#distracting me from the fic I was nearly finished writing? it's more likely than you think

[reidmania]

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

not so funny | spencer reid

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

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

an; ITS MY BIRTHDAY GUYS!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” Your voice was small.

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

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

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

So instead, you just nod.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

You missed him.

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

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

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

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

Your favourites.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart tightened slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled, “I know.”

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

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

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay?” He asked.

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

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

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

[drabbles-mc]

I'm Not Sorry

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, dry humping, semi-public hookup

Inspired by This Text Post: i should be riding some nerd's thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i'm the girl of his dreams

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: i've been struggling to finish fics lately but i saw that text post a couple days ago, knew i wanted to write about it for Bob, and then BAM this all fell outta me tonight. unbeta'd to the max but Bob Floyd deserves to fuck so time was of the essence 😌

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

If you wanted to be dramatic, you could say that you and Bob had been playing a very coy game of cat and mouse for months. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. A majority of the time that you spent with each other was work-related. It was usually work related, and there was almost always other people around. The closest the two of you got to having time alone was when all of you went out together and everyone else got distracted with pool or darts or each other. So while it might’ve been months according to the calendar, it wasn’t really quite that drastic.

Still, though, you tried to make the most out of the time that the two of you got to have.

It was easy, especially at first, to get a rise out of him, to get his cheeks to flush pink, to get him tripping over his words. A seemingly accidental touch, a well-timed innuendo or wink—that’s all it really took. You didn’t say anything about it but you noticed each time his gaze would break, eyes flickering down from yours to your mouth anytime your teeth dragged along your bottom lip. It never took much with him and for a while you just chalked it up to the fact that he was sweet and shy and a little awkward, that anyone flirting with him like that would get that reaction out of him. It wasn’t until you saw him perfectly unfazed at The Hard Deck one night when a girl at the bar was all but falling into his lap that you realized it wasn’t a Bob thing. It was a you thing. Once you realized that, it was all bets off.

There had been more than one occasion when thanks to your subtly wandering hands Bob nearly spat his drink out across the bar or dropped the bottle from his hand completely. You were able to keep a straight face and play it off, and every now and then Bob was able to recover with some grace, but there had been a time or two when he’d caught a few odd looks from the rest of the crew. It was easy enough to wave them off and they’d let it drop, but the second his focus was back on you, you could tell that he was working overtime to stay on the right side of self-control. All you could do was smile and try to carry on like nothing had happened.

Truthfully, it had gotten to a point where you had almost just resigned yourself to this being what it was going to be like with you and Bob. You were trying to accept that this limbo, this knowing that you wanted him and he wanted you but neither of you really found the time to do much of anything about it, was as good as it was going to get. A never-ending chase, a game with no winners.

“Alright,” you said as you hopped off your barstool, “I gotta head out.”

“Why?” Rooster asked, sounding as though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want or need to be anywhere else on a Friday night.

You laughed as you dug your wallet out, taking out a few bills to close out your tab and then some. “Some of us have shit to do in the morning, Bradshaw.”

He laughed and gave you a mock disbelieving look. “I don’t think so.”

Raising your eyebrows, you turned your head to face him. “You wanna close out my tab, then? Sounds like you might wanna close out my tab.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Forget it—see you Monday.”

You laughed a little harder at that. “That’s what I thought.”

It didn’t seem like your departure disturbed the flow too much, everyone falling back into their previous conversations as you made your way to the bar to square up your tab. You didn’t even bother looking back as you made your way to the door of the bar. By the time your feet hit the blacktop of the parking lot, you were already fishing your keys out of your bag.

Once you were a few strides away from the bar and the clamor of noise coming from inside died down, all you heard was the sound of your own footsteps, and the ocean not too far off. It was peaceful until you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. The sound alone wouldn’t usually have been strange. Someone else deciding to leave the bar at the same time as you wasn’t a weird occurrence. What made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, however, was the fact that the footsteps were getting quicker and closer. You felt your jaw clenching, positioning your keys between your fingers the way you’d always been taught. You were only a few steps away from your car now but you still found yourself taking a deep breath, getting ready to turn around and see whoever it was that was behind you. You were about to turn and brace for impact when you heard Bob’s voice calling out your name, a little breathless, and very rushed.

Turning around and seeing him, some of the tension disappeared. You huffed, shoulders dropping. “Jesus, Bob.”

There was an apologetic smile on his face as he realized what had just happened. “Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you slipped your keys so that you were holding them in your hand normally again. You managed to laugh at the potential worst case scenario versus the reality of the situation. “Another step without saying my name and I think we both would’ve been sorry.”

He stepped in a little closer to you as he nodded towards your car. “Just wanted to walk you to your car.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you turned and started the last few steps across the lot with him. “You know, walking me out to my car is much more chivalrous and much less creepy when you tell me you’re going to do it.”

There was a smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll have to remember that next time.”

Silence took over the space between you, and while it was comfortable enough, you couldn’t help but to feel like there was more to it, something in the air. Hitting the unlock button on your keys, the lights of your car flashed once. You looked at Bob, then at your car, and then back to Bob. “Well,” you chuckled, “thank you for the company on this long, treacherous journey.” You reached for the handle on the driver’s door. “Hope we can do it aga—”

Bob cut your sentence short when he placed one hand on top of yours on the door handle, keeping you from opening it. Before you could jump to another sentence and ask him what he was doing, his other hand was pressing against the small of your back and pulling you into him so that he could press his lips to yours in a kiss that was intense and nervous all at once.

It lasted just long enough for you to realize what was happening and how good it felt and then he pulled away. Going off the way his eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, he was just as surprised at himself as you were. Despite the shock all over his face, he didn’t take his hand off your back, although the one that was covering yours on the door dropped back to his side.

“Sor—I’m sorry,” he finally forced out. “I’m…” he trailed off as he looked at you, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

Another second passed in heavy silence, and when you didn’t try to break free of him, didn’t try to push him away, he let the rest of his sentence die on the tip of his tongue as he kissed you again. You could feel the way that he was more confident this time, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your tank top as he pressed you against him.

You brought your hands up so that they were resting in the crook of where his neck met his shoulder. One slid up, thumb beneath his jaw as he deepened the kiss. It was all you could do to not ball up the cotton of his t-shirt in your fist, put it in a vice grip so that he couldn’t try to get away. However once you felt the way his tongue pushed into your mouth, and the way he used his body to pin you between him and the side of the car, it became clear that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

He had one hand still on your back, one hand braced against the side of your car. It was the first time it ever seemed like he was crowding you, like he was trying to make you seem small. You didn’t mind it. With the way he was kissing you, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t mind anything.

The next time the two of you came up for air, he didn’t pull far enough away for you to really see him. You were just far enough apart for your lips not to be touching, but you could still feel the side of his nose pressed against yours. You could still feel his breath against your skin. The two of you were pressed so tight against each other that you could’ve sworn you could feel the way his heart was about to beat clean out of his chest.

“Shit,” the word fell from his lips in a whisper, followed by an equally soft laugh. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m…I’m not sorry.”

You laughed at that, couldn’t help yourself do to anything but. “Good.” Your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his head. “You shouldn’t be.” Kissing him again, you let your teeth pull lightly at his bottom lip as you pulled away. “Only thing you need to be sorry for is taking so long.”

He smiled and shook his head. If the lighting had been better you were sure that you would see a blush all across his cheeks and down his neck. You’d have to settle for the mental image of it. “Didn’t see you chasing me down across any parking lots for a kiss before this either,” he rebutted with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

The humor died down out of his voice as he said, “You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”

You nodded, noses brushing against each other. The bridge of his glasses bumped against your forehead for a split second in the process. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Your bodies were pressed together so tightly that you felt it when he sucked in a quick breath. There were a million things that he wanted to say to you and he couldn’t make himself say any of them in that moment. He had his hand on your back and the taste of your kiss on his lips and yet none of the things he’d been thinking over the passing months were making it out.

The feeling of your fingers toying with the longer strands of his hair centered him enough for him to smile as he said, “At least you know that. I—oh—” He fumbled his way out of the sentence when he felt your lips on his neck.

“Bob?” you said, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you spoke.

“Y-yeah?” he stammered out, and you could feel the vibrations against your lips as he talked.

Taking one hand off of him, you reached and pulled on the handle to the back door of your car. You kissed him again, pushing both of you off the side of the car in the process. “Get in the car.”

He was far enough away that you could see the shocked look on his face. “What?”

You placed your hands on his sides, switching your positions so that he was closer to the car than you. “Car.” You kissed him. “Back seat.” Another kiss. “Now.”

“Now?” He looked around the parking lot. Full of cars but completely devoid of people. “Here?”

You laughed as you pushed him farther back, causing him to duck slightly as he went backwards into the car. “Preferably, yeah.”

“I don’t—whoa,” he fell back across your back seat, managing to brace himself on his forearms.

You shimmied in after him. Pulling the door shut behind you, you climbed on top of him, one leg between his, the other pinned between the outside of his leg and the back seat. It was close quarters, but you weren’t exactly looking to put any distance between the two of you.

Your hands landed on his shoulders, fingers curling over the curve of them as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Whatever reservations he’d had about your current location disappeared almost immediately once your lips caught his. His hands were on your hips for a moment. You could feel the way he tightened his grip even through the denim of your shorts. Your lips and his met over and over, each reconnection making him a little bolder.

He managed to get his thoughts together just enough to pry one hand from your hip so that he could reach up and take his glasses off. He all but tossed them up and onto the center console between the driver and passenger seats. You were smiling and about to make a comment about the action but you didn’t get the chance. He brought his hand back to you, starting off on the soft, exposed skin of your thigh. His touch was soft at first, but quickly started to change. His fingers dragged up your leg before slipping past the bottom hem of your shorts.

Your pleased gasp of surprise when you felt the pads of his fingertips over the lace of your panties was quickly smothered as he pulled your lips back to his again. His grip on your ass tightened, pushing you down harder onto his thigh and causing you to moan into his mouth.

For a split second you couldn’t believe it. All this time and Bob hadn’t been able to make a move, couldn’t believe that you wanted to fool around in the back seat of your car—that same man was now grinding you down against his thigh in a way that had you wet and clenching around nothing.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, muttering out a quiet, needy, “Fuck,” as you continued to move along the top of his leg.

When you pulled back enough to see him, you saw the way that he was watching the movement of your hips. He didn’t take his eyes off of you, felt like he physically couldn’t tear himself away from the sight. His hold on you loosened as you found your own rhythm. A tiny whimper slipped past your lips, the sound involuntary as you savored the friction. The sound made his gaze snap back up to your face, and when he saw the want and desperation etched into your expression he thought that he was going to melt into a puddle right there on your back seat. What a way to go.

He pulled you back down into another kiss, your bodies flush practically from head to toe. Even as you continued to move against his thigh, you could feel the way he was shifting slightly, trying to get in the most comfortable position as he felt himself growing more and more aroused with each passing second. He didn’t let you pull away, though, didn’t let you put any distance between you. With you pinning his leg to the seat, Bob let his hands wander up underneath he fabric of your shirt. Suddenly it was like you felt his hands everywhere—your back, your sides, your chest. He slipped them down past the waistband of your shorts and underwear, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass in a way that with everything else had your legs starting to shake.

