need some sleep."

"You've been sleeping on and off since yesterday afternoon." Nadia hesitates, eyes darting towards the bathroom. She does need to start getting ready for her date. "Maybe you can call Felix later? It's Saturday night, you know there's some terribly exclusive, not meant for any of us ordinaries party he's dying to take you to."

The attempt at humor is enough to get you to roll onto your side. "Since when do you like Felix?"

To be fair, Nadia's never disliked Felix. Before you became friends with him, she had a bit of a crush on him in that way that all freshmen girls at Oxford do. After you started hanging out with him all the time, that crush turned into an awareness that fueled her worry. She's always implied her concern that he'd eventually hurt you.

"I've never not liked him," she mumbles, "I was just scared he'd break your heart, but, the last couple of times he's come over...something about the way he looks at you."

"So you finally accepted we're just friends?"

She walks towards the bathroom, "Didn't say that."

You roll your eyes, letting yourself rest on your back. You shut your eyes, trying to force out any thoughts of the outside world as you drift off.

The familiar creek of the hinges of your room's door pulls you back to reality slowly.

"Took you long enough." Nadia's voice. "All she does is sleep and mope. She didn't even want to go feed the ducks today."

"She loves feeding the ducks." Another familiar, much more moving voice. You manage to move, wiping at your eyes as you sit up.

"I know!"

You finally sit up, blinking your eyes as your vision adjusts. Felix. He's standing in near the foot of your bed. "Felix--I-I told you I'm fine. Just a little sick."

"Nadia called and told me the opposite."

You turn your head to glare at you roommate, who doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "You stole my phone and called him?"

"I had to," she defends. "All you do is sleep and cry, and you've been like this since you came back yesterday."

Felix's expression drops as soon as the final word comes out. Your eyes widen, head shaking as subtly as possible as if a too late warning will erase the sentence from existence.

"Wait," his voice is softer than you've ever heard it, "You've been back since yesterday and you didn't tell me?"

You swallow, unable to look away from Felix.

"I--I have to go." Nadia's announcement breaks through the stiff silence. "I'll be back sometime tomorrow, so um..." She turns away, swinging an overnight bag over her shoulder before disappearing out the door. You can't blame her for running out as soon as possible.

"Felix," your voice is low, gravely, "Darling."

"Don't." His eyebrows pinch together, sadness tinging his expression. It doesn't fit him. "Why--why wouldn't you tell me you were here?"

You sit up a little straighter, wiping at your eyes with the back of your palm. "I told you I'm sick. I'm not up for anything right now."

Felix is still watching you with that kicked puppy look. "That doesn't--" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "You know I don't care if you don't want to do anything. We can--we can just sit or-or talk, or read or--do nothing." Felix presses his lips together, "I thought you knew that."

You know he's right, and that makes it harder to look at him. Felix would have been a sweetheart about it. He would have let you mope, cry even, and he would've spent the entire time holding you. It should have been easy to tell Felix, instinctual...and yet...

Your eyes briefly shut. "I do." The admission's painful to get out. Some of your hesitation was over the way Felix reacts to tragedy, but the rest is something more personal. Telling Felix would have solidified it. Would have made that label of 'abandoned child' that you've always been so wary about permanent. "It's more than that."

"Then what is it?"

Sighing, you push yourself to the edge of your bed. "My head hurts, I need a Tylenol."

Your words and movements are drowsy as you push yourself to stand. Felix takes a partial step forward before forcing himself to freeze into place. It's hard not to help you.

"Then what is it?"

You push open the bathroom door. "I don't--I don't know." It's a weak attempt at dismissing the conversation before things go to a place that you can't handle right now. "I couldn't get the words out." Still can't.

You find the pill bottle you were looking for on the bathroom counter and start working at twisting off the childproof cap. "We tell each other everything eventually." His voice is dry, almost hesitant. "At least, I do. We trust each other."

Your eyes shut as you sigh, fingers briefly releasing the top of the bottle. "Maybe that's not trust. Maybe that's your life being so perfect there's nothing you need to keep secret."

The words come out in a rush, angry and sharp. Regret floods through you instantly. "I'm sorry."

"No." The syllable is hard. "No. You're not. Don't do that. Don't--don't start saying what you think I need to hear--or keeping in what you think I don't." There's a concerned anger there, an unfitting combination that you don't have the energy to decode. "What could be so bad you can't tell me? We know about Ollie's parents and that didn't change anything, did it?"

Actually, things did change a little. Oliver's broken home life seemed to only make Felix want to pull Oliver into his world even more. You hate thinking it, because it's insensitive and a little mean, but of course Oliver was willing to give Felix all the gritty details.

After the initial implications came out, Felix devoured them with the same silver spoon that was placed in his mouth at birth. In a way, Felix's desire to fix and ease pain brought them closer together. And it probably means more to Oliver coming from Felix than anyone else.

But your relationship with Felix is different. You don't want sadness and coddling to be what makes you feel certain in your bond with Felix. You want things to stay the same. You don't want to give your dad anyway to change one of the most important connections in your life.

"You have a big heart, Felix, and I love that about you." Your hand reaches for the Tylenol again. "But I don't want you helping me to become all that I am to you. I don't want to be a charity case." You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing at your wording. "And--and I'm not trying to say that Ollie's just a charity case, it's that--some stuff Farleigh's said and--" Tears are pricking the edge of your vision.

"You're more than that," he scoffs the words out like it's ridiculous he even has to say that, "Of course you're more than that, I thought you knew." He scoffs. "I--I don't just wait around for people."

You scoff, the sound almost a bitter laugh. "Oh--so now it's not about trust, it's about your ego. That I don't just sit around next to my phone, waiting for the Felix Catton to call me."

Felix takes a step forward, "It's not about that!" You raise your eyebrows, uncertainty leaving you frozen. Felix has never yelled at you before. "...It's not about that," he repeats, voice a more acceptable volume. He takes another step forward, his fingers finding your forearm. "You know how I meant it."

There's a tension in the way he's touching your arm. It's nothing harsh, if anything it's almost too soft. Hesitant. He's watching you with an intensity that pins you into place more than his actual hold.

You wouldn't be surprised by his anger, you're not even sure you'd be able to blame him for it, but that's not what you see when you look at him. You can't exactly read the look behind his eyes, but something about it reminds you of Nadia's earlier comment.

It's heavy. Too heavy for you to think about tonight. That's how Felix is. He's intense. All consuming. When all you do is blink at him, he lets go of your arm.

"Felix."

His eyes dart towards the ground, body angling itself away from you.

It's subtle, and not a direct dismissal, but after everything that's already happened, it's enough to serve as a final nail hammered into your chest. "I don't want things to change between us." You sigh, finally getting the pill bottle's lid to pop off. "Because I'm fine."

You force a smile, but there's a tightness to your features that makes it feel like a grimace. "It's not a big deal. So my dad asked me not to come home this summer, because his wife's pregnant and he doesn't want to 'stress her out'. I'm fine." You can feel the tears welling in your eyes. "Y'know it's a b-oy." Your voice cracks on the last word, a laugh or maybe a sob interrupting the single syllable. "So um...good for him, he's finally getting his son."

Felix is watching you cautiously, expression not quite sympathetic, but not relaxed either. "Oh my god, I have to tell my mom. And it--it's going to kill her." You gasp the words like the realization's just hit you, even though it's been on your mind since the beginning. "I don't know why I said that like I'm surprised--because I--" You laugh, the sound shrill and uneasy, "But it's whatever. I'm fine."

You nod once, as if that'll be enough to make you feel fine. Another sound comes out, this one a lot closer to a whimper. "I'm fine. I don't know why I'm being so dramatic. I'm fine. I'm--" You squeeze your arms around your waist, supporting yourself the way Felix usually would.

You're crying openly now, tears blinding you. This is pathetic. You need to get it together.

You're pulled forward with no warning, your body hitting something solid and warm. Felix.

His arms around you, firm and supportive. It's surprising enough to force a full breath of air into your lungs. For a moment, all there is Felix. You inhale again, and again, doing your best to hold the air in your lungs.

Felix's hand smooths circles against your back. He whispers soothing words that you can barely make out. Between that and the even rhythm of his heart, you manage to ground yourself.

"You don't have to be nice to me right now," you mumble into his shirt. "I was really mean to you."

He continues to trace patterns against your spine. "We don't have to talk about that right now."

"I know," you whisper, "I just--I don't want you to feel like you can't be mad at me."

He gently smooths your hair away from your face. "Can I be mad from right here?"

"Yeah." You sniffle once, letting your chin press into his chest so that you can look up at him. "If you want to."

"Then okay," he mumbles, knuckles running up and down the length of your spine, "I'll be mad from right here."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

[mochinomnoms]

i remember once i almost made a project about mushrooms for school but in the end chose to do one about frogs. THE POINT IS, imagine yuu actually being a fan of mushrooms but being lowkey about it and mentioning doing a project about them in a passing conversation and ptm jade just knowing he chose the right mate

Fun fact mushrooms actually scare me they look too much like flesh and feel weird and i also don't like those hyperlapse videos of them growing because it looks like flesh but i like the aesthetic of mushrooms and of course jade so i must suffer. Also this is the mug mentioned in the story, I own it!

Epel was carving an apple for Sebek into the shape of a dragon, as Sebek was still fascinated at Epel's skill, and Epel was happy to show off when asked. And an apple was a healthy treat to go with lunch, one that Vil had allowed and that Sebek approved for himself as a part of a knight's ideal lunch.

“Don't forget the horns!” Sebek pointed as Epel started the head, the latter huffing and kicking at his friend's leg.

“I know! I'm trying to be careful so it doesn't break!”

A comfortable silence resumed as they both focused on the knife slicing through the apple like butter.

“Epel! Sebek!” Both jumped, Epel letting out a choked yelped as he noticed his knife dig deeper than he intended. Both sighed in relief as he carefully slid his knife out with the start of the horns still intact.

“Aaah! Prefect!” Epel growled, turning towards you as you sat across the table from him with a bundle of paper in your hands.

“Don't scare me like that! I almost broke the horn!”

You smiled apologetically and winced as Sebek laid into you.

“Indeed! You of all people should no better than to interrupt Epel as he carves the Young Lord's image!”

You perked, leaning over to see Epel's progress. He'd carved out the basic shape of a dragon's body and wings, and had been working on the head and horns.

“Oh, is it Malleus's dragon form? Aaaa! That's so cool that you can do that Epel—oh wait! I wanted to show you something!”

You excitedly, yet very carefully, set down the pile of paper in your hands. The two realized that there was something in it as you unwrapped the paper. Practically vibrating, you picked up the ceramic item in the palm of your hands and presented it to them.

“Ta-da! It's a mushroom!” True to your word, in your hands was a ceramic mushroom. The base white with ridges and a handle like a mug, and the top a bright red with white spots.

“But, not just a mushroom. It's also…a mug!” You grab the red top of the mushroom and simply picked it up to show it off.

Like a child with a new toy, you kept placing the top back on and back off, looking at the two for a reaction.

“Really?” Unfortunately, Epel was less than amused.

“What? It's cool!”

Sebek shook his head in disapproval, resuming watching Epel as he started back on the dragon's head.

“It's a mug that looks like a mushroom, how is that exactly impressive?”

A soft whine left your throat as you pouted, cradling the mug to your chest.

“It's just cool, it looks like a fly agaric mushroom! Sam had other ones too!” You took out your phone and started swiping to your photos. “This one looks like a crimini mushroom, this one is just a green one, but it's still cool! And all their tops can be removed, aaaand Sam was selling mushroom coffee to go along with it—”

“Isn't one of the Leech brothers known for his fascination with fungi?” Sebek asked exasperatedly. “Which one was it?”

“Jade.” Epel answered, pausing to look at you from the corner of his eye and smirked. “Why don't you go show off to your boyf—”

“Shut up!” You crush some of the paper in your hands and toss it at his head. Epel softly giggled as it bounced off his head.

“I'm just teasin', besides he'd probably be more than happy to hear you rant about mushrooms. You do it all the time.”

You crossed your arms, huffing, “But I want to tell you guys, you're my friends!”

An evil smirk appeared on your lips, before quickly disappearing as you made a sad face.

“You know Sebek, Malleus would listen to me talk about mushrooms all the time.”

A wistful sigh left your mouth as you continued. “I would listen to him talk about gargoyles, and he would listen to me about mushrooms. He loved it too, he'd be so sad to know that no one is listening to his friend as attentively as he did.”

Epel rolled his eyes, watching as Sebek paled and internally panic. He kept focusing on his carved, counting under his breath.

“3, 2, 1…”

“Tell me all about your strange mushroom mug and drink! If just for the Young Master's sake!”

You brighten and smiled, immediately going on a tangent about the coffee you found at Sam's.

Unbeknownst to you, Jade at a nearby table had been listening in, smiling in bliss as you described the benefits of reishi mushrooms in place of espresso.

“What are you smiling about, Jade?” Floyd asked, popping a shrimp tempura into his mouth.

Jade sighed, twirling his pasta onto his fork. “Nothing in particular…”

“Just thinking about my pearl, and how wonderful they are…”

It was a good thing most students steered clear of their table, otherwise there would be a wild amount of rumor about who his 'pearl' was.

Floyd peered over Jade's shoulder, watching as you animatedly waved your hands about.

“Hmm? What are they talking about?”

“Mushrooms~”

Floyd cringed at his brother, both because of the mention of mushrooms, and the lovesick look on his face.

“You're both so fucking weird, match made in heaven I guess.”

[walkingzombiegirl]

hii can i request a fic with bakugo and reader cooking together?

━ 𝙔𝙪𝙢 𝙔𝙪𝙢 𝙔𝙪𝙘𝙠

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 - You can't cook however that's (mostly) okay with your boyfriend whose here to help. And make fun of your awful skills. 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - cursing 𝗲𝘅𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘀 - ❤️

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

His back faced the living room, head hunched over the stove all while he muttered nonsense you couldn't seem to hear. The room wafted of burnt food and sadness, your nose twitching at the stream of smoke finding it's way out the window above the sink. And all you could do was watch with a pout.

"I didn't mean it..." You mumbled, trying your best to peak around his broad back and see the horrid monster that he was scraping off the pan. "I know." He stated, his tone seemingly unreadable. It made your stomach fall so far you almost tumbled off your chair.

"I'm sorry." He whipped around, holding up the blackened pan which the soon burnt piece of depression fell out of and plopped onto the ceramic floor.