Bob could feel it, too. He could feel the increased sense of urgency in your movements, the way you were chasing after something and you almost had it. He was half-expecting to be woken up and find out that this was all just a dream. But not even his dreams had been this good, felt this good.

He dragged his lips off of yours, trailing them along your jaw instead. He left a string of sloppy, desperate kisses in his wake until his lips were beside your ear. One of his hands crept up your back, palm and fingertips scorching your skin in the best way.

“I meant it, you know,” his whisper came out lower than you’d ever heard, a tiny hint of a tremor to it, “when I said I’ve been wanting this—you.” He kissed below your ear, feeling the shaky breath you let out at that, at his words. “But even when I thought about it,” he kissed your jaw, “or dreamed about you,” he kissed your neck, “it wasn’t—shit—it wasn’t anything compared to this.”

Fighting the urge to bury yourself into the crook of his neck at his words, you pulled your head back. You cupped his jaw roughly in one hand and crashed your lips against his. His arms slithered around you and wrapped you tightly against him. He could still feel the slight shake in your legs.

“Bob—”

He stole another quick kiss. “I’d wait all over again for this.”

You could hear it in his voice how genuine he was being. You tried not to let yourself get distracted by his still-wandering hands, or his erection that you could still feel through his jeans. You tried to start your sentence again. “Bob, I—”

“Let me—”

“Come home with me,” you cut him off right back this time, deciding to just get to the point of what you were trying to say.

Confusion flashed across his face for a quick moment. “What?”

“Come back to my place.”

“I thought—”

“I wanna do this.” You sat up enough so that you could drag your fingertips down over his chest and stomach, even doing it over the fabric of his shirt had him starting to squirm with want. “But I’d rather do it somewhere where I don’t have to worry about smacking my head off the ceiling if I sit up all the way.”

The statement got both of you to laugh. “That’s fair.” He paused, a smirk on his face as he said, “Car was your idea, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m feeling a little impatient. Sue me.”

He pulled you into another kiss, one that every time you thought it was over he’d pull you back in all over again. As much as you wanted to get him back to your apartment and laid out on your bed, you also knew that you’d spend as much time as he wanted to doing exactly what you were doing right now. Anything to keep him this close now that you had him there.

When he released you from the kiss, he looked up at you with that same smile, that same slightly dazed look to in his eyes. Like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You couldn’t really believe it either. You couldn’t believe that any of it was happening at all, but you were also having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Bob Floyd, the same man who could barely make eye contact with you at the bar the first time you all went out together, was the same man who looked like he was about to try and strategize how to best make use of your back seat so he wouldn’t have to wait to get back to your apartment.

“I live less than ten minutes from here,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

His hands moved around to the front of you, fingers just barely curled over into the front of your waistband. You pretended not to notice the way he was toying with the button of your shorts. “Thought you had things to do tomorrow?”

You laughed, leaning in and kissing him. “I still do. Now they’re just,” you ran your hand lightly over the crotch of his jeans, enough pressure to get him to buck into you, “different things.” You giggled quietly at the purposeful breath he sucked in. Reaching over, you grabbed his glasses for him. “C’mon. You can ride shotgun.”

He propped himself up by his forearms again as you untangled yourself from him. “What if—”

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you stopped his sentence short. “Little late to get shy now.”

He smiled, face starting to turn red. “Right.”

The only thing that passed between the two of you were knowing looks and soft laughter as you scrambled out and into the front seats of the car. It wasn’t until you were pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road that you spoke up again, trying not to be too distracted by Bob’s hand creeping higher and higher up on your thigh.

“So,” you looked over at him for a second before returning your attention to the road, “you dreamt about me?”

His head dropped back against the headrest and you couldn’t help but to laugh at his faux exasperation. He gave your thigh a squeeze. You were expecting a joke, one of the witty little comebacks that he had a way of finding in the right moments, but instead he let himself be serious as he said, “Yeah, I did.”

The three words hung in the air between you, and you felt the butterflies that you’d been too busy to feel before in the heat and the rush of everything else. You could feel the way that Bob was looking at you while you looked at the road.

“How much longer?” he asked.

You laughed, sparing him a glance. “Six minutes, tops.”

He nodded, fingertips grazing up and down your thigh, goosebumps breaking out over your skin despite how warm your car was with its still-fogged-up windows. “Six minutes.”

[normspellsman]

I Trusted You

part one | part two

pairing: neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader

genre: angstish, arguing (lo’ak & neteyam), fluffish, siblings fighting, & comfort

word count: 2.3k+

warning(s): lo’ak + neteyam arguing, neteyam being absolutely livid, cursing, jake having to break up neteyam + lo’ak, mentions of injury + death + blood, lo’ak + neteyam physically fighting, nete blaming lo’ak for you getting hurt, mentions of nearly crying, slight foreshadowing to the events of atwow, & kissing

taglist: @dearstell @aonungsmate @lvlyynim @optimisticblazetrash @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @universal-s1ut @minkyungseokie @arianapjs @wwwellacom @goodiesinthecloset21 @liyahsocorro @amortencjja @chshshhshshshshshshs

word bank: skxawng — idiot; moron, irayo — thanks; thank you, tsmuke — sister, yawntutsyip — darling; little one, tiyawn — love, & nga yawne lu oer — i love you

note: literally spent all day thinking about this fic & just had to write it, hope you enjoy! <3 also, tysm for 1k+ notes on the first part. like that’s totally insane. i love you all mwahhh 💋💋

Neteyam was pissed. Very, very pissed.

He gave his brother one job and he couldn’t even succeed in executing it. Lo’ak was apparently too fucking incompentent to do the one thing he asked of him. Stupid fucking skxawng, he thought to himself, shaking his head in disappointment.

Anxiety riddled Neteyam’s body as he stood outside of the Tsahìk’s tent waiting for his Grandmother to finish patching you up. All he wanted was to have you in his arms and hold you but his Grandmother deemed his clinginess a distraction and promptly kicked him out of the tent so she could work and properly focus without him practically breathing down her neck. He began to pace up and down the side of the tent in anxiety, chewing at his fingernails.

Neteyam knew that putting all the blame on his younger brother wasn’t something he should be doing, but he found himself doing it anyway.

Nothing good ever comes out of Lo’ak’s plans or adventures. Someone within his group always ends up hurt which results in Neteyam having to save his ass more times than he could remember to count. He didn’t mind it much then, you weren’t really in the picture then nor did you ever accompany Lo’ak on his explorations. But once you wiggled your way into the eldest Sully’s life and ultimately stole his heart in the process, you frequented Lo’ak’s trips more and more. If Na’vi could develop grey hairs, Neteyam would have a head full of them. Poor boys heart stopped every time he learned that you joined Lo’ak and company to wherever. He was always stressed about your safety.

“Is she okay?” A voice asked, concern laced within their tone.

Neteyam’s tail swished in agitation at the voice. Lo’ak, he internally seethed.

“No, she’s not. No thanks to you,” he growled out, pacing ceasing.

Lo’ak knew he fucked up. He knew he shouldn’t have let Tuktirey convince you to join them on their excursion. He knew he should’ve done more to protect you from the threats of Quaritch and his knife.

“I didn’t know this was going to happen, Neteyam,” Lo’ak replied, ears pinned back as he watched his brother shoot a deadly glare at him, “I didn’t even ask her to go in the first place. Tuk did.”.

Neteyam scoffed at his brother's answer. How dare he blame Tuk for this. He was the elder brother in the moment, he should’ve acted like it.

“Don’t bring Tuk into this. You know damn well that (Y/N) can’t say no to her. You should’ve stopped her from going either way,” he retorted, finger digging into Lo’ak’s chest as he repeatedly poked it into his skin as he spoke. “You knew the promise you made to me and yet you failed to protect her,” he added.

“You don’t think I know that?” Lo’ak hissed out, pushing Neteyam’s finger away from his chest, “You don’t think I’m beating myself up for it? That I don’t feel bad? I feel awful.”.

“I know that I’m the fucked up failure of the family but that doesn’t mean you can blame me for everything,” he added, tail copying his brothers previous movements in anger, “(Y/N) has a free will of her own and decided to come on her own terms. None of us knew what was going to happen tonight. It is Quaritch and his soldiers fault for what they did. They caused it and we just so happened to be in the crossfire.”.

Neteyam shook his head angrily at Lo’ak, braids harshly swaying at the movement. Everything seemed to have gotten hotter. All Neteyam could feel was hot anger. He was so angry that he saw only red.

“She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you weren’t at the abandoned shack, Lo’ak. You were there and they took advantage of that, holding all of you hostage for just being there,” he argued back.

Neteyam knew that Quaritch was to blame for all of this but if Lo’ak wasn’t there in the first place, none of this would’ve occurred tonight. He led everyone to the one place they weren’t supposed to go. A place their Father had established was off limits. Lo’ak never thought about others whenever he went to chase a thrill, always paying for the consequences after the fact.

“You don’t think, Lo’ak. You never do! You don’t think of the consequences of your actions,” Neteyam added, hands lifting up by his sides as he gestured towards the boy in front of him.

A part of his statement was true. Lo’ak tended to act before he was able to think. But even then, he felt as if it wasn’t fair for all the blame to be put onto his shoulders. Lo’ak did reckless shit all the time and his actions rarely severely impacted others the way it did tonight. Tonight was out of his control. The ball was no longer in his hands when a soldier took a hold of Tuk, the ball being snatched out from his fingers and into the grips of Quaritch.

A hiss crawled its way out of Lo’ak’s throat, pushing back his brother with enough force to send him stumbling back. He was tired of Neteyam harassing him for something he had no control over.

The elder hissed back, lunging at his brother and tackling him to the ground. Punches and slaps were thrown as the two brothers rolled on the ground. Insults were shouted out into the air at each other causing heads to turn and peak out in curiosity.

“Enough!” A loud voice boomed, grabbing the shoulders of Neteyam and yanking him off of Lo’ak, pushing him backwards and further from his brother. “Get your crap together you two! There is no means for you to fight!” Jake shouted, pulling his other son to his feet.

Both boys' ears were pinned back against their heads and tails fell limp between their legs. Anger had overtaken both of their senses and caused their minds to become overwhelmed with the emotion, taking it out on each other.

“Both of you go to your respective tents, now!” Jake shouted once again, not leaving room for objections.

Neteyam didn’t want to leave you alone in his Grandmother's tent. He wanted to hold you as Mo’at patched you up and slowly began to heal the wounds on your thigh. But he knew that after the fight he just caused, he needed time to cool down and collect his thoughts. Plus, you most likely heard the entire argument and didn’t want to see him after he spat such harsh words towards Lo’ak, who only tried his best to protect you and his loved ones.

Both brothers walked to their tents in silence, heads bowed in shame as others looked at them as they walked by.

Nothing good came out of this night and all Neteyam wanted to do was have you in his arms as he covered every inch of you in gentle kisses to ease his mind.

———

Kiri had assisted you towards your shared tent with Neteyam. She allowed you to put all your weight on her as she wrapped your arm around her shoulder and walked you to your home. The poor girl was still shaken over what happened hours prior, still trying to process your stabbing and the kidnapping of Spider. She most definitely was going to cry herself to sleep tonight, that’s if she managed to fall asleep.

“You sure you’re alright?” Kiri softly asked, settling the both of you in front of the opening of your home. She removed your arm from her shoulder and held you steady by placing her hands on either side of your arms.

You nodded in response, smiling at her as you did so.

“Irayo, tsmuke,” you replied, placing one of your hands on her forearms, a look of understanding etched onto your face as you two stood there in slight silence.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” she responded back, placing her forehead on yours before pulling back and making the trek back to her family’s tent.

You slowly and gently shifted towards the covering of the opening of your tent, pulling it back as you made your way inside as slowly as you could so as not to cause anymore pain or aches to settle itself in your fresh wounds.

Neteyam and you had gotten your own tent after the official announcement of your relationship to the clan a few months back. Your parents weren’t too keen on the idea but eventually gave in once the frequent attacks of the sky people occurred, wanting the two of you to spend as much time together in case either of you were to fall victim to the bullets of the humans.

It was nice having your own place. It gave the both of you a lot more freedom as mates as well as allow you to explore your creative side when it came to decorating your home.

“Yawntutsyip?” Neteyam called out, upper half peeking out from behind one of the other rooms your tent held.

The teen's eyes lightened up upon settling on your figure, fully coming out from behind the wall and making his way towards you, bringing you into his embrace gently so as to not hurt you. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent to calm down his anxiety.

“Are you okay? Was Grandmother gentle? Did she patch you up all right?” He hurriedly asked, eyes trailing to your bandaged thigh, refraining himself from reaching out and touching it.

You softly giggled at his frantic voice, softly kissing his lips to silence him. “I am alright, Teyam,” you responded, brushing your nose up against your lovers as he relaxed in your hold.

Neteyam sighed in slight relief, nuzzling his face into the side of your cheek and then back down to your neck. He pulled you tighter into his arms as he lowly and gently purred at the fact that you were now in his embrace in one piece.

“Mo’at said to take it easy for the next couple of days,” you added, pecking your mates cheek as you gently coaxed him out from your neck.

He only hummed in acknowledgment, gazing into your eyes as he brought one hand up to your jaw, caressing it with the side of his thumb. He’ll make sure that you barely move a finger your entire healing journey, him being the one to wait on hand and foot for you. You’ll be taken care of whenever he’s around.

“I heard what you and Lo’ak were talking about earlier,” you mumbled out, eyes darting to the side briefly before returning to Neteyam’s slightly larger orbs.

He only closed his eyes as a reply to your statement, guilt eating away at his conscience. He felt terrible for fighting with his brother in front of the tent you were in and that you had to hear everything. He didn’t want you to hear the colorful words he spat at Lo’ak in his moment of anger. He didn’t want you to see or hear him like that.

“I don’t blame him, Nete. He tried his best to protect me from…Quaritch,” you continued, rubbing your hands on his shoulders in comfort, “Yes, perhaps he should’ve stopped me from going but I chose to go in the end. None of us knew what was going to happen. There was nothing we could’ve done, that Lo’ak could’ve done in the moment.”.

Neteyam knew that your words were true. Lo’ak was only still a child and was put into a life or death situation. Held hostage by someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if they made the wrong move. He couldn’t imagine the type of stress his brother, especially you, went through. It was something that most likely would affect all of you for days to come.

“I know, I know, my love. It’s just,” he begins, throat constricting as he tried not to cry in front of you, “I was so scared to lose you. My anger got the best of me and the only one I could blame was Lo’ak in the moment. It doesn’t excuse the things I said and did, but I was so overtaken by you nearly dying that all common thinking flew out the window.”.

“I only want to protect you, tiyawn,” he finished, placing a gentle kiss onto your forehead before placing his own against yours.

You understood where Neteyam was coming from. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were in his shoes. Anger was something that many didn’t have complete control over, succumbing to its power in the end. Neteyam had been a victim of its power this night and deeply regretted it with all his heart. He caused more pain to his brother. More pain than he had gone through within the last few hours.

He knew Lo’ak deeply cared for you. That he was merely just checking in to see if you were okay. But Neteyam had snapped at him and released all his frustrations and anxiety onto him as a result.

“I know, ma Neteyamur,” you replied, gently smiling at him.

You knew that whatever Neteyam did was only ever out of love and that was one of the main things that made you fall for him in the first place. He deeply cared for those he loved and would do anything for them. You just hoped that it wouldn’t be the cause of his downfall.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” Neteyam softly whispered against your lips, not giving you time to repeat the sentiment back as he smashed his lips into yours.

He’d do anything for you. He was yours and you were his. He’d fight fiercely for the connection and love you two shared. It was neither of your time yet. He’d make sure of it.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

[fonteyn]

sweet lips like pink lemonade (when he's feeling generous he'll give me taste)

Pairing: Michael Gavey x afab!reader, no use of y/n. Warnings: Smut. Minors do not interact. +18 rating. Read on AO3.

Author's note: So. this isn't as much of a proper fic, it's more of a fever dream headcanon I had to write down.

*Images are purely for their aesthetic sentiment and not reflective of any particular descriptions of reader inserts.

**nobody look at me. enjoy!

Word count: 1.6k.

It was a Friday like any other during the Oxford term. Students flooded every bar near the campus, drinking their weight in beer with fearsome abandon, trying to forget how exams were getting closer and closer and the grades they needed to recover to make it through to the next year.

You, though, had been getting used to a different kind of normalcy. 

Soon enough, your boyfriend of a few months would arrive to hang out in your room. He'd always bring the food and, in exchange, you'd offer him tales of your week along with the easy intimacy you had found in each other as of late. 

This time, when Michael Gavey arrives at your dorm room, he finds you lying belly down on your bed, reading a book for one of your classes and just. Freezes. Already flushed and embarrassed and yearning for you. 

It had been a long week. With exams approaching, he barely saw you other than in two quick visits you paid him at the library, on which you pecked him on the lips, talked for less than five minutes, and were soon forced to leave or else you’d risk being late for your next class. During weekdays, he tried to remain laser-focused on his tasks, so much so that he sometimes forgot to eat as he got through endless papers and exercise lists. On the other hand, every time he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel a larger-than-life, disgusting, and too-big want for you, distracting him from everything else. 

He knows you like him, especially given that you made a point to reassure him about it so often. He thinks you might even love him at some point. 

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but think about how you’d react if you knew the truth. 

That what he felt was more than simple affection, an easy enjoyment of your company. 

What he felt was overwhelming and all-consuming, keeping him up for hours at night, heart racing thinking of your smile, planning ahead conversation starters and factoids he thought would be interesting to you, marveling about the increasingly easy ways you showed affection.

How your hand would reach to touch his knee under the table at dinner. The times you’d hide your nose on his chest, hugging him to protect yourself from cold weather. The times you’d position yourself behind him and massage his neck when you knew he had been studying for hours without ever so much as getting up once. You always managed to break his focus with minimal effort. 

Tonight, when he lays eyes on you, he is once again flooded with that overwhelming greed, accentuated by how you are wearing just one of his 'math pun’ shirts which you took home with you after spending the night in his room a few weeks prior. He fails at not staring, but the hem is hitting your thighs at the absolute perfect length so he can have a peek at your panties.

He lays down by your side, pretending not to be bored. And frankly, he didn't stand a chance. From the moment he saw you, he was aware of his cock growing hard. You innocently think he's just going to keep you company while you finish the last chapter of your planned reading for the night and then you can hang out together.

But. It's nearly impossible to focus when you can feel his gaze burning on your ass. He barely makes a sound, however soon enough you feel the warmth of his fingers starting to trace the hem of your/his shirt. And soon after, he touches the edges of your panties. Unknowingly playing with your emotions as he grazes a finger just underneath the elastic and then retreats. 

He keeps doing this for a few minutes, still silent, eyes closed, almost like he's meditating. You're stuck, trying to read the same paragraph over and over, without absorbing a word. 

"These are cute", he says, quietly. 

An edge in his voice, and before you know it, it's as if something in him snaps. He moves to his knees. 

He's got his hands massaging your ass and his nose gliding on the back of your thighs, leaving kisses here and there, so soft you can barely feel. Just enough to make your body stand alert, preparing for his next move. 

Despite this, any awareness goes out of the window because you simply don’t expect him to shove his nose right there in your clothed pussy from behind. Mouthing on your lips, kissing and licking and moaning against you until you don't know if your panties are wet from his saliva or your juices.

And though you want to drop everything right there and then, you can't. Through strokes and licks and moans he manages to say: “No, no, baby. Just keep reading, don’t mind me.”

But he doesn’t stop or grant you mercy, as his hands spread your ass to give him more room to continue kissing your pussy through the fabric of your panties. Pausing only a couple of times to bite the curve of your ass, or take in your scent. 

One of the many things you loved about Michael was how shameless he allowed himself to be in adoration of your body. How openly he wore his hunger for you. With clear infinite want.

You can tell his hips start rutting against the mattress as he worships you. And you are breathless, wanting just as bad to feel him without any barriers between you. 

He stays like that, kissing your panties, running his nose across your clothed pussy, humming and biting the delicate skin of your butt cheeks until you finally have enough and decide to beg.

"Mikey, pleaaase, put me out of my misery, take off my panties, honey." 

Never in your life had you whined like that to a man. And it strikes you like a bolt of lightning that the only one who managed to drag anything like that out of you was this skinny nerd with a big dick and an unawareness of his unbeatable head game.

When he hears your voice, he finally raises his head, as if he’s coming out of a ‘pussy drunk’ trance. He seems only vaguely aware of everything else. His sole focus for the past half hour had been enjoying your body, feeling your skin, smelling you, locked in an unbelievable dreamland of "I can't believe I get to do this, I can't believe I get to have you".

As soon as he hears you ask, he immediately, and clumsily, pulls down your panties and dives his tongue straight into your core. Adding quickly, two long fingers inside you. And you're nearly crying because as much as that feels good, it's not what you want. You want more. You need more. 

"Baby, please just give me your cock.", you’re almost sobbing.

His brain nearly short-circuits. He gets up, stumbling, dizzy with desire, and before he can grab a condom, your hand shoots out to stop him. Holding his wrist.

He eyes you, surprised. Stunned by how disheveled you look, with pupils dilated, quick pulse, and a wild look in your eyes.

"Just take me raw. I wanna feel all of you."

He could have died right there and then. 

Michael manages to, somehow, climb back in your bed, noticing how you put a pillow under your hips and now you're presenting your ass, prettily and ready. Pussy glistening to take him. 

So he does. 

Pushing his leaking cock inside you, where you hold him tight. Clenching in a way that has him nearly seeing stars. He needs to stop for a moment. 

He still wasn't very experienced, and if he was going to last at all until he could make you cum, he needed to recite pi on his head a couple of times to calm himself down.

So he leans down and presses kisses along your neck and your jaw, delighting in how you whimper, crying out in desperation. He leaves a trail of kisses down your back until he feels ok enough to start fucking you.

By this time, you have turned from nearly crying to whining and moaning, to finally begging him to move. When he starts fucking you, it's as if all is good and right in the world, and you bask in a surreal notion of Michael and you just fitting together in an impossibly perfect way.

He keeps pumping inside you, and he can tell he's closer to coming than you. He's getting louder, unable to quiet the effects of having your tight pussy clenching and squeezing him. Michael knows he's nearly done for and, in a desperate and instinctive moment, uses his thumb to gather some of your wetness, bringing it up to softly massage your hole. And you cum instantly . 

So hard it makes him shoot his load inside you for what it feels like forever.