"This is art, what are you talking about?"

You stared at him, blinking in the dead silence of the kitchen for a few beats. The stove vent groaning behind your curious confusion.

"Art?"

"Nobody I know has ever burnt a piece of spam quite like whatever the hell that thing is." He pointed to it like a child would a bug, your face forming into one of petty annoyance. You scoffed. "It isn't that bad."

Both your heads turned down to look at the most unrecognizable piece of ash that sat sadly on the ground.

"Okay... it's that bad. I only walked away for a second!" He raised an accusatory eyebrow, a sassy tone as he spoke, "That fucking phone, you were too busy shitting to make us dinner." "I was not! I was peeing you asshat, give me that pan!"

He moved it away, shaking his head as you got up from your chair.

"Oh no goblin hands, you're not touching this even if you beg." You paused, tilting your head. "Is begging an option?" His crimson eyes bored into yours, his jaw clenching. "Don't tease. I'm hungry." You let out a groan, glancing down at the sad chunk of spam. "Can we at least cook together then?"

He seemed to think about it, giving up with a breath and walking to place the pan in the sink, turning the faucet on.

"Sweep that sad thing up and I might let you stir something." The broom was in your hand within a few seconds, a string of curses falling from your lips as he bit a smile back from crossing his mouth. His head tilted ever so slightly so he could watch you mean mug the poor crusted piece of food.

"Can I do the vegetables? Veggies are easy." He turned to you, giving to the sassiest eyebrow lift he could muster. "What?" "Hand me a knife." You asked, leaning towards them. "In your dreams babe." He pushed the block of sharp utensils before you could snatch one, a glare being shot his way.

"Fine then... the rice?" He nodded. "Realistic." He again held a grin at your angry grumbles all the way to the bag of rice, then listened to your stress grumbles as you picked it up.

"Am I a bad housegirlfriend?" He sputtered in response to you, eyeing your face as you poured the rice into the cooker. "What the fuck does that mean?" "Am I a bad housegirlfriend?" You questioned in a genuine tone, setting the bag down while pressing buttons. "Cause I can't cook."

"Oh. No. Just useless."

You scoffed watching him laugh at his own joke, blocking you from pinching his arm. The wooden spatula he was holding falling into the pan while he all but collapsed with his own ability to find himself hilarious.

"Take that back you shithead!" He wrestled against you, holding your arms against your body. "No take backsies." "No way you just said that."

You both nearly tumbled from losing your footing, food popping on the pan as he huffed and you attempted to pinch him away.

"Am I really useless?" He shook his head, kissing the side of your head while holding you up. "Eh, you're nice to look at." "You are insufferable. I can't believe you save people for a living." "I smolder them to life with my charm." He grinned, holding you from escaping his arms and taking off. "Great lord I think that face would scare me back to death."

He teetered his head back and forth, the smell of smoke entering the air that you both noticed almost immediatley. Heads slowly turning towards the stove that seemed to evilly grin back to you both.

"Kats... I think you burned the food."

"Shit."

[anyarose011]

The Most "Wonderful" Time of the Year {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Despite a nice trip to the art gallery and ice skating rink, sometimes, Andy Williams just gets it wrong.

Part 8 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, description of nudity (on art), suggestive conversations, minor sexual harassment, a father has issues, fighting, Reader has a knife, and ANGST.

Heyyy guys (senior year, once again, has been kicking my ass and I also started a new mini-series that should be done soon). Again, I'm so sorry for how long it took me to upload and write this, and I know this chapter is short, but I swear it's got good shit in it. It's also fitting to have more chapters around Christmas time since, you know, this be a Christmas movie (yes, Alexander Payne, this can be a standalone movie, but you set it during Christmas so....) Anywho, I hope you like it (and that it breaks your heart :)

Word Count: 5.5k

You hated to admit it, but you actually like history museums. Even though your father always dragged you to them from childhood to adulthood, you didn’t really mind them. Your father’s additional commentary only added to the experience as you walked through the Greek section. It didn’t really for Angus.

“Are we almost done?” He asked.

“Quit whining.” You reprimanded him.

“I’m not.”

Your father chuckled. “What’s your hurry? I thought you liked Antiquity?”

He sighed. “In class, maybe. But I never think about it unless I need to.”

Humming, your father pointed to a casing of ceramics behind you. “Here, what do you see?”

You and Angus turned. Of course, he said. “A bunch of pottery.”

“Look at that one.” He pointed.

You certainly weren’t expecting to see a man diving his dick into a woman as she bent over to pick something up on an ancient Grecian artifact, but there you were in the Boston Fine Arts Museum, jaw on the floor.

“Amy look, a Candy Cane!” Angus teased.

“I hate you.” Was all that managed to leave your lips.

Your father chuckled, shaking his head. “Children, there’s nothing new in human experience. Each generation thinks it invented debauchery or suffering or rebellion, but man’s every appetite and impulse, from the disgusting to the sublime, is on display right here, all around you.” He gestured around the room filled with art. “So, before you dismiss something as boring or irrelevant, remember that if you truly want to understand the present, or yourself, you must begin in the past. History is not merely the past; it’s an explanation of the present.”

Angus nodded. “See, when you say it that way, and throw in some pornography, it’s a lot easier to understand.”

Mr. Hunham glanced over at you, surprised at your lack of outburst. “You’re not going to comment on that?”

“No,” you shrugged. “porn helping men understanding things checks out.”

Angus snorted, turning back to the teacher. “You should try talking more and yelling less in class. You know, most of the kids pretty much hate you. Teachers, too. You know that, right?”

“Hey.” You glared at him as if to say, ‘Lay off’.

Your father nodded, obviously trying not to show the hurt that was apparent on his face. “Well, I appreciate your frequent candidness, Mr. Tully.”

“Sure…” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down.

It was then you realized another thing about Angus Tully that reminded you about yourself: You only noticed how horrible your words were as soon as you were done saying them.

The rest of your time at the art museum wasn’t as awkward as that entire scene, thankfully. The sun had completely set by the time you had exited, and the three of you made your way to the park. It almost made you laugh how quick Angus was to the booth to rent ice skates.

“Have you been ice skating before?” He asked as you both sat on the bench, tying up your skates.

“Once when I was eight, I think. You?”

“I played hockey until high school.” He finished tying his and stood. “And I go every chance I get when I’m in the city.”

“So, you should only fall if I push you, right?”

“Right.”

You smiled after double knotting your ice skates and approached the entrance to the rink. “My feet feel weird.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been skating for almost ten years.” He teased, walking past you and standing on the ice with ease.

Sighing, you took a step out and immediately started flailing. Still, the two of you laughed when you retreated back to solid ground. “Nope.”

Angus begged. “Come on.”

“Nuh uh, not going to do it.”

“Your dad paid a good two dollars for us to skate, and you’re going to waste it?” He joked.

“Two dollars doesn’t mean anything to my father if I’m dead!”

“You’re not going to die.”

“But-.”

He said your name with the right amount of sincerity and playfulness. “You can hold onto me. I’ll cushion you if you do fall.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you still held onto the side railing, but stepped out onto the ice. Taking a deep breath, you began walking.

“You don’t want to do that.” Angus skated by your side at your pace.

“I’m alright.” You struggled to say.

He scoffed, holding out his hand. “Yeah, I can tell. Come on.”

You stared down at it as if he had never touched you before. Still, you took it. You expected him to pull you out into the center and leave you there for dead (or try to figure out how to skate on your own), but instead, you stayed by the wall.

“Okay, you’re gonna want to lean forward, and just glide; don’t walk.” He explained, showing you.

“I’ll fall.”

“No, you won’t. Just trust me.”

Against what your nervous system was saying, you decided to. Leaning forward, you tried to copy him; and it worked for like a few seconds before you started tripping over your own feet. He caught you, of course.

“Hey, not bad!” He held you up so you could stand.

“I almost died.”

“You’re standing on your own though!” He backed away, and you still were. “That’s a good start.”

You wanted to fire a nasty retort at him, but you could only girlishly giggle. You don’t know how long you spent on that ice skating rink with him. Yes, there would be times when your feet would ache, or you’d be a mix of sweaty from the physical labor of skating and freezing from the cold, Massachusetts air. Yet, as you finally gathered your footing, you felt as if you could compete in the next Olympics.

You couldn’t, of course, but you sure had the confidence to do so.

And it was fun to laugh and talk with Angus. It always was, but it felt as if you were both on an actual date as you skated together. To everyone else on that ice rink, you were. When Angus had completely fallen onto the ice (you didn’t actually push him down, he fell on his own), pulling you down with him, you’d nearly forgotten that your father was chaperoning you two as you laughed.

After leaving the rink and taking your skates back, you walked up a set of stairs with your father and Angus, discussing where to go for dinner when-.

“Paul Hunham, is that you?!” A man and a woman approached the three of you with a gleeful look. “It’s Hugh. Hugh Cavanaugh.”

Your father’s face fell for just a moment before laughing. “Yes! Yes, of course. Wow, Hugh Cavanaugh. Oh, how are you, Hugh?”

“Oh God, what’s it been? Thirty years?” He turned to the woman beside him. “Oh, uh this is my wife, Karen. Honey, this is Paul Hunham; we went to Harvard together.”

She smiled, shaking his hand, then yours, then Angus’. “Hello.”

“Yes,” your dad nodded at Hugh’s comment. “yes we did. Uh, wow; what have you been up to, Hugh? Still in the area?”

“Oh, uh, yes-yes I’m still in Boston. Cambridge.”

“Harvard.” Karen said proudly. “He just got tenure, statistics. He won’t blow his own horn, I have to blow it for him.”

“Okay,” Hugh said to change the subject. “what about you, Paul?”

“Oh, still teaching, we have that in common.” He nodded. “History, ancient history.”

“That’s great, that’s great. Where?”

“Abroad mostly.” Your father lied through his teeth on each word. “On fellowships. Privately funded fellowships. Universities and private academies. Mostly fellowships, you know. I’m currently posted in Antwerp. Just back here for the holidays.”

“So, are these your kids?” He pointed to you and Angus.

“Well-.”

“-I’m his nephew, Laurie.” Angus cut in, then looked at you. “This is my cousin, Amy.”

Karen smiled. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Hugh squinted his eyes as if to see you more clearly. Then, he chuckled. “Paul, do you know who she looks like?”

Your father hummed. “I would hope me.”

It was weird to hear your mother’s full name come out of a stranger’s mouth. He went on. “Do you see it? Same nose, same hair; you are the spitting image of beauty, young lady.”

Snickering, you didn’t even think of thanking him. “I’ve been told I have more of her temper than her looks. Although, our mouths are the same.”

“I have no doubt.” He laughed. “Paul, do you remember that one time freshman year?”

“Oh yes!” Your father pretended to. “When she-it was that one time during Roman history when Nolan-.”

“-Wouldn’t call on her when she was the only one to raise her hand,” Hugh looked back at you as if you didn’t know the story from the set up. “so she fed all the boys in the room the wrong answers for the rest of the class!”

“Yep,” Mr. Hunham nodded. “even I fell victim to it.”

Hugh was the only one who had relatively been amused by the fable. “Never put you and her together.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

The group fell into a strange silence after that. Thank God for Angus Tully.

“He’s writing a book now.” He titled his head toward your father. “Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul.”

“My book.” Your father snickered, then immediately played it off. “It’s not a book, really. Just a monograph. Nothing special.”

You decided to jump in. “Don’t be so modest, dad. It’s about, uh, cameras, right? Ancient cameras?”

Hugh hummed, a quizzical look on his face.

“What she means, of course, is the camera obscura.” Your father explained. “You know, the optical and astronomical tool that dates back to, um, the time of Anaxagoras.

“Tell him the title, Uncle Paul.” Angus went back, and you masked your smile for one of curiosity and not at the misfortune of your father.

“He’s not interested, Laurie.”

Hugh smiled. “Sure, I am.”

Sighing, Paul Hunham said with the perfect amount of enthusiasm and disinterest. “Lights and Magic in the Ancient World.”

Hugh nodded before turning back to his wife, and then to your father, clasping his hand on his shoulder. “Well, Paul, I’m so glad you landed on your feet. You look swell.”

“You too. So, swell.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Amy.” He said to you.

Thinning your lips in a tight smile, you said. “Thanks.”

Him and Karen walked away hand in hand, but he turned over his shoulder. “And we’ll keep an eye out for your book, Paul. Won’t we, honey?”

 She nodded. Of course. Merry Christmas, Paul. Bye, Laurie and Amy.”

You all wished them ‘Merry Christmas’ as you three also left. Angus wasted no time turning to you.

“What the fuck just happened?!”

“You’re asking me?!” You matched him. “You sprung into ‘Tell them about your book, Uncle Paul!’, ‘What’s the title, Uncle Paul?’.”

“I had to think of something!”

Your father sighed. “I appreciated your efforts, but I would’ve been fine on my own.”

Rolling your eyes, you asked. “Can we get dinner now?”

“I need to pick something up from the liquor store first.”

Sighing overdramatically, you and Angus stumbled behind your father. That was when you looked at the boy beside you. “Also, Laurie and Amy? Really?”

“What? They’re like brother and sister. If I said you were Jo, then that would’ve been weird.”

Oh my god, he wasn’t even halfway through the book.

You wish you had a camera solely to capture the look on your father’s face as he turned over and stared at both of you. You wonder if that was when he found out about you and Angus.

Shaking your head, you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff as you said. “Unbelievable.”

“What do you mean ‘unbelievable’?” Angus questioned. “Jo and Laurie get married in the end, right?”

“Unbelievable.” You repeated but smiled this time.

“Right?!”

Your father sighed as you finally made it to the store. “Look, the fact of the matter is, what happened, happened, and we should just pretend it didn’t.”

Angus furrowed his brow as you all walked in. “I thought Barton men don’t lie. Don’t get me wrong, that was fun, but you just lied through your teeth.”

He held up his hand, not having it. “What I say during a private conversation is none of your goddamn business. You’re not to judge me.”

“It wasn’t a private conversation; your daughter and I were there. Besides, he brought her into it.”

“I’m right here.” You announced yourself.

“Why’d he ask if you landed on your feet?”

Your father glanced up from searching through the shelves. “What is this, Nuremberg?”

“You’re the hardass constantly telling everybody not to lie and going on about the honor code!”

Looking up at both of you, Paul Hunham sighed. “There was an incident at Harvard with my roommate.”