He finally collapses on top of you, feverish from it all, heart beating so fast it's threatening to jump out of his chest. But you manage to move underneath him, turning your body to face him.

You feel flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment from cumming this hard and in this particular way. So before Michael can say anything that will inevitably be somehow a mixture of awkward, shy, and arrogant all at once, you hold his face in your hands and pull him towards a kiss.

Your lips appreciate the soft press of his own, still wet partly from him licking his lips, and partly from eating you out. Your thumb traces his stupidly perfect cupid’s bow and jawline, nearly getting yourself in a trance, much like he was when he first started this whole thing.

Finally, your eyes meet. Michael still has that wild, ravaging, and all-consuming gaze, now mixed with the distinctive look of satisfaction. It would be overwhelming if you didn't know that you were looking at him in the same way.

"So, that was good... right?, he asks. 

And all you can do is smile and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

A/n: I have one final point to make. Michael Gavey IS the type of guy who will take your panties home after the first time you hook up (probably a handjob in the bathroom of a bar where you are both slightly inebriated and you smile as you stuff your panties in his pocket, thinking that you're soooo funny for doing that and bringing out a priceless look of his face). And he WILL masturbate with his nose pressed against them afterward. AND he WILL tell you when you ask, because of course you ask and he CAN'T for some reason lie to you. His face and neck flushed with embarrassment unaware that if it were anyone else you'd find it creepy but because it's him, you think it's the hottest thing ever and you give him a blow job right after he admits to that.

[navybrat817]

He's wondering when you're gonna stop doing your boring work and do him instead

Of course, he is. 😏

Clocking Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky makes it difficult for you to get any work done.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smutty times, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

A/N: Late submission for Week 7 of Hot Bucky Summer for @buckybarnesevents ! Prompt - "Who's this?". ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. But thanks to @rookthorne for the inspiration. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You narrowed your eyes in concentration on your laptop screen, the clicking of your keyboard the only sound in your in-home office. You typically worked with some kind of background noise, whether it be music or even the television at a low volume. It helped the day go by faster. At some point though, Bucky ventured in and shut your playlist off to ask some random question.

"Who's this?" he asked as he shoved his phone in your face and blocked your view of the monitor. "And what is FYP? What the hell does that mean?"

You had to giggle after a moment. Your boyfriend had a habit of interrupting you while you worked to get some form of attention. It happened more times than you could count and you were lucky you got any work done at all when he was home. He told you in passing that after being alone for so long that he wanted to soak up every moment he could with you. 

I can't get mad when he puts it that way. 

"It means 'For You Page' and I have no clue who that is," you answered, gently pushing his hand away so you could get back to typing. "Why are you on TikTok, old man?"

"Why are you?" he asked, taking a seat on the loveseat near your desk. "Is this what you look at to get inspiration for your smut or whatever it is that you call it?"

"Hey!" you said, pushing away from your desk to turn and face him. "I write stories, thank you very much. Some of them just happen to include smut and there is nothing wrong with that."

Bucky had an all too smug expression on his face when he leaned back against the cushion and widened his massive thighs. He took up almost the entire two-seater sofa with his size. The gorgeous bastard finished up his workout earlier and didn't bother getting fully dressed after his shower. Just a new pair of sweatpants and no shirt, his long hair still slightly damp and daring you to run his fingers through it.

Showing off his broad torso like a harlot. 

"Sorry. You're right. You do tell stories and they are wonderful," he said, holding up his hands on surrender. His steel blue eyes had a hint of playfulness as he nodded to your laptop. "You almost done with your 'porn with plot' or should I come back later?"

You rolled your eyes as you spun away from him and pulled yourself back to your desk. "You're impossible. Turn my music back on and go back to watching TikTok videos."

"Or you could take a break and ride me," he suggested so casually your fingers froze on the keyboard. "Give you the motivation you need to finish."

With a defiant lift of your chin, you went back to typing. You did like his idea and it wouldn't be the first time you stopped writing to have Bucky pull an orgasm or two from you. The only reason you got a bigger desk was so he could fit under it. The image of him nearly getting stuck under your old desk brought a smile to your face. 

It also caused a tingling sensation between your legs when you remembered just how deep he stabbed his tongue into your aching pussy. 

"You can't ignore me, doll. Look at you. Already distracted and shifting in your chair," he said, his voice low. He knew exactly how it affected you. "So get over here."

Nope. His thick cock can wait for me to take a ride. 

"Bet you're not even working," he accused. It wasn't true. There were words on the screen. "You're typing just to look busy when we both know you're getting your seat wet through your clothes."

"Don't you have work to do yourself?" you asked incredulously, refusing to look over at him. If you did, you'd go right to him and he'd win. Both of you would win, but that wasn't the point. He cut into your work time when you couldn't cut into his.

It's not like I can show up in the middle of a mission and demand to suck his cock. 

"If by 'work' you mean your delicious cunt, yeah. I have a lot of work to do," he said. The unsubtle man he was, you knew he was about two seconds away from taking himself out and stroking his perfect cock. Anyone who said perfection didn't exist hadn't slept with Bucky Barnes. "I'll do overtime and you can pay me in orgasms."

Your head fell back against your chair with a groan. "Where is your off switch?"

"No off switch around you, doll. Only an on switch. You're lucky I don't knock stuff off the end tables since I'm practically a walking hard-on around you."

The sincerity in his statement had you beaming and laughing all at once. You wondered if something in the serum sent his libido into overdrive or if it was you who brought that side of him out. It did wonders for your self-esteem because no matter how you looked, he gazed at you as if you were the most beautiful creature to grace this planet. 

A small break wouldn't hurt. 

"If I step away for a few minutes," you began as you stared at the ceiling. "You have to transcribe the next few paragraphs for me so I can lay down and recover."

"Deal," he said, leaning over and gripping the chair handle to turn you toward him. "But I'm warning you. If you dirty talk, I'm gonna get hard all over again and we'll be right back where we started."

"It can't be any worse than the time you had me in your lap," you said as you lifted your head. He couldn't stop himself from running his hands along your body or kissing your neck. And that was before he had you warm his cock. "Don't look so smug. You owe me an orgasm."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. 

Lucky for you, Bucky always delivered on his promises. 

We can't resist Bucky, can we? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[agerefandomstuff]

HI! i LOVED the fic you made abt the babyspace reader (finding comfort in your role) and i was wondering...could we PLEASE 🙏 get a pt 2? Your awesome, ☮️!

Sorry I disappeared for a bit. I started writing this as soon as you sent it but then life happened. I finished it tonight <3 I hope you enjoy!

Title: Finding Comfort in Your Role. Part 2

Word Count: 3990

Description: Sam and Dean came back to the motel to find you regressed. Sam got some one-on-one with you while Dean got sent to the store. Now they have to get you into a diaper. Which… is easier said than done.

Cw: cussing

Dean came back into the motel attempting to balance an ungodly amount of grocery bags in his arms and boxes of diapers obscuring his view. He gave a knock–well… kick– to the door out of courtesy, also maybe because he nearly dropped everything trying to reach for the handle. He was shocked when Sam opened the door with you back on his hip, a big smile on both your faces although Sam’s was directed just at you.

“Who is it, hon? Is that Dean with all your supplies?” he gasped softly and acted surprised as he opened the door further for Dean which made you giggle and reach out towards the mountain of baby items.

“Hey… kiddo–? Wait wait don't touch–!” Dean awkwardly started to greet only to panic as you touched a box causing him to lose the perfectly…awful balance of items he had. Everything came crashing down, toys bounced into the room and boxes of diapers crashed down onto his foot while he tried to catch anything only to fail spectacularly. “That… damn it.”

It took a second for you to decide whether you were supposed to be upset or not, turning to look at Sam with a worried expression which melted away seeing him crack up at his brother’s clumsiness. Relieved you weren't in trouble, you giggled along with him and Dean gave you two an unimpressed look that only lasted a few seconds before he had a small smile on his face as well. He couldn't help it. As much as it annoyed him that it was at his expense he also loved seeing you two happy.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up… little shits.” he grumbled as he began to pick things up hoping to hide his smile a bit and play into his hardass role, although he wasn't fooling anyone.

“Hand me a box so I can get one on the baby then I'll help you pick up your mess.” Sam held his hand out with a little snicker but Dean looked at him slightly offended.

“You don’t know how to change a diaper. I’ll have this all cleaned up before you even figure out how to unfold it and there’ll be a puddle on–” He glanced inside, noticing the towel set up on his bed. He shot up, dropping everything he’d just picked back up and pointed to the towel accusingly. “Is there pee on my bed?! If there’s pee on my bed we’re switching! I am NOT sleeping in YOUR kid’s pee stain!”

“No! There's no– Dean! We’re not switching! We already chose our beds!”

“That was before the baby pee!”

“There’s no pee!”

“I don't trust you. Lift the towel.”

Sam scoffed, “You lift the towel.”

“I’m not touching pee!”

“It’s completely dry!!”

“Then why won't you touch it?” Dean eyed him, not looking at you whatsoever despite how you were kind of the cause of this argument.

Truth was Sam knew the towel was dry. If it hadn't been he wouldn't have lugged you back onto his hip to open the door but as a sibling it was in his nature to argue with Dean and freak him out. It was fun. Plus it was making you giggle.

“Oh my god I'll help you pick things up, Dean, just stop being so dramatic.” He answered, instead acting like this had all stemmed from the mess instead of something he was definitely the cause of. Dean opened his mouth to argue more but with one more glance to the suspicious towel then the mess on the ground he gave up with a little grumble, deciding to just take advantage of the help. Afterall.. He bought way too much and it made a big mess…

Sam laid you back down on the towel, handing you a little stuffed animal that had landed near the bed, hoping it would distract you for the minute they were busy. Which, sure enough, it did. You happily squeaked and babbled to the stuffie while the boys got to work picking up items and setting them on the table in the room, Sam occasionally scoffing at Dean’s purchases.

“You really think we need this many boxes of diapers?”

“I didn't know what size to get or how many we’d have to change.”

“And what about the.. What even are these?”

“Well.. they’re.. baby supplements. Like.. vitamins, I think. Lisa’s friends would– just shut up and keep picking stuff up! Just be thankful I went and stocked up for you and your kid. That makes me a great uncle! Or– uh something.” Sam pauses to look at Dean with raised eyebrows, surprised by his ‘uncle’ comment. But right as he opened his mouth to make a smart reply Dean, who looked a bit flustered, struggled to even hold his gaze and cut him off with a defensive mumble. “Whatever. Shut up.”

Sam smirked, entertained by his brother’s embarrassment but also pleased he clearly wasn’t disturbed by his relationship with you. Even if Sam would tell you otherwise, he would always have that worry in the back of his mind that Dean might not approve of this dynamic but… Dean wasn't always a man great with his words, instead showing his true feelings through his actions. Which if his current actions were anything to go by… then a weight had been lifted off Sam’s mind, reassuring him again that being your caregiver was definitely something he enjoyed and wanted to be as long as you'd have him.

“Is that all of it?” Sam asked, glancing around the room once more and peeking out into the hallway to make sure they'd gotten it all before shutting the door and locking it.

“Yeah I think so.” Dean pried open a diaper box and tugged one of the fluffy purple diapers out, setting it beside you along with wipes and some baby powder. He smiled down at you for a brief second, watching how you chewed on the toy and played with it just like a baby would.

“Purple? There weren't any plain white ones?” Sam asked as he walked over, checking out the changing set up and pulling him out of the little moment he had with you.

Sam lightly ran his fingers over your legs and stretched them out over the bed thinking it would make the change easier than if you had them tucked up by your chest.

Dean cleared his throat hoping it would take some of the awkwardness away and batted your caregiver’s hands away, letting you bend and stretch your legs as you wanted. “I got white ones too. I got a variety.”

“Course you did.” Sam reached down for your legs again after Dean batted them away assuming Dean didn't mean to stop him from helping or that perhaps he’d done it because he had assumed Sam wouldn't want to do it. But he did want to help. You were his baby and he needed to learn this so he was going to have a part in this even if it was just something as small as straightening your legs out and tugging his shirt up to be out of the way.

But Dean quickly batted his hands off your legs again, not even giving it a second thought. He knew what he was doing and whatever Sam was doing to play with you was going to get in his way once he started to change you. This was his duty as your uncle…person… designated diaper changer? No, that sounds awful. He’ll just settle for… um…

Now Sam was annoyed. He was just trying to help and you were his anyway so why Dean wasn't allowing him to touch his own kid was ridiculous. He wasn't even doing anything yet. He was just unfolding the diaper and opening the wipes with his furrowed thinking brows as if this required a lot of deep thinking. It was putting a diaper on for heaven’s sake. How hard could that be?

This time he reached for your underwear, making an aggravated noise when Dean smacked his hands away again. It just felt personal now. “Quit it!”

“No, move over. I’ve got it.”

“It’s a diaper. I can figure it out! You act like I’m incapable or something!”

“You’ve never done it before! I have! Move over.”

Your eyes bounced back and forth as you watched them bicker, lightly shove at each other, and smacked each other's hands away when they reached for you, like teenage girls trying to avoid a full brawl but slowly bordering on one. You giggled around the stuffie’s ear in your mouth and squirmed when they would touch you for a brief moment only for the other brother to pull them back away, their focus going right back to bickering.

It took them a solid few minutes to realize that their bickering had wound you up, making you much more active and wiggly. Your clothing houdini act making a return when they both had to pause in surprise seeing your underwear had disappeared. Sam looked around the bed even peeking under it for the article of clothing, shocked and slightly horrified at your decision.

Dean was more surprised than Sam not expecting that. In fact seeing you half naked was like a wake up call to him that… you were not his kid. Or significant other. Or whatever you were to Sam. And he was… encroaching on that a bit actually. He was just supposed to be guiding his brother not over taking it. He was supposed to be his Shredder or Obi Wan… whatever. His mentor. His..big brother… not.. Dad.

Dean took a breath then put his hand on Sam’s shoulder pulling his attention away from his missing underwear search and held out the diaper to him. Sam awkwardly took the diaper from him and raised an eyebrow, unsure what he wanted from him.

“Slide it under the kid’s butt before any more pee gets on my bed.”

Sam’s gaze nervously flicked between you, Dean, and the diaper, the sudden task before him much more daunting. Sure he wanted to do it by himself a few minutes ago but that was when he was fueled by spite from his brother. Now he felt like he'd been thrown in the ocean with a boat he had no idea how to drive.

He clears his throat and tries to use one of your legs to lift you up so he could slide it under you. However.. he could only get it under one cheek and you kicked at the diaper with the other free leg. His brows furrowed in concentration as he reached for your other leg trying to lift them both at the same time but another problem arose. Adult legs were much bigger than infants’… even with his bigger than average hands. So when he attempted to lift you up with both ankles in one hand and you squirmed around you would effectively get one leg out of his hold. every. single. time.

Dean watched his little brother struggle with the first most basic step, struggling internally to not tease him ruthlessly or just take over and do it himself or both. It would be easier after all. But he told himself he would teach his little brother so he would.

Try.

He would try.

If his brother ended up being totally helpless then well… Dean would just be looking after his bed. Who could blame him?

“Roll 'em onto their side then roll ‘em back onto the diaper.” Dean offers only for Sam to huff and look at him a bit frustrated.

“Roll..? You mean right off the bed? Don't you see I’m barely keeping this little worm from squirming off already? The bed is too small for that.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s sassy complaint and stepped a little closer to gesture with his next suggestion, his subconscious itching to quit teaching to get it over with. He would do it so much faster. “Try putting your hand under the small of the back.. Right here.” He slides his hand under your back and lifts just enough for your butt to lift off the bed, your body automatically stilling and assisting his action. “To lift the butt up.. See? There. Then you can slip it under.”

Sam quickly slipped the diaper under your body before your momentary stillness ended and Dean set you back down on top of it. The material crinkled and you peered down at it for a moment. Your baby brain enraptured by the noise and familiar feeling under your butt.

Dean then took the leg closest to him and gently pushed it out, gesturing for Sam to do the same to the other leg as he reached for the powder. Realizing how hands on he had become again he quickly handed the bottle over to Sam. “Powder then pull up the front.”

Sam took the bottle in hand and looked at it like it was a new weapon for a hunt he’d only seen through research before but never gotten the opportunity to use. If he could do that he could do this. He just had to keep repeating that to himself and this would be fine. If he could do that he could do this. If he could do that he could do this. If he could–

Sam turned the bottle over to spray the powder out into the diaper but…nothing came out. He looked at Dean sheepishly as he turned it back over to screw open the top only to breathe in the cloud of powder that puffed out. You giggled uncontrollably at the sight of him coughing with a light dust of powder decorating his face which made Dean laugh as well.

Recovering from his coughs, Sam gave you both an embarrassed glare before trying again. This time successfully dumping the powder on you and the diaper. Although maybe a bit too much? He wasn't sure he didn't exactly have a reference to go off of. You giggled at the feeling of the soft powder and the cloud that came with it. You even held the toy, that you luckily had yet to make disappear like your clothes, down by your belly making it appear as if it were looking at the cloud on your skin as well. The sweet action made Sam relax once again knowing that even if he was somehow doing this wrong you were still happy and unbothered by his mistakes. You were being such a patient baby today and he couldn't be more thankful for it.

“Alright you kinda.. made a little mountain. In one place. So go ahead and rub that in a little. Like in the creases and stuff so none of us have to deal with a rash later.” Dean instructed, his mind conjuring up the image of listening to a little kid cry in the backseat of Baby due to a diaper rash they could’ve prevented... while they drove for hours… no gas station in sight… no place to buy more changing supplies… god. He had to stop before he gave himself nightmares.

Dean looked away as Sam hesitantly began to rub the powder around, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy as if he hadn't already seen it all by now. You wiggled around a bit as Sam’s hand brushed the baby powder into the creases of your hips and thighs, nervously pausing around your butt and genitals. It was an uncomfortable situation that was a part of the reason he suspected both of you hadn’t yet broached the topic of him changing you before and Dean turning away made it feel like it was.. a taboo… or extra intimate which made him more nervous but… he had to remind himself he was being a dad right now and even his brother knew that by calling himself your uncle. And while you two would have to have a conversation later about today plus reevaluating your dynamic and expected boundaries, this was an extenuating circumstance.

Assuming he was finally done he looked up at Dean and cleared his throat, holding his now powdery hand up, waiting for his instructions on what to do next. “Now what?”

Dean looked back at his brother for a moment then down at you to double check his work, still helping keep you in place with his hand on your leg while your attention had shifted to the pile of goodies on the table just a few feet away. “The front of the diaper, dude.”

“Right.” Sam went to pull the front of the diaper up to cover you but paused as he remembered his hand was still… dusty. “Uh.. what about..?” He led off holding his hand up for Dean to see better. To which he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a baby wipe, let go of your leg, and began to wipe off Sam’s hand for him. Because of course he had to do everything around here… big brothers and mentors just never got a break! He would be taking care of Sammy forever… ahem.. hopefully…

While he was busy cleaning Sam’s hand off, you took the opportunity of no longer being held in place to roll over onto your side, eyes trained on the other toys on the table and not the edge of the bed you were nearing as you turned. As you started to slip from the bed your hand shot out to the bed beside you trying to grab something to keep you from falling but you ended up only grabbing the towel which went down right along with you taking along the diaper and all the fresh powder Sam forgot to close.

Both Dean and Sam yelled as they lunged for you, Sam’s hand, damp from the wipe, slipped over your skin as he tried to grab your leg while Dean tripped partially onto the bed, snagging your arm roughly as he did which kept you from completely hitting the floor. Or at least kept your head from hitting the floor. Your feet still smacked on the ground and your poor white-powdered butt hit the bed frame but Sam was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and hoist you back into the middle of the bed, horrified you’d fallen and he hadn't been able to catch you.

Dean let go of your wrist, instantly moving to work in tandem with Sam without so much as a word spoken between them. He checked you over for injuries while your caregiver cupped your face and cooed apologies and… borderline scolds you with sweet words.

“Oh baby… I’m sorry. Daddy was distracted.. I thought you'd stay still for just a moment and… you can't just roll off the bed like that you could get hurt.. Are you hurt? Oh don't cry..” Sam kissed your forehead as your face scrunched up with tears. The way the boys were acting after your brief feeling of fear and the minimal pain you went through from falling was enough of a reason for any baby to cry. He looked at his brother much more seriously, his own panic coursing through him as he assumed you were crying from pain not reacting to them. “Dean, where’s the injury? I have tears at twelve o’clock.”

“Calm down. It’s fine. No broken bones. Maybe a bruised butt and wrist.” Dean was visibly more relaxed after his investigation, but was still looking over your wrist. He felt guilty for how hard he grabbed it when you were falling off a bed. It was embarrassing that they had acted like you'd nearly died off a cliff.

Sam sighed in relief and leaned down to press more kisses to your face, wiping any tears that started to fall down your face. If he could handle a diaper he could handle tears. If he could– oh.. He hadn't finished the diaper.

“Dean, could you finish the diaper situation?” He would have other chances to learn in the future but right now your tears needed him the most. He brushed his fingers through your hair and down your cheek as he moved to sit beside your head. Dean even helping to situate you so your head was in his lap while he finished changing you.

Sam pet down your face and spoke softly, “You're alright, honey. You're okay… you don't have to cry…”

His soft speaking was helping calm down the panic that lingered in your chest seeing them riled up but tears were still easier to start than they were to stop. You looked up at him through wet eyes, his blurred image from the tears made another cry slip out.

He ran his hand down to your shoulder, patting it slightly as he tried to think of how to make you feel better. But it was hard to think with you crying. You’d think all the years of hunting and thinking on the spot under extreme pressure would help in this situation but you were different than that. He was filled with the need to help his baby with something mundane not save you from being killed by a ghoul.

“Dean, why is it taking you so long?” he asked, the returning anxiety getting aimed at his innocent brother.

“You put the diaper under there backwards..!” Dean grumbled out in defense as he finished taping the diaper up then stepped away, subtly admiring his work.

Once he was done Sam scooped you up in his arms, putting you on his hip to hold you tight. “There. You're alright. See? Your bottom is all protected… and so are the sheets and daddy’s lap… and you're not hurt… you're okay..” He held one hand under your thighs while the other guided your head to his shoulder allowing you to cry into his shirt. He rubbed your back and shushed you while he rocked on his feet slowly, recalling how he’d seen people do that little movement to help soothe crying kids.