You gave him a look. “I’ve never heard this story before.”

“He accused me of copying from his senior thesis. Plagiarizing.”

“Well, did you?” Angus asked.

“No! He stole from me.” Your father relented. “But that blue-blooded prick’s family had allies on the faculty. I mean, their last name is on a library, so he accused me in order to sanitize his treachery. And they threw me out.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “you got kicked out for cheating?”

“No, I got kicked out of Harvard for hitting him.”

Angus asked. “You hit him? Like punched him out?”

“No, I hit him with a car.”

“You got kicked out of Harvard for hitting a guy with a car?!”

“By accident,” he approached the counter, talking to the cashier. “Pint of Jim Beam, please.”

You piped up, still in astonishment. “Mom said you left because your grandma was dying.”

“She was, it was just perfect timing to go and help take care of her.” He shrugged. “But my roommate broke three ribs. Which was technically his fault, because he shouldn’t have been in the road.

“Two dollars, please.” The cashier said.

Your father took his wallet out, continuing his story. “Also, he shat himself; which was the greatest indignity.”

The cashier handed him the wrapped-up bottle. “Here you go, killer.”

You couldn’t help your laughter at the sudden statement. As the three of you left and walked down the darkened, cold roads, Angus said.

“So, Mr. Hunham never even graduated college? Holy shit, you didn’t even finish up somewhere else? Who else knows?”

“Did mom even know about you hitting the guy?” You asked.

Your father nodded. “Of course she knew! She gave me an earful on the phone the first time she called me after I left. It was only Dr. Greene who knew it after that. He’d always believed in me, so he gave me a job. Adjunct faculty: zero respect and even less pay, so nobody batted an eye, and I’ve been at the school ever since.”

“Are you ashamed at how things turned out?” Angus questioned.

“Not at all. I’m proud of my work, I love history, I married the smartest and kindest woman on the planet, I helped raise a spitfire of a girl, I love Barton. Barton is my life now. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

“Then why did you lie to that guy?”

“Because I knew he’d relish the fact that I’m a washout and never left my own high school. And he’d probably repeat that story to everybody we used to know. So, I figured he’s not entitled to my story. I am. “

Angus nodded. “Yeah. Fuck that guy.”

“Exactly. Fuck that guy!”

“Fuck him, I hope his car slides on black ice and crashes into a lamp post.” You chimed in.

“Woah,” Angus gasped.

Your father said your name scoldingly.

“What?” You scoffed. “It was weird as hell when he talked to me about my mom like he knew me.”

“I’ll admit it was strange and unnecessary.” Your father tossed his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He looked at both you and Angus. “But you’ll keep this quiet, right? No one is to know.”

“Entre nous, sir.” Angus nodded. “Entre nous.”

Your father nodded then chuckled, poking you. “‘Ancient cameras’. Where’d the hell you come up with that?”

“I tried my best!” You whined. After the men ceased in their laughter, you then said. “Can we please get dinner now?”

“Alright, alright.” Your father snorted. “Where would you like to go for your absolutely atrocious food concoction?”

“South Street.”

“I figured.”

And that is where the three of you went. It shouldn’t have surprised you it was packed the day after Christmas, which was also a Saturday. It had to have been a miracle you managed to get in line only when it was starting to go out the door; a few minutes after you arrived, the line had started to curve around to the nearest streetlight.

The diner was filled with life once you got in; families pushing tables together, friends absolutely drunk off their asses laughing, even half of the staff seemed to be enjoying the sheer joy from others. Of course, a few were understandably stressed and annoyed from the number of customers and their behavior.

The three of you were soon sitting at a booth. When Angus sat close to the window, instead of sliding into the seat across from him, you took the one beside him. Leaving your father alone on the other side. To ordinary people, it perhaps didn’t mean anything; but you still felt as if it was a signal.

“I can’t believe they’re still playing Christmas music.” Your father grumbled as The Ronettes sang about a sleigh ride and he slipped off his jacket.

You giggled, copying him. “It was just yesterday.”

“I know, but still.”

“I like this song, thank you very much.”

He held up his menu as if to hide his disgust. You and the boy beside you chucked as Angus said. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“You don’t know if you have?” You asked.

“It feels familiar. Maybe when I was a kid?”

“We’d always come here when we’d visit Boston.” You looked at your father. “The owner gave me a free banana split when I turned twelve, he knew us so well, right?”

That managed to pull a laugh out of him. “That he did. If he’s here tonight maybe you could get a free dinner for us.”

You and Angus looked down at the menu before you, and soon enough, an exhausted waitress came by to take your drink orders and lay down silverware. Immediately, you asked for French fries and your favorite milkshake.

“There’s no way that’s going to be good.” Angus pointed out.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” You scoffed.

“That’s not faith, that’s fact.”

“What you’re speaking of is an opinion, not even a theory. If you ever want to make it in this world, I suggest you learn the different between those two before you can even begin to comprehend what an actual fact is.”

“And what is an actual fact?”

“You’re an idiot.”

He smirked despite the fact you insulted him. You also couldn’t hide your own smile. It was apparent from anyone in that room, it was not a smile of victory; it was one synonymous with the feeling inside of your chest as it felt like your own heart would burst forth like light.

Your father had felt this feeling before, so it was not lost on him.

“You seem awfully happy to have your entire statement dismantled, Mr. Tully.” He said to Angus.

The boy looked up, still with a smile but one not as euphoric. “I mean, I wasn’t that serious about it.”

“Oh, and I didn’t think you were. It just astounds me how close you two became in a matter of a few days.” He said. “Wasn’t it only yesterday you both were at each other’s throats?”

You stepped in. “No, that was the first few days, actually. I mean, we were the only kids at Barton after that, so it’s probably best we figured how to deal with each other. I guess we both liked some of the same things too, so that made it easier.”

“Yeah.” Angus nodded.

Your father straightened his gaze between the two of you, but then smiled, getting up from the booth. “I have to use the facilities; don’t go anywhere.”

“No papa,” you teased. “we’re going to go do a line of cocaine with the homeless man a few blocks away.”

“You know, I’m beginning to believe that you’re the bad influence on Mr. Tully and not the other way around.”

With that, he left the two of you by yourselves as he walked to the back of the diner. Once he was gone, you and Angus cackled to yourselves.

“Do you think he knows?” You asked, a hint of concern mixed in with delight.

“I don’t know, probably.” He shrugged, still chuckling. “Is that so bad?”

“I mean…I’ve never had a boyfriend before.” You admitted, smiling shyly.

Even though the rest of the diner was booming with Christmas music and leftover excitement from the holidays, it all fell silent between you two. The boy who was once radiated in the happiness you shared with him, now covered in a shroud of terror.

Well…in reality, he was alarmed, not terrified; yet, that is all you saw.

“Shit I-!” You realized what you had just said. “I didn’t mean-I mean, we don’t have to be together, I just meant that I’ve never had someone like me back when I’ve liked them, and even then, it didn’t happen very often-.”

“-Hey, hey.” He stopped you. “No, I’ve never had that happen either. I mean, I’ve been to all boys’ schools since I was fourteen. I think…yeah, I think I’d like to give it a try.”

“Really?” You felt the weight from your shoulders loosen as your face brightened.

He nodded, glowing with you. “Really.”

You glanced up at the bathroom door, and when there was no sight of your father, you took his face into your hands, pulling him into a kiss. It wasn’t as intense as your previous ones, but not as quick as the one you gave him outside the bookstore.

He pulled away first, and before you could say anything about it, you saw the waitress leave from the corner of your eye. She had brought the drinks, including your milkshake and fries. Turning back towards the table, you immediately picked up a fry and dipped it into the milkshake.

“Oh my god, you weren’t joking.” Angus said with no emotion behind it.

“I know I’m funny, but this I would not joke about.” You talked as you ate. “Try it.”

“No.”

“I’ll kiss you if you do.” You took another fry.

“You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“I’ll kiss you like how the French do.”

“You already do that.”

 “I’ll do something different.”

His eyes grew, and he huffed out a surprised laugh. “‘Something different’?”

“Yeah.” You dipped a third fry. “I don’t know what, but I’ll do it.”

 “Not that you have to, but fine I’ll try it.” Angus reached for a fry, then dipped it into your milkshake and ate it.

Angus’ face went through more arrays of emotions in a short time since you met him. You grinned from ear to ear. “Well?”

“Fuck off.” He tried to hide his smile as he took another fry.

“I’m sorry, what?” You taunted.

“It’s not the best-.”

“-I’m sorry, what?!” You repeated louder, and you both were talking over each other. “It sounds like-!”

“You don’t have to be so-!”

“It sounds like you actually like it!”

“You’re so loud.”

You finished with laughter, and then kissed his cheek. You returned to your milkshake and fries as Angus talked about something funny that happened back in the fall. You can’t remember what he said to this day, because a familiar voice entered your ears as it entered the diner.

Angus kept talking to you, but it was in one ear and out the other as you tried your best not to show your discomfort at the man who laughed a little louder than the rest of the people in the diner. When you thought Angus wasn’t paying attention, you glanced over your shoulder at the entrance.

There he stood; a man around the same age as your father with a woman perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than him, holding a baby on her hip, and clutching her seven-year-old daughter’s hand.

Despite what Andy Williams was singing from the jukebox, this was not the most wonderful time of the year.

Angus tapped your shoulder, and you drew your eyes away to look at him.

“Hey, I hate this song, I’m gonna go change it.” He said. You got out of the booth for him to stand, and once he did you sat back down. Only for him to then say. “Okay, scoot over.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Scoot over.”

“You didn’t even change the song.”

“I changed my mind, it’s not that bad.”

He was bullshitting you, but you scooted over anyway, and he sat beside you. “What’s going on?”

You scoffed. “You’re the one that got up and sat down again.”

“Is that guy Daniel?”

“Angus-.”

“-Tell me.”

“Is he bothering you?”

Both you and Angus looked and saw the man from the entrance stand before you with his hands in his pockets. You dropped your gaze.

“No, he’s not.”

You had no idea what you hated more that night: hearing a man you never met say your mother’s name, or hearing a man you knew too well say yours.

“If he is, just say the word and-.”

“-He’s not bothering me.” You hissed.

Angus slipped his hand into yours as you kept your eyes down, but he kept his trained on the man standing in front of him.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I just didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

You didn’t say anything, so Angus did.

“Could you go? She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He ignored him, still angling on you. “Look, sweetie, you don’t have to, and I get it if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you came and meet them. They’re all right here now; Carol, Maria, and Frankie. He just turned one last week-.”

“-Can you just fuck off?” You finally looked at him.

He tilted his head and raised his brows before looking at Angus. “Young man, could you give her and I some privacy-?”

“-No.”

The man looked at you, scoffing. “Jesus Christ, what’d you do to make him so fucking head over heels for you? Was that the issue just now between you two? Under the table action?”

Angus stood. “Fuck you, what’s your problem?”

You pulled on his sleeve, hissing his name and kneeling on top of your seat to try and get him to sit back down. The man continued to taunt him.

“My problem is that you don’t know what’s going on boy, and you’re being a little prick about all of this.”

“Get the fuck out of here or I’ll…”

“‘You’ll-you’ll what?’” He looked over at you. “I can’t tell if you picked the bravest or the stupidest kid to fool around with, Eurydice.”

You were always a strange child growing up. Perhaps it was that there are times in your life you picture music whenever a certain emotion arose within you.

As you heard him say that name, a name that you heard last when your mother was dying in her bed, a name that was only for her to use and her alone…You heard Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns.

You don’t even remember grabbing the stupid butter knife from your silverware, just raising it up above you and believing it would cause any harm. As Angus held you back, the man reached over you to grab your hair.

Chaos ensued for a moment in the diner as you cried out when he pulled the ribbon out of your hair, and both him and Angus engaged in a battle of expletives. Most of the diners held back and watched in shock, while only two of them came up. A man stood between him and Angus, and the wife of the yelling man pulled him away.

“Daniel, what the hell is going on?!” She hissed.

“Yes, Daniel,” all eyes fell onto Paul Hunham, who was behind Daniel. “what is the meaning of this?”

You shrunk back in the booth, Angus hugging you tightly against him as if to hide you from Daniel. Both of you stared at the scene before you.

“Paul…” Daniel nodded, standing taller and holding his wife’s hand.

Mr. Hunham nodded back. “Your Christmas went well I take it?”

“It was fine; yours?”

“Just peachy.” He gave a tight smile, looking around at everyone else. “Family matters everyone, I sincerely apologize.”

Hesitantly, the crowd went back to their own business; or they were at least good at pretending to as they eavesdropped. Mr. Hunham continued.

“Why’re you here exactly?”

“The same as you.” Daniel explained. “Dinner with my family.”

He hummed. “And you thought it wise to inform the child in the scenario but not me?”

“Now wait a minute-.”

“-I assume your wife also didn’t know about this or the letters and money you sent?”

At the mention of her, Daniel’s wife scowled. “Danny, what’s he talking about?”

He shook his head. “Hunham, you should just mind your own-.”

“-Well now you see, I can’t do that, because her mother trusted me to provide and care for her.”

It was only then did Angus Tully understand what exactly had been going on. As the adults fought, he looked down at you in his arms. It was as if it were the first time he had seen you, and it was the first time he noticed that he could not find a trace of Mr. Hunham.

The eyes he thought you had gotten from your mother stared up at him with dread, and when Angus looked back at the man seething with unspoken rage, he saw them there too.

“Look,” Paul sighed. “I don’t want to cause another scene, so let us handle this like men. You will not make contact with her again, and we can walk away.”

He took a heaving breath before responding. “Fine by me. Come on, Carrie.”

Daniel began to lead her away from your booth, but Paul stopped them. “I believe you have something of my daughter’s.”

His eyes trailed down to the ribbon in his hand. He let go of his wife to walk back to Paul who held his hand out. Instead of giving it to him, he turned to Angus, smiling. He handed it to him.

“Keep her on a short leash, boy. She’s got her mother’s mouth.”

With that, he and his wife and children left the South Street Diner. You only pulled away from Angus when he did from you. No tears had fallen onto your cheeks, but that didn’t mean they weren’t stinging your eyes as you tried to keep them at bay.

You took the ribbon from Angus only for it to hang loosely at your side. Paul softened his gaze as he began to put on his jacket.

“I think we should just settle on room service tonight.” He said gently. “I can get them to bag up the fries and let you take the milkshake glass?”

You could only nod, not wanting to look at either of the men with you. You all put on your coats in silence, and Angus, though not hugging you, hovered as Mr. Hunham spoke with the staff; both about not wanting to report the incident, and also on paying extra for you to take the glass.

It was so cold out, and everyone was so tired from not just the events of the night, but the entire day, that Paul splurged on a cab for the three of you back to the hotel.

Angus also didn’t feel shame in trying to hold you hand in front of your father; or…stepfather. You limply held his hand back, but you leaned against him as you sat in the cab, staring at the Boston Christmas lights as the city passed by you.

When the cab made it to the hotel, you led the way in a tired haze to the elevators. It wasn’t just the three of you in the elevator; there was a somewhat large family that piled in, all merry and jolly and reeking of chlorine from the pool they had just swum in.

It was as if God himself was rubbing salt into the wounds, tempting you to lick them.

When you made it onto your floor, you also led the way back to your connecting rooms. There was no ‘Goodnight’ or ‘Can we stay up just a little longer?’ to your companions; you simply opened your door and shut it in their faces.

Setting the milkshake down, you tossed off your jacket and pulled your shoes off. Collapsing on the bed, you looked down at the ribbon still in your hand…and you cried.

[niki-phoria]

Hey, I just wanted to say that you did the last request really nicely and it was so cute!

So if you have time, I want to do another request where enha is mad at their bf for any reason you can come up with (it can be petty or reasonable) and their bf apologizes in the sweetest ways (like cooking, gift giving, etc.)

- 🕊️

I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAD TO

making up with enha after an argument !!

gn reader (no pronouns used)

HEESEUNG

“you could cut the tension with a knife.” you had always heard that saying, though it had never really registered as a real possibility until now. heeseung sits on the couch - only a few steps away from you - but it feels like oceans are separating you from each other. 

taking a deep breath, you let your shoulders relax as you prepare to swim across the ocean. to limit the insurmountable distance between you. to make things right.

“here,” you say, pushing a bowl of freshly made ramen across the table towards him. steam rises into the air and a small ring of condensation slowly begins to accumulate on the outside of the bowl. “i made you lunch.”

“thank you,” heeseung murmurs. he sets his phone down, turning to face you - his silent way of giving you all of his attention. 

“i’m sorry i snapped at you,” you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest. heeseung glances over at you, silently waiting for you to continue. “i was just… worried about you. i’m always worried about you. and i know i was wrong. i’m sorry.” 

“i’m sorry too,” heeseung says, reaching over to take your hand into his own. the feeling of his skin against your own calms your racing heartbeat. “i know why you worry. i promise i’ll try to do better.” 

JAY

you don’t know what to say. you’re not sure jay does either. an awkward silence hangs heavy in the air as you both quietly move throughout your kitchen - words just on the tip of your tongue but unwilling to be spoken into existence. 

nervously drumming your fingers against the side of the mug, you hesitantly slide the cup of hot tea towards jay. “here,” you murmur. your gaze remains trained on the steam slowly rising out of the top; your mind races as you try to think of what to say. 

jay accepts it with a grateful smile, wrapping his hand around the ceramic. the warmth feels good against his fingers. “i made you some tea to make up for last night,” you continue, finally building up the courage to look up at him. “and i bought some more honey. it’s in the cabinet - if you want it.” 

jay softly smiles in response. abandoning the mug on your kitchen counter, he slides out of his seat. his touch is gentle as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. you softly smile as you lean against his chest, letting comfort overwhelm your senses as you listen to his steady heartbeat. 

“i love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

“i love you too.”

JAKE

it’s like you can feel the pressure mounding with each step you take. you anxiously twist the rose between your fingers as you stand in front of your apartment door, staring at the painted wood as if an answer will appear before your eyes. 

taking a deep breath, you let your shoulders slump in defeat as you quietly open the door. you can hear jake before you see him - his fingers clicking on the mechanical keys serving as an alarm to his location. slipping into the room, you make your way towards him until you’re standing beside his chair. 

“i brought you something.” your soft voice announces your presence as you set a flower on the desk beside him. yellow petals overlap with each other over and over again. jake looks up at you with wide, unblinking eyes. waiting. “it reminded me of you.” 

he softly smiles as he looks down at the rose. “thank you.” 

“i’m sorry,” you say, uncomfortably shifting on the balls of your feet from beside him. he can almost see your mind racing to think of the right words to say. your walk had given you enough clarity to calm down, but not a script to make it all go away. “about this morning.”

“i know.” jake softly smiles, gingerly setting the rose down once again. he reaches over, taking your hand into his own. “i am too.”

SUNGHOON

your side of the bed is empty - a fact that bothers sunghoon to no end. he frowns as he sleepily pushes himself to sit up, glaring at the space where your body was when you fell asleep the night before. your bedroom feels eerily silent without your whispered jokes in the morning or music blasting through your speakers while you make breakfast. 

the floor is cold against his bare feet as sunghoon slowly makes his way through your shared apartment, bitterly resenting himself for letting such a petty argument go so far. 

he freezes when he turns the corner, being met with the familiar sight of you wandering around in the kitchen. your unstyled hair is still disheveled from your sleep. sunghoon’s heartbeat picks up when he recognizes one of his t-shirts hanging off of your frame. 

sunghoon’s footsteps are nearly silent as he slips into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. he rests his head against the crook of your neck, smiling to himself when you relax into his arms. “morning, hoon.”

“good morning,” he hums, pressing fleeting kisses against your shoulder blades. 

“apology breakfast?” you offer, turning to face him. 

sunghoon softly smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. “apology accepted.”

SUNOO

silence. all you can hear is silence. it lingers in your apartment - filling your bedroom. daring you to speak. begging you to try. suffocating. sunoo lies in your shared bed beside you, but it feels like he’s miles away. his body is as stiff as a board; his eyes trained on his phone. 

turning to lay on your side to face him, you silently begin to study sunoo’s features. his eyes are tired - more than you’ve ever wanted to see them. he’s still frowning slightly. every part of his body is tense.

“sunoo,” you whisper. regret heavily stains each of your words. the other man doesn’t react - still mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on his phone. 

biting back another exasperated sigh, you reach over to take his hand into your own. you rub your thumb against the grooves of his knuckles. “i’m sorry,” you murmur. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i was tired, and i know that’s not an excuse, but i promise i didn’t mean anything i said. you mean everything to me - i hope you know that. i’m sorry. i love you.” sunoo sets his phone aside, turning to face you. he intertwines your fingers together before squeezing your hand in response - silent acceptance. i’m sorry too. i love you.

JUNGWON

“can we talk?”

your words nearly make jungwon’s heart leap into his throat, regardless of how expected they were. a swarm of nervous butterflies fill his stomach and crawl up to his chest, threatening to cut off any words he attempts to say before he can think of them. 

jungwon watches your gaze scan his expression when he finally turns to face you. tired eyes meet his own; a soft frown is etched into your features. “of course,” he nods.

“i’m sorry.” you take a short breath, nervously playing with your fingers. “i didn’t mean anything i said- and i know there’s no excuse for hurting you, but… i need you know that i’m so, so, sorry. and i love you. i hope you can forgive me.”

jungwon swallows his fear, blinking stray tears out of his eyes. it feels like an eternity passes before he hesitantly reaches over to take your hand into his own. “i’m sorry too.” 

“wonie…” you whisper. you bring a hand up to cup his cheek, brushing a stray tear away. jungwon’s face flushes when you pull him into a hug, letting him cling to your body like you’re his only lifeline. and maybe you are. “i don’t deserve you,” you murmur, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

jungwon nuzzles himself even closer against your chest so his ear rests just above your heartbeat. “then i don’t deserve you either.”

NIKI

a shiver runs down your spine as another gust of wind blows past you, dropping the temperature even more. it’s a lonely night - only a few street lights illuminating your path back to the dorm. “it’s freezing out here,” you mumble, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

“i told you to bring a jacket,” niki scolds, wrapping his hands around your own. he quietly sighs, slipping his heat pack into your hands and pulling you closer to his body as if his warmth will somehow transfer between you. “i still can’t believe you and jake-hyung ate the last packets of ramen.”

you chuckle, playfully shrugging him off of you. “i still can’t believe you dragged me to a convenience store in the middle of the night just to buy more.”

“well maybe if you hadn’t eaten the last packets-” he teases.  

“ki,” you cut him off, a half-hearted smile threatening to pull at the corners of your lips. your fingers curl around the collar of his t-shirt as you pull him closer. niki’s wide eyes meet your own for just a second before you lean in, pressing your lips against his. your touch is gone just as quickly as it was there, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

notes: thank you so much for requesting !! i'm glad you liked the last post too :)) i'm so sorry this took forever for me to write, i had no ideas and i'm not a big fan of angst lol i hope you like it and thank you for your continued support <3

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out more enha imagines or enha reactions <3

[moxfirefly]

Greetings and salutations. I bring you a little nugget of something that’s been on my noggin for a while. I haven’t had the pleasure to experiment too much with AU’s so here I bring you two segments of just that.

Rated Mature.

So please enjoy and let me know if maybe y’all want more?

It was that scar.

You hadn’t been necessarily subtle about it. You’d stared, wondered what could’ve gone wrong to have a man nearly lose an eye.

You liked making up stories of strangers, what their backstory and futures could be just on looks alone.

But when blue eyes had met your own, looked up from the local news paper, you felt as if he’d heard your mental fictions.

He was pretty.

Blue eyes, strong features and built.

Because mutants tended to be built, imposing, rough, dangerous.

But there was a softness to Blue Eyes here.

Somewhere between restarting your brain and the soft rattling of him pushing his mug towards your outstretched hand, you had finally poured a re-fill of a lemony scented tea he had ordered twenty minutes ago.

The cafe was a passion project, something you’d done on impulse when you hopped on a plane to run away from New York and its hollowness and move to Osaka.

To run away from the bad memories…

A bad guy.

“Are you alright?” Oh? He spoke English.

You nodded, dipped the kettle and refilled his mug. “Sorry, mornings aren’t really my thing.” You chuckled to lighten the mood, watched the corner of his mouth lift as he reached for the mug.

“Working in a cafe must’ve been a tough option.” His lips pressed to the ceramic, a large hand holding it as he softly blew.

The peak of a finger missing an inch to it making you squint.

Just how many scars could one individual have?

But he had looked at you again, piercing blue eyes gaging your thoughts, somehow digging into what your story was. Maybe he had made up his own.

You should’ve known, should’ve seen the tattoos peaking from the cuff of his dress shirt, the roughness to his demeanor.

You should’ve sensed the danger.

________

You ran from danger back in New York only to somehow find yourself enchanted by something far worse.

Because Leonardo (he had introduced himself at long last) screamed dangerous.

But he kept coming back to the cafe, each day he stayed just a little bit longer, his small talk became more of a lighthearted interrogation.

And those damn eyes of his never seemed to not follow you around the counter as you prepared and brewed for the patrons of the morning. His eyes were watchful, something kind of protective to them. Whenever the bell for the door ran he’d always cast a careful backwards glance.

Anticipating something?

He seemed to travel on the edge of a knife, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

And you wanted to ignore the obvious, the setting, the place, the fresh cuts and bruises on his hands. You wanted the fantasy to remain just that.

Because deep down you knew that he ran in that lifestyle.

Yakuza.

It rang like an alarm in your brain, warning sirens to not get involved, to not find yourself in the fire pit.

One afternoon as he remained during your closing, he had stood up and adjusted the cuff of his suit.

“Do you wanna have dinner with me tonight?”

It was a simple question, a razors edge to it, the anticipation mixing with water running from the sink. You had stopped, hand sopping wet from washing mugs and glasses.

You stared at him, watching those calculating eyes of his gage your reaction.

That little voice told you to say no, desperately to just let this be a fleeting thing. Let Leonardo be a fantasy, don’t jump into that dark ocean and let the current sweep you away.

“Yes…I’d like that.”

‘These violent delights…’

It felt more like a light version of Wack-a-Mole. Gently but intentionally shoving all these screaming adolescents and young adults away from the object of their desire.

You waved and smiled, signed what you could when several high glossy portraits of yourself were shoved into your eyesight. A massive arm wrapped around your shoulders and tugged you into hard scales and you caught the warning glare Raph had shot to a handsy guy.

‘Just get her to the hotel entrance’ That was all Raph was thinking, if he could haul ass with you through this sea of screaming fans in the next sixty seconds he’d pat himself on the shell.

So he held you closer, pushed through and as gently and professionally as he could pushed through the doable doors.

Hotel security could keep everyone at bay, your poor assistance somehow alive and inside as well moved quickly to the front desk to check you in.

“Never get tired of that shit?” he asked you with a smirk, making sure to keep your body covered by his much larger form.

“Just part of the job description, some of them can be endearing.” You adjusted your sunglasses, shooting a thanks to your assistant when they jogged back towards you with a room card.

“Y/N you have an interview tomorrow at 9am so there’s a 7am wake up call for hair and makeup to get up to your room. After that it’s the photo shoot at noon and finally the concert at MSG, I’ll be here early to get everything started.” They were an efficient assistant sometimes doubling more like a parent.

“She got time to sleep somewhere in there peepsqueak?” Raph was already escorting you towards the elevator. Your assistant rolled their eyes.

“Be nice Raphie, they keep the order, I just do the fun stuff.” You waved back as you climbed into the elevator with Raph.

In the quiet steel and glass you took a minute to sigh and stretch. While it was fun it could be pretty exhausting running around from show to show. You felt your phone vibrate, the work one, and allowed yourself the luxury of not dealing with it. Closing your eyes briefly you centered yourself.

“Ya good?” Raph’s voice, the soft one he only reserved for you, mixed with the ping of each floor.

“A little stiff, but I’m alright. What about you?” You watched Raph huff a little laugh, incredulous to assume that this was enough to even remotely tire him out. When the doors open he stepped out first to make sure the halls were empty before alerting you to follow suit.

“You know you can chill out now, clock out technically.” You opened the door to your latest hotel suit and watched Raph go in and do his usual perimeter walk.

One time some obsessed fan had hidden in the suit you had stayed in, and while it hadn’t been a violent situation it had spooked you and angered Raph enough to always check the room before letting you settle in.

“Looks clear, although C- for not having those chocolates on the bed.” Man he kinda wanted something sweet.

He smiled at your laugh watching you plop on the chase lounge near the window.