While you two were absorbed into your own little world, the older hunter stood back to watch in silent awe as his little brother parented. A part of him realizing his little brother wasn't so… well... little anymore. His heart squeezed at the sight of him doing for his little kid the same thing Dean had done for him when they were kids. He felt like both a proud uncle and a… and almost like a proud dad seeing his kid all grown up.

He wiped at his face hoping to get rid of some of those feelings, not that they were bad but… they only needed one big baby crying in this motel room.

After a few minutes of gentle loving comfort and Dean opening the things he bought to give you two your time, Sam had managed to successfully ride through to the end of your crying without having his own breakdown. It had gotten easier throughout your cry but there were still several moments when he couldn't stop thinking he was doing something wrong.

But now you were sleepily dozing on his shoulder, tired from the crying even if it wasn’t that long. Crying was hard work and Sam was right thinking you hadn't slept in a while. This hunt was dragging on and you didn't always get to sleep in the car very long to make up for the sleep you'd miss other times so the crying was just the right thing to push you over the edge.

Plus Dean had cleaned off a teether he’d bought and Sam had given it to you to suck and chew on while you drifted which only made you relax further into your daddy’s chest that smelled oh so perfectly like him.

You really hoped he wouldn't put you down while you slept.

For both your sakes.

[whyareyouhere66]

I feel like it’s been forever since a new Harry Potter fic was written, so I’m here to request(if u feel like writing it ofc<3)!

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Male!reader where reader likes to admire him from the background, but word gets out that they have a crush on him. Reader gets picked on for it because “why would Draco Malfoy of all people go for a Hufflepuff boy?”. U can choose what direction it goes in 👀 (unless you want me be more direct then I can add on to it!)

Yes! I’m here for it- hope you enjoy <3

Also, prefacing this by saying I don’t at all like Rowling or support her bullshit, this is just a cute request id like to do

CW: teasing directed towards reader, reader is like half an inch shorter than Draco (something like that, just for context) unedited (I’ll do it soon I promise) and makeout scene (spoilersssss uh oh)

x

Sound booms across the length of the long walls, the bustling Great Hall full of kids across grades eating their meals. Chicken, mashed potatoes, loafs spread out in baskets, it’s like a thanksgiving meal.

The sun, high in the sky, shines through the tall windows and creates a natural light to outshine the various floating candles. Down at one of the various tables, the Hufflepuff children sit at the wooden table and talk.

“I don’t think he understood the assignment, either.”

“He’s the one who wrote it!”

“Exactly the issue-“

Y/n, accompanied by F/n, sits across from another group at the decorated table. A yellow and black scarf sits loosely around his s/c shoulders, a few rings wrapped around his fingers. He takes another bite from his plate, listening to F/n and another student bicker quietly- the slightest pull of a smile rising on his lips. 

“You guys still talking about Snape?” He asks, eyeing the two. They both nod.

“He’s so grumpy all the time, Y/n,” F/n complains, jutting his chin towards the stone faced man across the room. Y/n chuckles and shakes his head.

“Snape always knows what he’s doing.” He says, planning to check out of the conversation when words of disagreement are thrown his way. 

Y/n moves to keep watching his friends- but his eyes flicker.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the platinum blonde hair his eyes always seem to catch. And suddenly, his friends’ words are but mush against his ears.

Draco sits at the Slytherin table, green banners hanging above his head just like the yellow ones above Y/n’s. 

He has a normal scowl, that would dull anyone else’s face if it weren’t his. As his friends continue to talk, though, his eyebrow lifts and a smooth smirk almost replaces it.

And oh, how pretty his lips are.

Y/n wishes he could hide the thoughts as they ring in his head, wishing his small smile wasn’t such a giveaway.

“Y/n? Did we lose you again?” The girl across the table asks, bangs falling into her face. Grace, is her name. 

“Yeah, you look distracted.” F/n snickers, nudging Y/n’s elbow because unlike the others, he knows exactly where his best friend’s gaze is lingering. 

Blood rushes to Y/n’s face, realizing how obvious he had been just now. 

“I’m fine.” He insists, elbowing F/n right back. The others shrug it off, not noticing how one last glance is shot towards Draco.

Lunch is closer to wrapping up when Y/n notices the time- 1:48. 

“Oh, wait-“ he looks over at F/n. “Man, we gotta go-“  

At this, the boy looks at the time and nods. They both grab their things, wishing goodbye to their friends- Ms. McGonagall would be expecting a finished project in the next hour. 

They weave through the students crowded  around tables, holding their bags close to their hips to take less room. Getting out early gets them more time, though their project was nearly done anyways Ms. McGonagall really talked this one up. 

Stepping out through the giant wooden doors, Y/n breathes out.

“Alright, you have the-“ his words are cut short when someone steps into his path. 

Looking up, he finds 3 people standing in front of him, having bumped into the first one. They’re all from Slytherin. 

“Sorry, didn’t see you.” He tries to step around them, but the boy in front recognizes him and suddenly seems very interested.

“Wait a minute,” he steps in front of Y/n again, “Y/n.” His name on this strange boy’s tongue doesn’t sound like a question, honestly it feels threatening. Y/n furrows his eyebrows, and steps back.

“Uh, yeah?” There’s an intimidating look in the Slytherin boy’s eye- one that not even his friends know the reason for. They, as well as F/n, watch curiously.

“Aren’t you that Hufflepuff that has a crush on Malfoy?”

What.

Y/n’s heart stops, his eyes widen. Who is this kid? 

“Huh?”

“Oh don’t think I haven’t seen anything,” confidence seems to build in the boys voice, the look on Y/n’s face coming as confirmation for his words. “You’re always making puppy eyes at him- oh, I so knew it!” 

The excitement in this boy’s voice is strange- was he betting on this? Does he not realize how creepy that feels?

“Wait, slow down,” one of the Slytherin’s step forward, wrapping her head around the news, “you like Malfoy? Really?”

Y/n doesn’t like the tone of her voice.

“A Hufflepuff? Liking Malfoy?” She scoffs, “oh please.”

Y/n feels too exposed, like he’s suddenly being poked and prodded from under a microscope. 

How had they found out? 

Who else knows? 

He looks at F/n, eyes screaming for help. Another minute here, when kids could walk around the corner at any moment, hear his secret slowly leaking from the safety of his own self, and he might explode.

“You guys are on something strong, aren’t you?” F/n swoops in, trying to play it off and Y/n makes a mental note to remind the boy how grateful he is for him in a moment.

“Quit projecting, will you? Pathetic, really.” F/n says, though avoids any eye contact with the three. He shoves Y/n’s shoulder, who stumbles, and leads him away as quickly as possible. 

By the time they get to the library, Y/n’s head is already swimming, mainly from embarrassment. 

He never wanted anyone to know- he still doesn’t want that. This little “crush” was supposed to stay between him and F/n, for that was the only person he ever trusted to carry it. 

But now? With some smug Slytherin boy walking around with his feelings cupped in the palm of his hand? Y/n’s lost his safety rail. Now, his feelings are vulnerable, ready to be spilled to Draco at any second. 

Two hands hold his shoulders firmly, he recognizes them as F/n’s. No surprise, considering there’s barely any one else in the library right now. Y/n’s eyes dart to meet his.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, and it takes an extra moment for the e/c eyed boy to come up with an answer.

“I think so.” He says, nodding. F/n copies the gesture.

“Good, that’s good. I’m sure not that many people know, ok?” He reassures Y/n, who’s grateful for the words as they bring back some stability. 

“Right.” 

Now that he’s out of that boys uncomfortable gaze, he doesn’t feel as panicked as he did before. More so, unsettled. 

“Right, yeah, uh- let’s get back to the project.” With the nod of his head, and one last look, F/n is agreeing. The two boys sit down at one of the many tables, between two tall bookshelves. 

‘Maybe it’s ok,’ Y/n thinks to himself, ‘not that many people know.’

**

You realize now, that you spoke too soon.

The next day comes, and you’re now standing in the bathroom wasting away time that’s supposed to be spent in Snape’s potions class. It’s empty, aside from you of course, nothing but the sound of a running faucet. 

It’s so quiet that when the door creaks open, people stepping inside, your head snaps to the side, startled. 

It’s two boys, both from Gryffindor, named Avery and Jaxon and you immediately recognize them from a few classes. You turn back to the sink. 

Neither of them look at you, instead disappearing into two of the stalls. 

By the time they’re both out of the stalls, you’re washing the final suds from your hands. From the mirror, you see their faces change, realizing who you are. 

The air becomes unnecessarily tense, you’re unsure why, both of the boys are trying to pretend otherwise. 

Avery and Jax glance at each other, walking to the sinks. And it’s not until Avery decides to speak, that the silence is again broken.

“Hey, um-“ you look at him, “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but…” he looks hesitant to speak, like what he say might come off as offensive, something sensitive. Your curiosity only grows. 

“Is it true, that you and Draco are dating?”

You nearly choke.

“What?” You asks, hating that this is the 2nd time Draco has been brought up to you. 

“I mean, I heard that-“ Avery seems to notice the growing worry plastered on your face- it’s spreading. Your secret is spreading.

“Oh,” Avery begins to realize, “sorry, Y/n, that was a bit invasive.” His tone is calm, only slightly uncomfortable. Pretty much the opposite to you- itching to drop the conversation. But, you keep a calm face, shoving the gross feelings down. 

“No it’s fine, um, why?” You can only hope your voice doesn’t give everything away. 

“Oh, I just thought I heard a couple Slytherin kids talking about it.” Again, his voice feels too nonchalant. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Oh.” The slightest shake. Unlike Avery, though, Jax still seems interested.

“Wait- do you like him though?” This results in an elbow to rib, and Avery looks at him like a mother scolding their child.

“Ow!-“ Jax grunts, glaring yet ignoring the hint, “I’m just asking. You know about the Slytherins and Huffs’.” 

“They just…” his eyes dart right back to yours, “they just don’t go together, man.” You hate the way he says it- hate how it feels like you’re being scolded, looked down on. Looking down at the yellow and black robes draped across your shoulder, you avoid Jaxon’s gaze. 

Which, in hindsight, gives enough of an answer.

The two Gryffindors shuffle out of the bathroom, and immediately you let out a groan. 

You’re fucked. 

Hands run down your face in exasperation- this wasn’t supposed to get out. Draco probably knows now, people think that you’re dating. 

The unusually large bathroom echoes mumbled curses back to you, silence so eery it feels haunting. You feel yourself  beginning to doubt if you should even return to potions class- knowing Draco is sitting at the desk a few feet from yours. 

“They just don’t go together, man…”

“A Hufflepuff? Liking Malfoy? Oh, please…”

Another sigh.

You feel your fingers pressing into your eyelids, passing over your temples and the wrinkles above your nose.

‘He’s gonna hate me’

Such a childish thought, but once it appeared you felt a sickening feeling in your chest because oh, how you wish he doesn’t. 

Outside, footsteps echo in the hallway. 

And Draco himself, walks down the corridor towards the boy’s bathroom, taking his time with the silence. It’s a much better option, compared to Snape’s incessant grumbling. 

He’s been trying to think the whole day- but is only now getting the chance thanks to that little posse of his.

For hours now, whenever given the chance, his mind drifts back to the conversations from early this morning at breakfast.

“Have you heard?” Pansy leans over the table, one eyebrow raised as if she’s careful of listening ears. Though, to that she doesn’t spare a second thought.