He could feel his own phone, not the work one, vibrate in the pocket of his jeans.

“Do you want to stay?” Came your voice, light and floaty like an inviting drink.

Raph knew this wasn’t exactly right, but it hadn’t been right the last fourteen hotels ago.

You turned to study him, a flirtatious smile spreading across your beautiful lips.

Those lips had been around his dick last night on the limo ride to some after party.

Something in the jittery electric feel of his legs, urging him to move, to put an end to this not so professional relationship.

“Raphie?” You asked, jacket coming off, heels being kicked off, skin inviting him.

He ran the back of his palm across his mouth, caught the faint scent of you from just this morning (where he had fingered you in the shower of the last hotel).

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He swallowed the nerves, swallowed it and let it simmer in the pit of his stomach.

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Relaxation Retreat

A vibrant family home full of opportunities for fun and relaxation, with plenty of space for a budding gardener. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, on a 30x40 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/-7bnRL8bAsA

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/111265768/

Exchange:

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

Late Night ?

Generations

Pets

Supernatural

Seasons

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Stones Throw Greenhouse - Greenhouse Window, Greenhouse Roof Center

Custom content:

heaven - Neutral Slate Roof with White Trim

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Tall Wide 2x1, Tall Wide 1 Tile, Counter High 1 Tile, Tall 1 Tile)

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

Angela - Aiden Buildset 3x1 Arch

Martassimsbook - MyCupOfCC Hot Tub

Onyxium - Jena Bathroom Accessories (Reed Diffuser, Soap Dispenser, Toilet Brush, Tooth Brushes)

Mutske - Toiletroom Aria Toilet Paperholder

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set Candle

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Mutske - Plant Palm Large

sim_man123 - Emerson Ficus Tree

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 (Ficus Lyrata V1, Ficus Elastica, Monstera Deliciosa)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild My Home Set (Hanging Pothos Plant)

ATS3 - Kitchen Herbs (Basil)

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

johziii - Irene Lamp

NynaeveDesign - Lyne Curtains (Curtains 1x1 Left, Curtains 1x1 Right, Curtains 2x1, Curtains 3x1, Rod)

ArtVitalex - Kalkgrund Mirror

Onyxium - Gibsonton Bed

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Floral Paintings

ArtVitalex - April Kitchen

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

Angela - Michelle Bedroom Mirror

ArtVitalex - Hampton Dining Chair

sweetdevil - More Planters (Prickly Planter)

sweetdevil - More Planters Part 3 (Fancy Box Planter)

Wandering Sims - Wildflower Mix Pattern 4

missyzim - French Country Paintings (Country Floral Painting, French Country Paintings 3, Provencial Painting)

Mutske - Liatorp Palm in Basket

Angela - Simspiration Issue 01 Watering Can

ArtVitalex - Upland Bathroom Accessories (Toilet Brush, Soap Dispenser, Toothbrush and Paste)

Twinsimming - Single Serve Hammock

Crowkeeper - The Cryptic Triptych Paintings (Enchanted)

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Hallway Extra (Key Bowl, Umbrella Holder)

Julietsimscc - Dark Landscapes Artwork

ArtVitalex - Doyle Pen Holder

Lulu265 - Bedford Bedroom Wall Art

deeiutza - Cottage Reading Corner Books

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set Dishsoap

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Fruit Basket

ATS3 - Ceramic Canisters

Dhalsims - EA Ceiling Smoke Alarm

ATS3 - Wall Rack IKEA Fintorp-like

ATS3 - Washing-up Wooden Dish Rack

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild 500 Patrons Gifts Notebooks

Kerrigan House Designs - Belle Epoque Vanity

Martassimsbook - novvvas Mid Century Modern Living Room Books 2

QoAct - Lina Cushion II

sim_man123 - Celea Lily Vase

ATS3 - School Notebooks

ATS3 - Parisian Bistro Chair 4

bioniczombie - Tom Berry Knife Block

Martassimsbook - Chicklet Modern Lenai Patio (Chair, Box Deco)

Martassimsbook - Marvell Breeze Collection Plant

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 22

PralineSims - Big Flokati III

PralineSims - Classic Carpet 3

(Optional) zoe22 - Flower Arranging Mod (Table Used)

[curlycarrion]

if you’re up for it, here’s a request! fem!reader can’t stop staring at her boyfie sanji after styling his hair (his film red hair to be exact) & he teases her for it, which leads them to flirt back & forth with each other 💗 i swear he just looks extra good with that hair style 😮‍💨

Fluffy hair

Reader: fem reader, use of the word beautiful

Warnings: None really, a little suggestive near the end but nothing bad at all

Wc: 969 (nice but wasn't planned)

A/n: Sorry this took so long! Real life me is a very awkward and shy person who has never flirted before so I was tryin to figure out how to write this 😅 My back was also hurtin crazy bad so I got distracted for a bit. Either way if it's written a little awkwardly or rushed that's why but I still hope you like it. Thank you for bein my first request! I really appreciate it 💛💛💛

The kitchen was quiet save for the sound of a knife as it meets the cutting board with each well practiced precise cut. The tea sat in front of you that had been lovingly made by the man before you cooling as it sits, forgotten. You eyes instead following the movement of your lover, contentedly watching as sets about his work. It was a sight you had seen many times and will, hopefully, see for many more. The movement of his fingers as they curl on the vegetables in front of him, the flex of his shoulders and the muscles in his back beneath his shirt with each diligent slice, the shifting of the fabric when he slides the freshly chopped and diced items into a nearby bowl. It really was a sight that you'd grown accustomed to and fond of. Though your usual act of watching the cook had been amplified by the change he had made that morning, his hair.

You had always loved his hair, how could you not? But the way he had decided to arrange the blond locks today had made it look even more appealing. It suited him. The more fluffy and slightly messy look to it was different from the usual more put together nature of it. It looked soft and welcoming, like you could run your fingers through it and rustle the strands without worry of messing it up too much.

A small knowing smile graced Sanji's face as he had his back turned to you. He was well aware that your eyes were on him. He always could feel when you had grace him with your gaze, even before the two of you had gotten together. While before the thought of you looking at him just as much as he did you sent his heart into a tizzy and the butterflies to swarm in his stomach now it just filled him with a soft sense of comfort that you were there with him.. though the fluttering in his heart never did fully cease no matter how much time has passed. It was just easier to manage knowing that you felt the same. Something he still couldn't fully wrap his mind around.

"See something you like beautiful? If you stare any longer your tea is going to go cold." He asks after letting the quiet of the room settle for long enough. Tilting his head to look at you sat on the table behind him with a smile. You blink out of your thoughts when the sound of his voice meets you. A sliver of embarrassment making itself known in your mind to be caught staring.

"I see plenty I like," you respond smoothly while shaking off the feeling "and if it gets too cold I can just have you warm it up for me." He smiles as he hears your response, cleaning his hands off on a rag and making his way over to you as you're sat.

"Why is it that I've seem to caught your attention so readily mon cœur?" He asks as he sets his gaze on you. Leaning a hand on the table next to the ceramic that sits in front of you.

"Isn't my attention already always on you?" The returned question causes a warm fluttering to fill his chest. A small chuckle leaving him while leaning a little closer.

"That isn't what I meant love."

"I know," You begin with a grin "it's your hair. The way you did it today looks nice." The answer makes him smile a little wider. He's always glad to know that you pay attention to whatever change he makes, that fact that you pay close attention to the little changes always filling him with a little more fondness with each word.

"My hair? What is it you like so much about it?" Taking advantage of the closer proximity you find yourself leaning forward a touch. One hand coming to his tie to pull him down a little as the other moves to his hair, teasing the strands between your fingers. Pleased with the way it feels against your skin.

"The way you've styled it today makes it look so soft and fluffy." The words are said in a softer tone, sweet in how the come to his ears. He can already feel himself falling into you when you'd lead him down so gently only to be met with a similar gentleness in your tone. Forming only a simple response after you'd spoken.

"Oh?" Seeing you were starting to affect him your smile grows a little more mischievous, leaning in closer, an inch away from him. So close yet not close enough.

"Mhm.. it looks so inviting, like it's begging for me to run my fingers through it." You start quietly while inching your fingers further up through his hair. Watching with delight as his breath hitches a little at the touch and you looks down to you with slightly wider eyes as you lean in closer to his ear. Purring out your next words.

"It'd be perfect to hold onto and tug when you taste your next meal." Sufficiently satisfied with the flustered state you'd brought out of him you press a quick kiss to his cheek. Standing up and giving an innocent look as you head to the door.

"Well I've got things to do, thanks for keeping me company darling~!" You practically skip out of the door as you call out to him over your shoulder in that candied honey tone. Seemingly not caring to have left him hunched dizzily over the table with steam coming out of his ears and a hand clutched to his nose. It seems it'll still be a while until he'll fully be over how much you affect him after all.

[omeumi]

sum: gn! reader skipped dinner, alhaitham shenanigans ensue.

a/n: i had testing today and its my mother's birthday lol. im posting from a salon lobby..

content: discussions of eating and skipping meals ( ! non ed related.) usage of askım, turkish equivalent of my love, because i hate ""y/n."" ♡

> it's not your fault you didn't have dinner before bed. or, it is, but that's neither here nor there. Alhaitham had gotten home late, and it slipped your mind between the pages of a book and the sun dipping below the horizon.

> after passing out on the sofa in a failed attempt to wait up for him, Alhaitham had found you that way—sleeping soundly, sunken into the divan cushions, lamp still on. his expression softens, watching you there. at peace, the both of you. so he carries you to bed, holding you kindly in his arms, and tucking you away before he prepares for bed himself.

> and now, a couple hours later, it's him who sleeps soundly instead, as he deserves to. out like a mossed log. but you're now wide awake, turning over in bed, simply starved.

> Alhaitham is quite possibly the heaviest sleeper known to man and Archon, but that doesn't stop you from being careful. stirring the sheets minimally, tiptoeing away from your love who is completely still. you linger in the doorway, eyeing him in his peaceful, effortless beauty, before wandering off to the kitchen.

> flipping a lamp on, you grab a peach from the fruit bowl. quick and easy enough. with a knife, you cut around the pit and separate it into halves. its scent floods the room, swirling like a morning fog. you take a bite from your peach, and it parts easily—soft and pleasant and sweet.

> "aşkım?" you jump at the sound of Alhaitham's voice, thick with soothing sleep. as if akin to a cat, you cannot ever hear his light, lithe footsteps. you turn. his eyes are soft, hair tousled.

"you scared me—"

> "I noticed." in the fuzzy light, you watch him approach, ever silently. "what are you doing up now?" behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

> "I didn't have dinner," you confess, and feel him eye you more intently, pressing for information. Alhaitham frowns.

"why not?"

> you shrug, before biting into a half of peach. "I was distracted.."

"by what?"

> you set the bitten half back on the plate, gaze focused there. the white ceramic, the risen patterns around its edges. the golden drops of juice in the center. you don't want him to feel bad. guilty. these things happen—time ticking by when you're both swallowed by work and responsibility.

> "you were waiting for me," he says. realizes. you nod before he sighs unmistakably, soft against the skin of your neck. it is not annoyance, not frustration, not disappointment. not disappointment in you, anyway. maybe in himself. he gives you a lingering, regretful kiss on your cheek. "i am sorry.." the syllables reside on his lips, drawing on long. it's simple, but you've never seen Alhaitham so close to not being able to find his words.

> "i was," you say, looking up at him. his sleepy, resting face—eyebrows furrowed ever-so in that adorable concern for you. "but you're here now. we're together. i'm eating." you lean in and capture his parted lips in a kiss, clumsy and tasting of peach. you pull back and he blinks, a smile curving slightly.

> "can i have a bite?"

©2023 arborio  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[jarofstyles]

Reaper 5

Reaper is a dark story with dark and mature subject matter. 18+ NSFW

the wait is over, we think you’ll be please with this <3

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wc: 9.9k

warnings: surprisingly soft?, smut hehe, knife play?, degradation x praise kink, they're obsessed with each other, begging and edging, possessive reaper

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It would have been Deja Vu had the roles not been reversed.

A few hours later Y/N found herself awake to an empty bed and the sound of ceramic clanking. It could only mean one thing.

Lazily, she made her way out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to get to the kitchen where she knew she’d find Harry. It was endearing really, the sight of him trying to make some French toast from scratch. Granted, the kitchen looked like a war zone, but the plate of strawberries and cream filling was calling to her.

“Hello, chef.” She teased, dipping her finger into the cream to get a taste. “Do you need a hand? I don’t trust you with this, I can’t lie.” Bunny couldn’t help but laugh when he caught sight of the Spider-Man band-aid on his finger.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, really.” He deadpanned, looking over to her with a faux glare. There was real stress on his face, though. He hadn’t thought French toast was going to be difficult, but the egg ratio and accidentally dumping half the container of cinnamon in and having to start over, cutting his finger on the strawberries? It was more complicated than he had anticipated.

“No. I want t’make you breakfast. You had a shit night and I don’t want you stressing any more than you’ve got to.” He felt a bit embarrassed to be caught in the chaotic act, but more so, he wanted to do this for her.

That itself was something that he was coming to terms with. He wanted to allow himself closer to her and show more of the softness he had reserved but he also… didn’t want to push it. She was going through some traumatic shit and throwing feelings and all that wouldn’t probably help. So he would do what he could like this without expressing the things he was thinking.

“Okay, in that case, let me direct you a bit, don’t be so stressed the difficult part is over.” She said, noticing he had already dipped the bread and placed it in the hot buttered pan.

“When did you wake up?” She asked sweetly, plopping herself on one of the high chairs by the counter. Watching him cook felt like a treat within itself. He had taken the day off to spend with her and treat her, she was going to soak up every second.

The only problem was the tension that was only growing thicker. Falling asleep in his arms felt different, it was a comfort she realized she hadn’t felt in a while. If ever.

“You cook like this for all your girls, Harry?” She wanted to tease but she had a feeling she knew the answer. It made her feel special knowing she was likely the only one to see him like this.

“I woke up about an hour ago and let you sleep. But I don’t let the girls here.” He said quietly, listening to the sizzle of the toast on the pan. He wasn’t sure why exactly he felt such a need to let her know quickly that he didn’t let women or men he hooked up with here, but he did.

She was special. She was, as cliche as it was to say, very different from the rest of them. She meant something. It wasn’t one night of rough and lust, it was someone he cherished as a human since day one.

That’s why she was allowed in his place. A vulnerability he didn’t share with many at all. Privacy was one of the most important things to him and he trusted Bunny not to do anything to disrupt that.

“I also don’t cook. Obviously.” He shot her a look, flipping the French toast to see it a bit burnt. “I keep doing this. It either takes forever and then I turn it up and it burns.”

“Don’t turn it up silly,” Bunny let out a giggle at his frustration. “Low and slow till it crisps and then set it to high for a bit. Wait till the egg sets first, otherwise, it will be mushy in the middle but burnt on the outside.”

Her little tip was meant to help, he seemed to understand her explanation and adjusted his cooking method accordingly.

“Have I been good then?” She wanted him to confirm her thoughts because she really had been on her best behavior since their last intimate moment in the kitchen. He promised if she was good he would give it to her. She felt like she deserved it after what she’d been through.

She didn’t want to push him though, especially when he was being so sweet.

“Of course.” He said it as if it was obvious, his fingers scratching his stubble as he turned to her with a serious look on his face. “You’ve listened. It isn’t in your nature to but I know that about you. You’re a little rebel but you’ve been listening and keeping yourself safe. S’all I can ask of you.”

Harry was extremely impressed with her behavior considering it was definitely her nature to act out for attention and do the opposite she was told to do.

Her face lit up at his praise, finding herself wanting more of it. Especially in his raspy voice that hasn’t been used much yet, his low-accented words making her hungry for more than just breakfast.

“You’re the only girl I’d let in here. You aren’t one to tell secrets.”

Considering the number of weapons he had and the incriminating phone calls, he had a lot of sensitive shit around that no one else could be trusted with.

“Has it been a while?” Y/N felt like she needed to ask. Sure he didn’t bring girls around, but he definitely had had some hookups recently. Just how recent was what she wanted to know.

It wasn’t so much jealousy as much as it was curiosity. Harry was a man with drive and sex was likely a big part of his life, she didn’t want to get in the way of him and his outlet. If anything she wanted to be the outlet.

It had been a while since she had a proper hook-up, one where she was left satisfied. Her not so secret ex-boyfriend had moved to another state around the same time Sterling went nomad.

“Know I’ve been giving you a hard time with it, think maybe I should fix that…”

Harry paused his movements, turning from the stovetop to look at her with a raised brow. She didn’t correct herself. If anything, she met his eyes with ease.

So it had been on purpose. The touching and skirts and the things she probably saw his eyes lingering on. He should have known, but he also was trying to just simply pass it off as a wishful thought. It was easier to deny his wants that way.

“And what do you mean by that?” He asked, crossing his arms spatula in hand.

Her eyes went to his arms and felt herself heat. When he had that stance, that defiant brow, it did something to her. He was in charge, asking questions, and quite frankly? She fucking loved it.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She countered, looking back at him with her brow raised. Allowing herself to crack a small cheeky smile, she noticed his shoulders soften slightly.

Bunny didn’t want to be too upfront with her intentions, but she figured the more they talked about it the quicker they could come to an agreement. If she was going to stay here any longer she would need some type of sexual release.

He had told her she couldn’t touch herself and frankly that was the hardest part. Y/N was perverted, she liked the things that were a bit filthy and taboo, maybe that’s why she attracted the freak in the first place? Regardless, she wanted to make sure he knew she wanted him to make a move.

“I mean….” He looked her over, trying to gauge just how serious she was. It seemed that she was, his shirt hanging from her shoulder, her body leaned against the counter as she watched his every move.

“Been since before you’ve got here. Probably 2 months since then so… a bit.” He could be a downright whore, sure, but lately, it had been too busy and too unappealing. The one night stands were alright but he found himself using the gym to get frustrations out more than anything.

“Why are you asking?” He turned momentarily to flip the next piece on and also take a breath. She was probably one of the only ones who was able to unnerve him. “Haven’t been fucking around while you’re here if that’s what you’re worried about. M’an asshole, but not that big of one.”

“No, I’m not worried about that. I would know if you’re doing that, you’re good at hiding a lot of things but that’s not one of them.” She said with a soft smile, watching the way his back tensed with his movements.

It would be easy to tell if he was getting satisfied elsewhere, for starters he wouldn’t be looking at her like he wanted to eat her and he wouldn’t be so wound up. At least that’s what she gathered from their encounter.

“I’m asking because you promised if I was good you’d help me.” Bunny wished she would have waited for him to turn around before saying it, but it was easier to get it out when his back was to her. “Unless you changed your mind of course…”

Harry did promise that.

He’d simply assumed that perhaps with all of the stuff going on… continuing the cat and mouse game they’d done for a bit wasn’t the most appropriate thing. But he also wasn’t one to try and dampen someone’s fun.

“That something you want?” He questioned, serious tone catching her off guard. She had expected him to just go along and tease her back but… he seemed caught up.

“M’not saying no. I know I’d like to, and I’m sure as fuck not someone to leave a lady unsatisfied but you’re going through some heavy shit, love.” He was coming from a place of concern. “Is this something that will make it better or worse? M’not exactly gentle.”

She shifted in her seat, feeling a bit exposed now that he was properly asking her if she wanted it. It was easier to play it off when teasing, but now she was confronted she sensed herself getting shy.

“I just want to take my mind off of all of it…” She let out a sigh, looking down at her hands. Sex had always been an outlet she was fond of, though it seemed her partners never realized just how important it was. A good connection and some touch could do wonders for her.

“Said I couldn’t touch on my own so I haven’t, it’s just proving to be difficult so I wanted to ask if you changed your mind.” It had been over a week even though he told her one would be enough. His hesitation made her think he was rethinking it all. She wanted to give him a way out.

“I won’t be offended… I just don’t normally go this long without it, especially when I’m going through something— I could really use it is all.”

Harry didn’t want to make her feel held back. Nor did he want to miss out. He could see her retreating a bit into herself and he didn’t like it at all, turning off the stove as he crossed the kitchen and looked down at her from across the counter, quietly making up his mind.

She wanted it, sure, but he didn’t want her to regret it. On the other hand… he wanted her, too. She was saying she needed it and he wasn’t a man who could say no to her in these types of things. What Bunny wants, Bunny gets. She just didn’t know it yet.

“What if I let you touch yourself?” He murmured, the tension in the room building. “You’d have to do it in front of me. And then… maybe I’ll do something for you. If you can manage to be good for me while you do so.”

Her eyes were pinned to his the moment he finished his sentence, her attention fully on him. Sure, it wasn’t exactly what she wanted but it sounded even more exciting than what she had in mind.

“I can do that.” She agreed, feeling the excitement bubble up in her stomach. How soon would this be? Could even do it after breakfast… during? No, she was getting ahead of herself. Whenever he let her.

All she had to do was listen for a little bit longer. It couldn’t hurt.

Harry seemed comfortable with this idea, maybe it would be convincing for him to see just how good she could feel. How he made her feel.

Harry was a fan of edging, some might say. A big one. He nodded, the excitement and anticipation filling up his body as he turned to plate their food.

The tension was palpable in the room now. She could feel it, he could feel it, and Harry wasn’t shy about letting his gaze stick on her as he ate. She was a bit shyer, looking down with heated cheeks as she tried to eat the food.

It wasn’t bad- a bit overdone, maybe- but she was hungry for something much different. His eyes on her had her skin feeling prickles of excitement, her toes curling into her socks as she remembered his voice when he had let her go down on him.

The idea of his gravely, dark voice commanding her to pleasure herself was something she had been very hopeful for, and now it was going to come true. He had essentially edged her for days and days now, and she was so wet just at the thought that her panties were becoming a bit uncomfortable.

“Finish that.” He snapped her out of her lusty trance, the smirk on his face letting her know that he knew exactly where her mind was at.

She quickly finished the last few bites of her French toast, setting her fork and knife on the plate before lifting her arms over her head for a long stretch.

Her shirt was lifting a bit, exposing her lace underwear and a bit of her tummy. She thought he would appreciate the preview of what he’d be seeing in a bit. The thought had her feeling even slicker, his gaze was so intense she could feel it piercing through her.

“It was delicious, thank you so much.” She cooed, hopping off of the stool to place both of their plates in the sink. But not before giving Harry a kiss on the cheek.

Harry knew she was testing the waters, swaying her hips a little bit as she walked. It wasn’t her normal movement and he was well aware of how she was trying to entice him.

Little did she fucking know, he was already enticed. Wanting. There was no need. He would give her what she wanted, with time.

“Now we can do what you want.” He stood up and crackled his knuckles, looking at her wide eyed stance. His body was thrumming with need and he wanted to see her, for real. See her melt for him. Even without his touch, at first.

His finger lightly tipped her chin up, pressing a chaste kiss to her still slightly sticky lips before pulling back. “Go into the bedroom and set up how you usually would. Don’t touch without me there.”

Bunny tugged her bottom lip between her teeth as if to savor the feeling of his plush lips against her own. She was so excited, resisting the urge to actually jump up at the thought. It’s been a while since she could properly connect to her femininity.

She opened the door and quickly went to the bathroom to freshen up before he arrived. Nothing much, just a quick look over and pep talk before making her way to the bed.

She’d kept the lights low, natural daylight defused by the curtain harry had hanging. Table lamps on adding a warm glow to the room overall. She also kept the tshirt on, thinking that it would come in handy in the process.

The smell of him on it was enough to keep her senses stimulated, to truly show him how much she needed him.

Harry had stalled, cleaning up the dishes and trying to gather his wits as he knew she was going to be in bed waiting for him. This time, however, it was a very different type of wait.

He cleared his throat, walking down to the room to see her sprawled out in the middle of the bed, hair haloed around the pillows, and the shirt was drawn up slightly to expose the panties she wore.

He took a deep breath, letting his eyes openly scan her in and admire every single detail that he could. The beautiful girl, she was in here for him. Him alone. He was going to make her love every moment, but he was going to draw it out of her.

“Didn’t touch, did you?” He smiled when she shook her head, feet approaching the end of the bed. “Good fuckin’ girl. That’s what you are, hm?” Leaning down in a flash, he took both ankles and yanked her closer to him.

Bunny yelped in surprise but it melted into a giggle. That was one way to get her heart pumping. He looked incredible, standing there with his powerful body. Hands that had the power to take lives caressed her skin lightly before letting them fall back to the bed.

She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to kiss him badly. It was all she had been thinking about for hours, days even. It had been the only thing keeping her mind off of everything else. His touch? She didn’t want him to stop.

Bunny wanted to be a good girl, figured the best way to approach was to ask nicely. No bratty energy today.

“Can I please have a kiss?” She asked so innocently, it was sincere. She just wanted to be close to him again. Y/N knew he was about to tease her for all she was worth, but a little kiss couldn’t hurt. As much as he was willing to give.

“Would really like one before we start, if that’s okay…”

He softened slightly, visibly smiling as he looked down at her. “Sweet little baby wants a kiss?” He murmured, looking down at her soft gaze, hope in her eyes that he couldn’t crush. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He lent a knee on the bed, slowly hovering over her with his hand resting above her head. Her eager mouth met his, hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck to try and coax a little longer of a kiss from him. He hummed against her mouth, swiping his tongue against hers for a mere moment before pulling back. 

She whined in her throat at the loss of him as he stood back up, but didn’t attempt to follow him. She wanted to be good for him, to get his dirty praises and promises of more. If she did what he asked, maybe he would finish her off. The idea alone almost made her salivate. 

“There we go.” He curled his hand over her knee, urging her legs open. “You were saying… you’ve been feeling needy lately? That’s how I heard it, anyways.” He feigned a casual tone. “Been driving you crazy you couldn’t just slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself the way you’ve been wanting. But you were good, and I think you can now.” His tone made her shiver, feeling a pleasurable heat from his eyes. 

“Why don’t you show me?”

She couldn’t help but feel a little nervous in that moment. Sure, she wanted this and was looking forward to it, it was still Harry and he made her feel like no one else could. She couldn’t be more excited to bring her hand down over her panties, slowly starting to tease herself to get prepared.

“Is this how you’d do it?” Y/N asked after a beat, letting him take in her actions before breaking the silence. “Always thought you’d enjoy teasing me…” She could feel the heat spreading through her panties, pressing down just over her clit to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Taking her other hand, she moved it up her stomach, slowly exposing the skin beneath the tshirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but she thought she’d tease him as well by keeping it bunched up exposing just a little glimpse of what she was positive he wanted to see.

His eyes were glued to her, watching her hands every move.

For a bit now, he had been trying his absolute best to keep his eyes to himself and while he had indulged in cuddles and kisses, he hadn’t let himself get too sexual about her since she had pushed him over the edge s bit ago- and now he was finally releasing that part of him. A part that wanted to ruin her.

“Mm. I would.” He whispered. “I do love a tease… edging.” Her fingers pressed over her clit again, making her exhale shakily. The shirt was ridden up and exposing her bottom half now, the lace hiding her just enough to keep his curiosity.

“They’re soaked.” The light-colored lace was a darker shade from how she had soaked through them, a stroke to the ego and to his cock. “You’ve really been worked up, sweet girl? That much?” He tilted his head, clicking his tongue. “Shame. But you were good and didn’t cheat. I’m proud of you. I know it’s probably hard for a little slut like you to keep your hands off.”

Testing the limits. Remembering what she liked last time, he knew that would be good with her.

It was so backhanded like he was mocking her in the most lustful voice he could. She loved it.

She was eating it up, the way she mewled at his praise. All Y/N could do was nod, letting her hand squeeze at her breast to release some more tension. It had been a while since she’s had the time to herself just to touch herself and love on her own body.

It was something she hadn’t realized she missed until it was gone. Her body was so responsive to every touch, her breath becoming shaky at the painfully slow pace she had set for herself.

“I wanted to… so bad, I was waiting for you to do something.” Bunny slipped one of her fingers underneath, gasping at how soaked she really was. It surprised her, he wasn’t kidding. “You make me so wet… all the time.”

Harry nodded, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as he watched intently at the hand underneath her panties. That was cruel, but he had been cruel in making her wait. “I wanted to be a gentleman for once. To take your situation into account but… I don’t think you quite like gentlemen, do you Bunny?” He shook his head at the thought.

“No, you were waiting for me to get you on your knees on this bed and take you from behind. Dropped to your knees in my kitchen so easily, begged for my cock in your mouth... I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly.” He reached into the pocket of his sweats,  pulling out a pocket knife he had armed himself with since waking up. Paranoid? Maybe. But now it had a use.