Blaise narrows his eyes, looking at her curiously. “Heard what?” He asks, and Draco impatiently looks at her.

“What now.” The blonde already doesn’t care, Pansy always seems to find some sort of gossip across houses. But this time, she’s sending a smirk right his way.

“Some little Hufflepuff has a crush on you.”

Now, to this, Draco does perk up- and his eyes flicker in your direction for only a moment. But, he doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge it. 

“Mhm.” Pansy sounds so smug in her words, satisfied as both boys lean closer to her.

“Who?” Blaise asked, the roughness behind his voice covering any curiosity. 

“Y/n L/n.”

Draco looks bewildered for a second- you?  He never thought it was actually you, that was only a spark of hope in a moment of weakness. He was prepared to hear the name of some random girl he hadn’t learned the name of before- but the familiar ring of your name brought satisfaction to follow the shock.

He doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that shows through. Beside him, Blaise scoffs.

“You’re joking”. He says, and Draco shoots him a glare.

“What? It’s no surprise,” he says cockily, “jealousy’s never a good look”. The meaningless comeback earns a glare and an eye roll from Blaise- and surprises Pansy. 

“Draco,” she narrows her eyes, “do you like this? Him?” She gives him a once-over, checking to see if he’s serious. He is.

Draco doesn’t give a straight answer, though, instead scoffing and going back to his plate. 

“Get a life, why don’t you. Your gossip is boring me.” He says- but there’s the slightest pull at his lips, smiling your way.

Draco pushes open the large door, stepping inside the bathroom and immediately- his eyes land on you.

“Y/n?” 

Your head snaps up, and a new feeling sinks into your stomach when you see him. You can’t tell if you wish it was someone else, or if this is perhaps what you were hoping for.

“Uh, hey.”

Draco steps closer, and you can see some sort of glint in his eyes, and you can’t quite name the warm yet uneasy feeling that follows.

“Skipping Snape’s class now, are we?” He teases in a smug voice, and your blood aches in your cheeks. 

“Just taking a break-“ you don’t look at him, using a towel to wipe off your hands. You simply want to play it cool in front of him, though you’re unsure considering the past two times you seem to have failed.

“A break, hmm? I’m sure.” He says sarcastically.

Instead of picking a stall, like you expected, you watch from the corner of your eye as he approaches you and leans on one of the sinks.

“So,” 

You freeze. 

‘Don’t say it..’

“There seems to be a bit of a rumor spreading around.” 

You visibly wince, the moment you prayed would never come has arrived. He found out- and just like the others, he knows that he could never accept a silly school crush from your house.

Turned away, you’re unable to see the smirk on his face- but you can hear it in his voice.

“Draco…” you mumble, feeling the dread of what his response is going to be. He’s closer now, you feel it- and suddenly his figure is right beside you. 

“Y’know, if you wanted a date so badly you could’ve asked.”

You pause.

What?

His voice is new, because while there’s still such a teasing tone buried in the words, you notice…hope, as well.

You look at him, and notice his eyes have softened. 

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, “no need to have waited so long.” He still sounds partially like he’s joking, but his fingers are creeping closer to yours by the sink’s ledge.

The pieces are starting to connect in your head- he hasn’t pushed you away, hasn’t called you any names. In fact- he’s the one getting so close.

Draco watches, examining your face. He’s starting to feel impatient, actually, feeling he’s been clear enough. He doesn’t seem to understand how confusing his words can be- how your beating heart is twisting and unraveling in your chest. He’s too preoccupied with his own churning heart.

“What’re you saying?” You finally ask, and he nearly scoffs.

“Hell, you’re real thick in the head aren’t you?”

He doesn’t even try stopping himself as his hands cup your face, and his lips are molding right into yours.

He’s so quick with it, like he’s been waiting years for this, yet so smooth at the same time. You can feel your eyes as they shoot open, only to hazily fall half closed a moment later. 

His arms loop around your waist, so you were almost bent into his body. You have to take a cautionary step back just to stable yourself, one hand holding his neck, it almost takes you too long to realize he is kissing you. 

‘Holy shit, holy shit holy shit holy shit-‘ your mind races, and it feels like only half of it is functioning. Part of you is swimming, the other half melting into his arms because oh how long have you been waiting to feel him so close. 

He’s smirking into the kiss now, breaking it into quicker, shorter kisses that mesh together to make one, long breathless one. Through the haze of his lips, your hand creeps into his hair and he wonders why he waited so long to experience this.

You tug slightly, other hand grabbing his jaw, and you pull him away.

The room is no longer silent, both of you  catching your breath.

“I’ll take that as your confession, then?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he replies, “meet again after Potions?”

“Sounds good.”

[I hope you all enjoyed- I feel there’s probably more I could’ve added or something, but for now this is good. If anyone wants an add on or more or like a part two let me know!]

[pedgito]

i just saw your post about glasses!eddie munson and whenever you have the time, would you be able to write a cute series of reader finding out about his glasses ITS JUST ADORABLE

author’s note: this was meant to post sooner than now but here it is lol, i finished this pretty quick but got sidetracked. glasses!eddie has invaded my brain and it’s never leaving.

cw: sfw, glasses!eddie, eddie’s not so subtle flirting, acquaintances to friends, once again another fic where everyone bullies eddie (give this man a break), if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.5k

“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Your voice is soft, leaning back toward Eddie, whose eyes are nearly closed from how hard he’s focusing on the board, blindly scribbling something down on the paper. He’s lost on where the voice comes from until you’re in focus, looking back at him with a smile.

Eddie wasn’t a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was the boy who got picked on relentlessly and as much as you wanted to help, you weren’t sure it would change anything. Plus, he didn’t seem that bothered by it—or he was just really good at faking like he wasn’t.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, still confused, “I’ll be fine—Mr. Donahue’s handwriting is always shit, I can barely understand it.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still legible.

“Munson!” The teacher's voice rings from the front of the classroom, “let's stop trying to distract other classmates and focus on our own work, okay?”

And if it wasn’t the condescension in his tone that pissed you off, it was the way he so quickly blamed Eddie for the interaction. He shrinks slightly, sending you an apologetic look.

It happens a few more times that week, catching Eddie glancing at the board as if it’s nearly impossible to see—and maybe he was telling the truth, but it’s also obvious that Donahue hates Eddie for no other apparent reason than just because he thinks he’s up to no good, which isn’t fair to Eddie.

You show up early to class the following week, bag resting in the chair of the desk beside you—Eddie’s usual seat, waiting. He’s always bordering on being late, making it to class as the bell rings, looking more frazzled than the others.

You weren’t sure what he got up to between classes, but he definitely seemed overwhelmed.

“This seat taken?” He asks with a smug smirk, pointing at your backpack. You smile slightly, reaching for it.

“Sorry—I just wanted to make sure I could sit beside you.” You tell him honestly. It throws Eddie off, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly before relaxing, eyes roaming over you curiously. “You said you can’t understand his handwriting, I was gonna let you copy my notes.”

“Can I copy your work too?” Eddie asks jokingly, but you can tell he means it. “I’m barely scraping by with a D in this class.”

You snort out a quiet laugh. “Let’s worry about the notes first.”

Eddie spends most of the class still struggling, forehead creased up as he sifts through your notes, writing things down sparingly. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mean, focusing a little too hard on one word every now and then as he looks over, your papers perched on the corner of the desk.

“If my writing is horrible you can tell me,” You say, which makes Eddie chuckle, “seriously, I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not that,” He assures you, “it’s just—the angle, it’s a little hard to read them—“

“Oh, well,” You grab the papers in a bunch, extending them toward him, “here, just take them.”

Eddie ignored you, his fingers wrapping around the leg of your desk to pull it flush against his—it’s quick enough that it doesn’t make much noise, only a slight shifting that draws a few eyes.

“Or…that works too.” You say shyly, face heating up at his straightforwardness. “Better?”

He glances over, shifting the papers to his side and gives a subtle nod as his lips pull together in a tight line, “Yeah, actually.”

And it’s almost blissful silence as Eddie copies them down, asking a few questions when your words meld together out of habit when you’re writing too quickly, he still leans in slightly but you don’t pester him on it—eventually Eddie’s actions are noticed, all eyes shifting toward the back of the classroom.

When you look up, everyone is staring back, including the pensive and threatening eyes of your teacher.

Eddie mumbles a soft, “Sorry.” as he pushes your desk back.

“Do I need to remind you two that this isn’t a matchmaking class?”

And it’s a ridiculous comment to make, but it has Eddie scoffing slightly underneath his breath.

“I’m letting him copy my notes,” You say innocently, “is that okay?”

You can’t remember having a problem in any of your classes, either flying under the radar or one of the usual favorites—you’ve never felt this tense, staring down the entirety of the group that was staring right back, though your gaze was focused on Mr. Donahue.

Eddie looks at you briefly before settling his eyes toward the desk, fiddling with pen in his hands to soothe his anxiety.

“If Eddie has a problem, he can come sit up front,” He says coarsely, “I don’t think you have the wiggle room to be socializing, do you?”

And suddenly his gaze on you is forgotten, flicking toward Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t give him the satisfaction, shuffling his shoulders forward in an effort to hide himself, scribbling something random down on the paper in front of him—it’s something he did when was bored or uncomfortable, even, a comfort.

You catch Eddie toward the end of class, gripping his sleeve before he can sneak away.

“How far behind are you?” You ask him, peering up at him curiously. Eddie looks sheepish, glancing away for a moment.

“Uh, I haven’t really taken notes all semester—I kinda just..scribble shit down so it looks like I’m working.”

Your eyes slant down slightly, in an ire of disbelief as your mouth parts, “Eddie, are you serious?”

He shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch his jaw. You huff through your nose, snatching the pen perched in Eddie’s pocket and uncapping it before shoving it into his hands.

“Give me your address.” You insist, holding out your arm to him. Eddie seems skeptical, fingers wrapping around your arm gently, shifting your sleeve up, “I’m getting you caught up—don’t look at me like that.”

And truly, he’s not sure how to respond. Kindness and niceties weren’t at all familiar, feeling like there was always some ulterior motive. Still, he scribbles down the information with slow strokes, careful that it doesn’t smudge—leaving a small smiley face out of spite, forcing a similar expression onto your own face.

“I’m free after six,” He tells you, “so unless you want to get caught up in awkward conversation with my uncle, wait until then.”

You laugh at that, pulling your sleeve down.

“How else am I supposed to uncover all of your secrets?”

Eddie smirks slightly, eyes averting toward the floor.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—you just have to ask.”

He spends most of his nights—sans the ones where he’s performing for the small audience at The Hideout or hosting Hellfire meetings—organizing campaigns and writing down random things that come to his mind, feeling the need to get the thought out on paper, even if it’s song lyrics or a drawing.

He adjusts the thin rimmed glasses up his nose, eyes hurting from the strain he’s forced them through all day. He knows he should spend a few minutes resting, even just closing his eyes for a moment, but he can’t help it. Eddie knows it’s his fault, the beginnings of a headache forming as he tries to focus, his finger sneaking up to rub at his eye—he can feel the haziness, willing it away.

But then you’re knocking at his door and every thought is thrown out the window—part of him never expected you to show, his heart thrumming in his chest as he leaps from the bed, tossing the papers away haphazardly and forcing the glasses up into his hair without a thought, pushing his bangs away from his face.

Eddie whips the door open, causing you to startle slightly.