“Kept you waiting and now you can’t take it anymore. Had to ask me. Maybe it’s a little cruel, but I loved it. Loved seeing you a little embarrassed but so wet that you can’t take it anymore. You did good, didn’t touch just like I told you.” He twirled the knife in his fingers, the dark smile making her shiver as she pressed her fingers against herself a bit harder.

“Now I think it’s time for you to show me exactly what you wanted to do this whole time.” He lent down, grabbing the waistband of the panties and sliced through it. “Hiding that cunt from me isn’t going to get us anywhere. I want to see it.”

It was so hot.

Everything about it screamed dangerous and possession, but she didn’t care. The girl was on cloud 9, maybe even higher when she saw the look in his eyes. He’d been waiting to see her too, it made her cunt clench. Looking to be filled.

Her fingers glided through her folds with ease, circling her clit to get it nice and wet. She was sensitive, figuring out the speed at which she wanted to go. Nice and slow to let him take in every part or move a bit quicker and show him how ready she was. Needy.

“Wanna be good for you.” She admitted, “you make it fun.” And she wasn’t lying either. Y/N loved how he built tension, how every move was perfectly calculated to make her want to scream.

“I think you like being a little mean, hmm?”

“I’m not a nice man, pretty girl.” He retorted, but his pleased eyes were taking in her movements.

Finally, bare for him to see, he observed her fully as he watched her wet digits play with herself. She was beautiful in every single place, it seemed, and he was pleased with how tempting she was between her legs. A huge temptation, really, with his hands itching to touch and his mouth wanting to taste.

He would, too. But he wanted to wait.

“I can be nice to you, sure. You’re my sweet little Bunny. But you like when I’m mean. Like when I call you names. Bet you like me mean to you in here too.” He licked his bottom lip, rubbing at his chin. “Spank your ass sore. Make you wait to cum. Or even more, make you cum over and over until you’re over sensitive and begging me to stop. Treat you like my beautiful little fuck doll. Never had one of those before. Always just have a one and done. Maybe it’d be nice to properly own a pussy this time around.”

Obviously, he liked her for more than that, but he could see her change in demeanor- how she had made a mess on her fingers and rubbed a bit harder at his words. “Does my pretty baby like that idea? Want t’be my little fuckdoll?” His fingers brushed her knee again, teasing her with his touch.

“Yes please!” It was all she could have wanted really. Sure it’s not everyone's idea of romance, but she loved the idea of being his to use as he pleased. Of course that only worked because she fully trusted him with her life. He was probably the one person she trusted the most at the moment.

“I’ll be so good, I promise!” She had momentum going now, her fingers making tight circles around her clit. The pressure was just right and his words were making it so easy to just let go.

Harry could feel his hands twitch, her eagerness making it that much harder to keep himself under control. He was enjoying his view far too much, watching her unravel and crave him.

“I’m sure you will be darling, but your cunt needs some proper stretching before you take me. Can you show me how much you can take?” Would she be ready for his fingers?

She nodded, feeling herself clench around nothing at the idea of taking his cock. Of course, she had been thinking about it for ages but to see him in front of her, taunting him about it? She was feeling it in her bones.

She slowly slid a finger inside of her, the noise of pleasured relief exhaled from her mouth. She was tight and hot and so wet she couldn’t remember a time she had been this slippery.

Harry could see it from where he stood, her finger glistening as she pulled it back out and slid it back in. His cock was solid, throbbing in his pants as he waited and watched.

Was he torturing himself by not just going for it? Maybe. But the gratification he felt now was unmatched. “There we go. Got one in there. Why don’t you give yourself another, baby?” He murmured, rubbing himself through his pants. “My cock’s much bigger than your little fingers. You’re gonna need to take a few.”

With a gasp she managed to fit another finger in, giving herself a few more slow pumps to make sure she wasn’t going to hurt herself. The stretch felt amazing, but it would feel even better if it was his cock.

Her eyes had closed being so caught up in the moment that she moaned at the sight of him palming himself. Images of his velvety hard cock came to her mind, that night that had been replaying on a loop in her mind.

“Harry…” She let out a whine, not saying anything else because she didn’t dare to complain. It’s just that she wanted more. More touching, more kissing, more of him. It felt so good, fucking herself with her fingers thinking about the man standing above her.

“I really want to cum. Really, really.” She felt like she was going to burst, but what she was doing wasn’t enough. It felt like she was teasing herself, her body wasn’t satisfied unless it was him.

“Aw, you do?” He smiled. “Y’want to cum all over those pretty little fingers? Bet it feels so good, doesn’t it?” He taunted, leaning over her slightly as she fucked herself. The sound was audible, her fingers making a squelching sound as they moved in and out of her.

“Stop.” He commanded. Y/N’s face was stricken, a whine leaving her lips but she did as he asked, slowing her fingers down. The loss of orgasm was visible on her face and she almost looked like she wanted to cry- but he would make it worth her while.

“There we go. Listening to me so well. Those orgasms are mine.” He smiled darkly, kneeling one leg on the bed and spreading her legs back after she attempted to close them around her hand. A possess trill went through his spine. This was his.

“I’ve been debating here if I should lick you until you’re shaking, or if I should finally give you my cock. I’m torn.” He feigned a confused look on his face. “Pretty baby like you might not be able to take my cock. Could only take two of your fingers…” He shook his head, looking at where they were still buried. “But I have a feeling that you’re going to want my cum. You’re on something, hm?” He pulled her hand from her, exposing her cunt to the open air. “As much as M’sure breeding you would be fun… don’t think that’s something either of us need at the moment.”

“Yes!” She breathed, silently thanking herself for sticking to her routine just so she could have moments like this. Was it risky still? Yeah, but worst came to worst they’d figure it out. They were up against much worse already.

Y/N was so eager she felt a bit embarrassed, but could you blame her? She’s had a crush on him for years and finally, she was getting a taste of what she had wanted.

If she had to choose between his cock and his mouth, it was a difficult choice. Both were incredibly good in their own ways, but she just wanted him to pick. She was so desperate for him, she was positive it wouldn’t even last that long.

“I wanna feel you, please take this off.” She pleaded, tugging at the tshirt slouching on his shoulder.

Harry wasn’t in the position to say no to a request like that. Not when she had just agreed to let him inside of her if he wanted. His mouth was begging for it, wanting to taste her sweetness, but he knew he had been holding back a long damn time from letting himself have her.

She deserved a proper reward, and he wasn’t going to last long enough to get his mouth on her and hear her sweet little moans and whimpers.

Her hands immediately found his bare skin, warming his body up with her touch. She was incredibly needy and that was partially his fault, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love the hell out of her desperation.

“You like what you feel, pretty? What you’ve been wanting to touch?”

Overwhelmed by the feeling she nodded, a simple hum of mhm leaving her lips. He was incredibly toned, tattoos contrasting against his skin, some scars as well.

She couldn’t keep her hands off, running them over his sides and his front before finally settling on his back. Her nails gently dug into the skin, trying not to pull him towards her too much. She wanted to seem patient even though she was far from it.

“You look so good…” He really did. His hair fell in front of his face, muscles tensed to show off their shape. It was so effortless for him, she swore he was sculpted by the gods.

“I’m so lucky.”

The genuine awe on her face made him soften in his face a little bit. The sweetness she had never faded, regardless of the filthy and brattiness. It made him internally purr.

Harry couldn’t help himself from leaning down and pressing a searing kiss to her lips, a token of his appreciation for her sweet words. He was luckier than she was, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

She was thinking she was lucky to be able to touch him but didn’t have a damn clue about how many words and thoughts filtered through his head every time he looked at her. “Such a good Fuckin’ girl. Being so sweet for me. Got any other pretty words for me?”

“So many…” A hand reached from behind him to tuck his hair behind his ear, settling on his cheek with fingers just against his jaw.

“Can’t give them all away at once, can I?” She smiled at him cheekily, stealing a quick kiss from his lips. Y/N stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to react.

“You’re very handsome, I really want you.” She breathed, eyes staring into his in a state of bliss. They hadn’t done much but her heart was filled with content. Just being with him in this moment, she wasn’t thinking about anything but him.

Harry didn’t let any of his other partners touch him this type of way, so it caught him off guard with how much he enjoyed it. The girl had a chokehold on him without even trying, a leg up in a way that he hasn’t been anticipating.

“Yeah? Y’think so?” He hummed, watching her eager nod. “Thank you, sweet thing. Don’t know how you can be so sweet yet so filthy at the same time.”

He removed himself from hovering over her, running his hands over her bare stomach and letting his fingertips drag over the skin. “Pretty girl. Such smooth skin. I’d say it’s a shame that I’m going to cover it in marks and mess it all up, but I don’t feel bad at all.” He didn’t feel a sliver of regret. Removing his hands, he popped his button open on his own pants.

“Keep playing with yourself for me. Rub that little clit but don’t let yourself cum. Can a dumb little puppy like you do that?” He crooned, his other hand stroking her bent knee. “Or is it too hard?”

Y/N let her fingers continue to rub over her clit at a slow pace, trying her best to keep her ever growing pleasure at bay. She let her knee relax into his hold, humming out in approval. The roughness of his skin made his touch even more electric, aching to feel his fingertips across the plain of her thigh.

“Use your words, pretty girl.” Harry squeezed her skin just lightly, “let me hear it.”

The breathiness of her tone, the desire in her cadences, Harry wanted to hear all of it. He wasn’t sure when he was going to be able to experience her like this again, so he wanted to take his time.

“Yes I can, sir.” She didn’t hesitate this time, “I can do it.” She didn’t dare beg for it but her whimpers said everything she couldn’t voice out loud. He was taking his good old time getting undressed, enjoying the view of her squirming beneath him.

The heat that was between her legs was begging to be released. The way he looked at her with the obvious hunger behind his eyes, that it was all because of her sent a chill up her spine.

If anyone else talked to her in that condescending tone, she would bristle. But with Harry? It lit her up. Soaked her. Her cunt was weeping, begging for his attention. Being degraded by him did something to her that she hadn’t realized would get her this worked up.

He could see her eyes on his hands as he stood off the bed, letting his jeans fall down to the floor. His palm covered his cock, squeezing to relieve himself a little. “You look so beautiful laid out like that. Was a bit mean to you, making you lay every night without relieving yourself… but I think that you’ll be thanking me later. I’m going to make sure you forget I even made you wait.”

“What are you going to do to me, sir?” She asked, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. It was so easy to seduce him, so effortless, he brought the temptress right out of her.

Her fingers sped up their movements over her clit, daring to dip a finger inside just like she would. Her focus was on his eyes, watching as his darted around her body taking her in. Bunny had never felt so exposed, but she could see his desire. His eyes were drunk on her.

“Want to know what you like…” So she could tease him with it later of course. Testing his self-control always seemed to get him, he loved testing his limits. “Let me into your mind a little.”

“What are you going to do to me, sir?” She asked, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. It was so easy to seduce him, so effortless, he brought the temptress right out of her.

Her fingers sped up their movements over her clit, daring to dip a finger inside just like she would. Her focus was on his eyes, watching as his darted around her body taking her in. Bunny had never felt so exposed, but she could see his desire. His eyes were drunk on her.

“Want to know what you like…” So she could tease him with it later of course. Testing his self-control always seemed to get him, he loved testing his limits. “Let me into your mind a little.”

“What are you going to do to me, sir?” She asked, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. It was so easy to seduce him, so effortless, he brought the temptress right out of her.

Her fingers sped up their movements over her clit, daring to dip a finger inside just like she would. Her focus was on his eyes, watching as his darted around her body taking her in. Bunny had never felt so exposed, but she could see his desire. His eyes were drunk on her.

“Want to know what you like…” So she could tease him with it later of course. Testing his self control always seemed to get him, he loved testing his limits. “Let me into your mind a little.”

The little smirk on his face would be annoying from anyone else, but from Harry? His cockiness, the smug look had her dripping. How did he manage to do that? Her fingers curled inside of her, a little furrow forming between her brows as she bucked her hips slightly into her hand. “Please?”

Harry loved hearing her beg. That much was evident as he stepped between her legs, stroking himself slowly. The pace of his hand was almost a tease, letting his tip brush her a little bit. Her body shuddered, her other hand clenching the blankets hard as she lifted her hips to try and chase the feeling.

“You really are gagging for it.” He murmured, free fingers wrapping around her wrist and pulling her hand from her cunt. Leaning down, he led the wet digits to his lip. They wrapped around them, a pleased hum leaving his lips in a vibration against her. His tongue flicked between the fingers, licking up every single bit of wetness he could. The sweetness of her cunt was unmatched.

“Tell me you want my cock, and I’ll give it to you. Say… you want me to fuck you.”

A whimper fell from her lips, body squirming beneath him at the delay. She wanted him to touch her, licking her fingers wasn’t enough. Bunny could still feel the weight of his tip on her throbbing clit, catching his eyes so she knew how much she meant it when she asked.

“Please sir, I want your cock so bad, please fuck me! Please!” It was as if she was begging him to show her some mercy. She just wanted him all over. The second he gave in, she knew she’d feel relief. Sex for Bunny had always brought this side out of her, willing to do anything to get to her high. It wasn’t that hard to submit when Harry was the one demanding obedience.

“Please…” She whimpered again, her legs twitching to squeeze shut but were stopped by his thighs. “Been waiting so long, just wanna feel you… don’t wanna think.”

That had seemed to be what broke him. He had finally gotten what he wanted, finally was able to give her what she needed. Spreading her back on the bed, he knelt back on the soft mattress and lifted her knees to spread her out properly. Her wet fingers were dropped but quickly caught his wrist, desperate for contact with him.

A wolfish grin lit up his face making him look a little bit evil, and for some reason, it turned her on more than it should. Harry was a dangerous man, he was ruthless and he killed people- hell, his nickname was Reaper for fucks sake. And yet, here he was. He was going to belong to her, come hell and back.

The dragging of his cock over her slit made her whine, impatient as ever to get him in but her impatience was shortly cut when he began to press into her.

“It’s okay my Bunny,” Harry cooed, easing himself inside her. It was clear from the start it’d be a tight fit, but he was surprised at how easily he’d slipped in. “Like a glove.” He purred, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Bunny’s moans were a mix of pleasure and pain, her turning eyes darker than ever. She’d never felt someone so deep. The slight burn from the stretch was immediate, but the feeling of being full of him was enough to have her back arching.

Harry stilled once he had her fully wrapped around his length. He could feel her throbbing, her slick against his balls, he swore he could stay inside of her forever. With a low growl, the grip on her wrists tightened, head falling to mouth over her breast.

“Mine…” He mumbled against her skin, barely audible. “Fuck-“ Harry felt feral with her. Everything about it called to his core, all he could do was think about pleasing her. His mouth left a sheen over her skin, trails of his spit marking all the parts he owned.

“Harry, please!” Bunny felt like she would lose it, the tension had bubbled over. She couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to move.

His dark eyes rose up and looked at her with a green she hadn’t seen before. A part of him she had never been exposed to. And to be honest- a part of him he hadn’t experienced.

Pure need and possession, feeling like he was where he belonged. Snug inside of her, marking her with his mouth, keeping her where he wanted her. She was everything he had wanted and more.

“Love that beg.” He smirked against her skin, kissing up her sternum and to her neck as he slowly pulled out a few inches before sliding back in.

As much as he wanted to simply pound into her, the savoring of her body felt even more fulfilling. Her shuddery breaths, flexing hands as he felt her squirm underneath him, he was feeling the full effect.

He repeated the action, pushing as deep in as he could until his balls rested snug against her ass, his mouth hovering over hers. “This is where you belong. Wrapped around me, under me, with my cock as deep as it can get.”

It was true, she thought. It had never felt like this before. Sure she’s had great sex, but sex never felt so… raw. She was no longer afraid of seeming too eager, he had fully unraveled her.

“Ah! More!” She breathed, “More, please! More.” It was like he couldn’t get close enough. Her legs found their way around his waist, using her heel to push him further into her. “My hands— let me touch you.”

It was a simple request that Harry couldn’t deny. He had forgotten he was holding her wrists together, far too focused on the feeling of her velvety cunt. His lips nipped a bit of her skin as his hand pulled away, placing both of his hands beside her head.

“So greedy, why don’t you let me play?” Harry was only teasing, he himself was barely holding it together and that was new. He was always able to control himself, but once again it seemed he couldn’t when it came to her. His hips immediately pulled back, setting a pace he felt would satisfy her.

Steady. Deep. Constant.

She was a wreck. Truly, utterly lost in how good it was feeling, his thrusts timed just right to give it to her again just when she was about to ask him for more.

“F-fuck.” She whimpered, trailing her nails down his back. It was evidently something he liked, a groan leaving his throat as she marked him, the skin turning red underneath her nails. “S’good, so good. You’re so big.” She rambled, clutching herself to him.

“Yeah? That’s what I like to hear. Knew you’d take me perfectly. Had my doubts at first… tiny little cunt but… as soon as I got in I knew. It was made f’me.”

It felt so good being stretched, being under him. His eyes ate her up, watching every movement of her face as he adjusted just a bit to try and find the right place. The right spot that would have her shaking.

“How long have y’wanted this, pretty girl? Hm? How long have you been dreaming about my cock?”

She couldn’t lie in this state. He knew that.

Bunny had only been waiting for the right moment, it seemed that moment is now.

“Since I was 17.” She moaned at the tension, he could feel himself pause for a second as proceeded with the words she was saying. “4 years, you were— ah!” Harry couldn’t help himself. He sped up, the carnal need inside him had won.

“I wanted you to sneak into my room…” It reminded her of the many times she walked past him in tiny shorts to catch his attention. Getting a glass of water before bed, a signature move. “So you could fuck me just like this.”

The fantasies with him were never-ending, she swore she’d imagined him in every state possible. Nothing compared to this.

No one could really blame her. The teenage crush grew into a full blown infatuation with the man as she got older. As cliche as it sounded, his gruffness to everyone but her, how gentle he usually was, how he was genuinely kind to her while he openly told other people to fuck off? It made her feel special. Appreciated.

Of course, she had a thing for him. Just a bit older, tattoos, a protective streak a mile long just for her. She wanted to thank him- just like this.

“Fuck. Don’t say that.” He said hoarsely, gripping the sheets hard as he drove in harder, looking down at her glossy eyes. “Don’t fucking… say that.”

Her 19th birthday when she had crawled in his lap, claiming to want warmth. All the hugs she didn’t want to let go of. How irritated she was with girls who tried to flirt with him. It made sense- but it also made him crazy.

“You’re fucking filthy. You’ve always been… a little slut.” He moved to grip her throat. “You even hear yourself? You wanted me to fuck you? Take your cherry right next to your brother's room? You filthy little whore.” But he loved it. God, it only made it seem even more right.

The both of them fucked in the head when it came to kink, wanting shit they shouldn’t. He wouldn’t have touched her until he was able to, but knowing she was in her room… “sitting in that bed with those pink walls, playing with this cunt? S’that what you did? Waiting for me to come in and be the first one to take it?”

He wished he had been the one to take it. A possessive snarl left his chest. “Doesn’t matter. This cunt is still mine.”

She couldn’t help but smile, happy to be laying there with his hand around her throat. He wasn’t applying pressure, just holding her there so she could look at him.

“Yours. It’s yours.” She breathed, “Wanted it so bad, you weren’t even trying to hide yourself from me.” Bunny prayed for the summer days when he and Sterling would work on their bikes in the garage, shirtless of course. How he’d take his time drinking his water, letting it drip down his chest a bit. The way he’d smile at her when he licked his lips clean.

He seemed to quicken his pace at her words, her body moving with the power of his thrusts. How could he have gone this long without giving in? Everything he had been wanting was always right within his reach.

“Please don’t stop! Please!” He had found the spot he’d been searching for, watching her eyes roll back in pure bliss as her begging continued. “Feels so good, please never stop! Fuck!”

“Never going to stop. You’re in so much trouble.”

He was fucked. This has started just to keep her safe, the faux dating, all of it. And it was unraveling at the seams. He wasn’t a fool- he knew that this was going to change it. There was no way in the world that he would be able to go without this again.

It felt so perfect that it would be a crime to deny either of them the pleasure their sex brought. It wasn’t just sex. That was something he would dissect later though.

He felt her tremble underneath him, her breathing heavy as she clawed at the wrist holding her throat. She wanted his stability, her body jolting as shocks of pleasure went up her spine.

“Tell me you won’t take anyone else. Tell me you only want my cock.” He growled. “I’m the only one who can give it to you this good.”

“You. Only you.” She meant it as well. Bunny couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in the picture. She’d grown so much in the time since she met him, so much had changed, but he hadn’t. He kept her safe.

Her senses were heightened, her body feeling sensitive to every touch of their skin. It was searing hot, the way he was kissing her skin only added to her arousal. She was so close she could feel the threads of tension starting to snap deep in her stomach.

“Wanna cum for you, all over you, want you to feel how good you make me feel…” Her voice was hoarse from all the moaning and whining, panting with the pace he had set. There was no stopping him now that he had her, it felt how it was supposed to.

“Yes pretty, cum all over my cock.” Harry cooed, pressing kisses over her face. “Show me how good you are, let me see how beautiful you are when you’re creaming my cock.”

It was like her body was tied to him. His request was granted, unable to hold back as soon as she had permission.

“H-Harry-“ she couldn’t talk, his name falling into a moan as she let go around him. Cunt fluttering and clenching over his prick, legs tightening around his waist as he fucked into her and stimulated her spot just right, making her cum all around him.

“Fucks sake- fuck, you’re mine.” He squeezed the sides of her throat as he kissed her hard, letting himself unload into him. Spots of pleasure danced behind his eyes as he let go, the flood of hot cum shooting into her eagerly.

It had been a long time coming but he didn’t regret the wait. It was fucking perfect.

It was too hard to describe the feeling in her body. Blissful relaxation, the comfort of his body on top of hers, the warmth that came from him as he placed delicate kisses over her skin.

His hips were still moving, though his pace was slow. It was as if he was milking every moment.

“So fucking perfect, you know that?” He breathed against her, “always been mine.” Harry wouldn’t let it go. It still didn’t feel entirely real, but as his hips kept with their movements and he heard small whimpers escape her lips he knew he should have acted sooner.

“Does it feel nice, baby? Want me to keep going?” Harry’s voice was soft, “Wanna give me another one?”  The squeeze she gave him in return proved him correct. Without another word, he rested his forehead against her shoulder, continuing his sharp and shallow thrusts from within her. He smiled at the sound of her heart picking up again, her breathing returning to its shaky state.

“So close, aren’t you? Horny little thing.” He murmured, pressing another kiss to her collarbone. “Come on let go… wanna lick you clean.”

It was unreal to her. Being showered in affection, feeling him as close as he could possibly get. He had cum inside of her, the mess he was making with these thrusts trying to push as much in as it still leaked out with every pull- it had her eyes watering.

It was almost too much. The pleasure made her whimper, a weak noise leaving her mouth each time he thrust inside of her, but she was a slut for a bit of overstimulation.

Harry was eating up each noise, each movement of her cunt. She took everything he gave him and it was obvious to him now that he had met his match. Each move he made, she followed like a mirror.

“Yours, yours, yours… fuck, Harry.” She ran her hands down his back, feeling the swells of his shoulders and memorizing their hot skin pressed against each other. “M’gonna…. Right there, bite me. Please fucking bite right there.” She needed a bite of pain to go over the edge. It would do it immediately.

His eyes glazed over, a low growl coming from him as he bit into her skin. He hadn’t expected it from her, but he figured he should drop all exceptions when it came to Bunny and sex.

Everything he thought he knew was crumbling before him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Her body was twitching against his, a second orgasm flowing through her in shock waves. Her pretty little moans were pushing him further, licking over the area he had bitten to soothe the burn.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay… doing so good for me sweetheart.” His voice was low and breathless, pulling back from her skin to take a look at her. She looked so relaxed, melting into his touch, eyes struggling to stay open. “Talk to me bunny…”

Her eyes were blurry. Everything felt hot and floaty and she melted right into the bed, leaning into his hand as he stroked her cheek with care. This sort of touch paired with two orgasms had her feeling like she wasn’t in her own body.

“Hi.” She slurred, eyes closing as a blissed-out little smile rose on her lips. “Feel so…” she trailed off, a drunken giggle leaving her lips as she felt his fingers press the hair away from her face, sighing contently as her shaky legs curled around his waist.

He had tried to pull out but she whined sadly, tightening her thighs with a sensitive gasp. “No. No- stay.”

She whispered tiredly. “Don’t. Want you in. Waited… so long.”

Harry couldn’t help but obey, trying his best not to move. The heat of her cunt was welcoming, though the clenches as the walls tried to continue to keep him in and milk him for everything he was worth made it hard. He was tired but… he was obsessed with this feeling.

“Shh. S’okay.” He kissed her cheek. “Still got to clean you up, but I’ll stay here for a minute. You okay?” Her cheeks felt hot under him, her weak hand lifting to hold him there.

“Mhm…. So fuckin’ good.”

There was nothing in her mind but him. The way it should always be. She was nervous that if she closed her eyes for too long she’d wake up and it would all have been a dream. The soft kisses he left over her skin were telling her otherwise.

“Really want to lick you clean, you know?” Harry couldn’t help himself, he was high on her. Seeing the way she reacted to him triggered something new within him, was it possible that he was capable of love?

“We’ll save it for another time though…” He chuckled at her whining, happy to see she was eager and up for it. He knew better, the tension that would build up from here would make it all worth it.

Harry glanced up at the clock on his bedside table and relaxed when he saw it was just around 4 pm. Plenty of time for them to clean up, eat, and snuggle some more.

“Why did we never do this before?” Bunny asked curiously, knowing now she wasn’t alone in her desires.

“Because I would have been slaughtered by your brother. And you’re too good for me.” He said simply. That much he knew.

She was sweet and kind and wasn’t supposed to be connected to this mess. Even looking down at her, he felt slightly guilty for pulling her into this. It would never be the same for her again now that she was exposed to this lifestyle. To his temper. And even then, he hoped she wouldn’t have to see him in his true rage.

“M’not good for you. But you’re mine anyways.” He rubbed his nose against hers, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. He was selfish and he could admit that. He should have let her go when this was all over if he was a good guy. It was nice that he wasn’t. “The moment you let me inside of you sealed the deal. I was gonna be nice, gonna let you be happy without me but I don’t think I can.”

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Okay uh, it turned into a fic??

I don't...have an excuse. My brain just. Uh. I'm sorry?

First kisses: Mortarion exclusive ~♡

Probably out of character so um. Apologies for that.

“Clumsy,” he mutters, but  you can hear the way his tone lifts with amusement. He shakes his head, some of his long hair slipping out from the bun he’s pinned it back in as he lifts you upright with ease, dusting off some of the flour from your arm. He gives you a quick once-over, you playfully wipe some of the flour off on his shirt. He scoffs and reaches over to take the screaming kettle off the stove, “it should be ready soon,” he says, right as the timer chimes insistently. Mortarion passes you the oven mits and you lean down, the familiar smell of chamomile wafting up with the steam as he slips the ceramic lid onto the teapot and you bring the small loaf out of the oven, setting it on the counter. “Normally it’s cooked in the coals of a fire,” he says, “you were saying that earlier. And once it’s cooled down a bit, you eat it with syrup, right?” you reply, watching as the taps the base of the loaf and nods. “Hollow,” you say to the noise, “that’s how you know it’s cooked,” he hums, looking pleased, scarred lips twisted into a little smile as you pour yourself some tea, “where did I put that bread knife?” he asks himself, turning around to survey the kitchen. He spots it by the sink and potters back over to the loaf, slicing off a piece and watching the puff of steam rise from within. He picks up the jug of syrup and pours it over the slice, offering it to you as a bit of the dark golden liquid drips over his hand. You take a bite. The syrup is thick and sweet and the bread is thick and warm, you can feel your cheek getting sticky and hear Mortarion scoff again affectionately as he cuts a thick slice for himself. Both are demolished in mere moments and you find yourself chuckling at him as he licks his hand like a cat. “Let me get that for you,” he says, glancing around before sinking to one knee, wincing as his rear thuds against the cabinet as he slouches down close enough to reach you. He grasps your chin gently and turns your face to the side, leaning in. He licks the sticky syrup off, tongue hot against your cheek. He licks across the corner of your lips and pauses. He pulls away a little, you look at him, breath caught in your throat. “May I kiss you?” He asks, voice quiet. You nod. His lips are soft but dry, and all you can smell is syrup and chamomile.