“Hi.” You say wearily, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi,” Eddie responds slightly out of breath, before clearing his throat and offering a smoother, “Hey.”

Your eyes glance up, noticing the difference in his face. His bangs were like a trademark, constantly hiding his eyebrows. You point up curiously, speaking before you can think things through.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“No—no uh, of course not.” Eddie responds quickly, adamant in his refusal. “Why would you—“

He’s clearly caught off guard, standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes crossing as he follows your finger, only realizing his mistake when you drag the glasses down slowly, pushing them gently up the bridge of his nose.

“Well, that is definitely an interesting pair of non-existent glasses.” You say jokingly, grinning at his embarrassment, cheeks flushing a deep red.

It’s hard to explain how perfectly they fit his face—like it’s the missing piece that pulls him together. He’s not dressed up like usual, in a faded graphic shirt and gray pair of sweats, no jacket or rings in sight. It’s natural—and it’s in that split second you can see the real Eddie. Not the threatening, menacing Eddie Munson that everyone played him out to be.

Eddie nods wearily, beckoning you inside.

“I won’t tell anyone,” You promise him with a tinge of amusement, rounding on him as he closes the door, shoving the stack of papers at his chest, “—if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie pulls the glasses off of his face, folding them up.

“It’s not that,” Eddie tells you, “—didn’t mean for you to find out about them, it kinda ruins the whole image, you know?”

Image. It makes you laugh to yourself silently.

“You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide them,” You giggled slightly, “besides, I don’t think they ruin anything.”

“I kinda forgot you were coming.” Eddie lies, knowing he had been riddled with nerves since he stepped foot inside of the trailer that evening, not understanding why he was so anxious to begin with.

“Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything—“ You stop briefly, sighing softly, “but if you need a tutor or even just…some help, I don’t mind.”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to take it, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

“I study with Nancy a lot,” You explain, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m a lost cause,” Eddie admits with half-smile, “there’s no saving me.”

“I don’t believe that,” You tell him honestly, approaching him to shove the glasses back toward his chest, his other hand still stuffed full with the papers containing your notes, “—seriously, put them back on and I can spend a couple hours seeing where you’re at.”

Eddie listens, though skeptically, placing the glasses back onto his face—you smile without really thinking, causing him to react similarly.

“It’s okay to let someone be nice to you,” You assure him, “as many assholes as there are at Hawkins, there’s still a few of us who mean well.”

“I can’t be taught, I’m just warning you now.” Eddie remains adamant, leading the way toward his room. You follow behind eagerly, taking in the abstract way of decoration littered around the trailer.

“Fine—you can at least show me your drawings then.”

Eddie looks back at you briefly, a confused grin on his face.

“I’m really observant,” You tease, “and curious.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve already got one secret to keep,” You respond, teasing him lightly, “what’s one more?”

“How bad is it?” You ask him, staring up expectantly.

“What—oh, my eyes?” Eddie asks, “Uh, kinda bad. It’s okay, though—I manage.”

You crease your eyebrows together, motioning for him to remove the glasses. He does, watching as you reach for a paper, holding it up in front of him.

“Tell me when you can read it clearly.”

Eddie nods, squinting as you move the paper closer and closer, until it’s only a few inches from his face, your eyes widening in shock.

“Eddie,” You stress, “you can’t be serious?”

“I told you I manage,” He argues with a slight laugh, “but it’s bad, I meant that.”

Your expression remains the same, arms falling to your side as you discarded the paper.

“They look weird,” Eddie defends, “that’s why I only wear them at home—I already get enough shit at school anyways.”

“Bullshit,” You say boldly, “they do not look weird.”

Unfortunately, you did see all of the relentless teasing he caught at school, that wasn’t lost on you.

“You don’t have to lie,” Eddie says, “it won’t bother me.”

“I’m not,” You counter, smiling as the glasses returned to his face, his eyelashes touching the lenses, bangs brushing against the rim, “they fit you—they’re…cute.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “Okay, enough.”

You smile to yourself, watching as his cheek flushed a faint pink.

“Can I try them on?”

Eddie doesn’t answer outright, pulling them away from his face and handing them over—they’re a little bigger, his more prominent facial structure different from yours and causing the glasses to slide down your nose slightly. You push them up with your finger, squinting at the strain it puts on your eyes.

You can see Eddie smiling over the rim, admiring how perplexed you look in the moment, “Don’t look at me like that,” You say playfully, “these things are really strong.”

Eddie shakes his head, “It’s—nothing, nevermind.” He pulls the glasses from your face gently, placing them back on his own.

And Eddie’s never been shy, but suddenly he can’t force the words out, afraid of the mix of both rejection and embarrassment.

“I like you like this,” You tell him, hoping it eases him, seeing how tense he was—clearly unloved by many, “I mean, I like you both ways but this—it’s nice.”

“You’re the first.” He says flippantly, not aimed at you for any specific reason. He’s not immune to the words thrown at him, they do start to wear on him after time, even if he brushes them off for the most part.

“They’re insane,” You tell him with a surety, “all of them.”

“Careful,” Eddie treads, “Jason would have a fuckin’ field day if he heard you say that.”

You shrug, smugness in your expression.

“He’s terrified of me.”

“Jason—terrified of you?” Eddie asks, begging for more clarification.

“Our parents are friends—I’ve seen…a lot.” You say cryptically, not wanting to dive into details, “I’m not one for blackmail but I’m not totally above it.”

“You’re so interesting,” Eddie speaks candidly.

“I’ll take that was a compliment?” You respond, “Hopefully.”

Eddie nods with a subtle smile.

“Well—like you said,” You start, repeating his earlier sentiment, “I’ll tell you anything, just ask.”

You hold your finger up as his mouth opens—

“But, notes first—secrets later.”

Eddie pushes his glasses up comedically, forcing a quiet laugh from you—it’s the exact reaction he wants. He settles, agreeing with your rules.

“Deal.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[laurfilijames]

Breathe

Pairing: Will "Ironhead" Miller x female reader

Rating: M but will be E as smut is definitely coming (I surprised myself and didn't write smut in the first chapter)

Words: 1,815

Warnings: PTSD. Anger issues. Almost passing out. Sexual tension. Mentions of previous assault (choking).

Summary: You've seen Will at the gym many times before, and he you, and today you finally share a moment, discovering your assumptions about him are right.

A/N: Here I was thinking my first character fic for Charlie Hunnam would no doubt be Jax Teller, and then this guy swooped in and floored me. (I also haven't finished SOA yet and feel like waiting to write for Jax until I do, and also my feelings about him are soooo conflicted) Will is an absolute MAN and I'm in love.

This will be a series and it will be smutty and indulgent.

---

It had almost been a year, but he would always be known as the man who nearly choked a stranger to death in the cereal aisle of the local grocery store.

Will - as you overheard him be called by the man he usually came to the gym with who looked just like him and assumed was his younger brother - often cleared anyone away from any machine out of fear; the other patrons sacrificing their workouts in favour of not wanting to provoke someone who may snap if he didn't get his way.

He was solo today, grunting and groaning to the left of you as he worked through his second set of bench presses; your eyes often drifting over to him in the mirror in the event he needed a spot.

You blinked as he slammed the heavy barbell back on its rack, shifting your gaze back to yourself performing deadlifts as he sat up and rubbed a towel over his face to catch the drips of sweat running down his tanned cheeks and into his blond beard.

Distracted, you lost count of your reps, cursing to yourself internally as you suffered through two more than was necessary, your hamstrings on fire and barely able to complete the last one with proper form before dropping the weights to the floor with a huff.

You glanced in Will's direction, catching him staring at you where he nodded before you quickly averted your gaze. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lay back on the bench and continue another set, his noises of effort making your heart rate increase possibly more than your workout was.

Passing him to go to the squat rack, you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed as he worked, the way his cheeks flinched as he clenched his teeth together tightly, similarly to the way he did even when he was 'relaxed' and not straining through an exercise.

Happy to be facing away from him, you started through your first set, thinking you were keeping track of your reps, only to find your mind wandering back to thoughts of him.

You sympathized for him, hearing his fiancee had left him after the event at the supermarket, knowing he had likely seen and done so many things people could never fathom experiencing in his many years in the Special Forces, and on top of all of it, not even being able to go to the gym without every person giving him a wide berth and downcast stares when they passed by.

"Damnit," you breathed, realizing you yet again lost track, only to be startled when a deep voice sounded behind you.

"You're at 8," Will spoke, making you glance over your shoulder to see him as much as you could as you squatted through another repetition.

"Thanks," you puffed, trying to sound as genuine as you could, thankful for his attentiveness while you did your best to look effortless in completing four more squats at the heaviest weight you had ever done so far.

"No problem," he smiled, assisting the bar back onto the rack when you were done. "I notice you lose count a lot."

He stated it so matter-of-factly, making you knit your eyebrows together quizzically as you turned to face him.

"Sorry!" he raised his hands in defense, "I'm a numbers guy, I tend to notice shit like that, I'm not trying to be an ass."

"No, it's fine," you returned with your own smile, "I guess I just never thought anyone would pay close enough attention to something like that, especially to someone they don't know."

Will tilted his head to the side and shrugged, like he wasn't quite sure what else to say to explain his behaviour.

"I appreciate it, though," you added, seeing a sort of discomfort crease in his features. "Saved me from doing an extra one. I thought I was only at 7."

Your laugh seemed to relax him, bringing out a light in his blue eyes and his smile that you instantly knew you could become addicted to seeing.

"Well, I'm happy to have helped, then. I'm Will, by the way."

He held his hand out, and taking note of the size of it as well as the length of his fingers, you swallowed and extended your own, meeting his eyes as he shook it with a firm grip.

"I know," you answered, seeing your response immediately wash a shameful look over his face.

He quickly withdrew his hand and moved it up to scratch his head, coming to terms that everyone knew who he was and the reputation he had.

"I've heard your brother," you accentuated as a question, "say your name a few times here."

"Oh, uh, yeah, that's Benny, my younger brother," he confirmed, placing his hands on his hips with a sigh of relief that your recognition of him wasn't only due to his infamous incident.

"Was he in the Service, too?"

"Yeah," he nodded, biting his lower lip.

"Your family must be proud of you both," you stated, positioning yourself under the bar to begin another set.

"Some days more than others," he said quietly, watching without shame as you lowered yourself into a squat and powered back up again with an enticing thrust.

Will cleared his throat, "You've got great form."

The tone in his voice made you steel yourself before continuing with another rep, feeling adrenaline rush through you that wasn't on account of the weight-lifting.

"That's it, breathe through it," he purred, that voice of his making you lose focus.

You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to match your breaths properly with your execution but failing, your mind going to a place you couldn't deny it hadn't been before in all the times you worked out at the same time as him.

It was good to work until failure, you reminded yourself, but as Will counted you to your twelfth and final rep, you struggled to reach the top of your squat let alone get the bar back on the rack.

Will effortlessly took the weight of it in one hand, lifting it easily for you to set it back in place.

"You okay?" he asked, assessing you with concern as you wiped moisture from your brow while his other hand rested along the small of your back.

"Yeah, thanks."

He stood close to you, enough for you to smell the intoxicating scent of his sweat mixed with lingering shower gel or cologne, and when you turned, his hand fell away from you just as yours felt the intense need to touch the dampened cotton shirt that clung to his warm body.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, you shifted on your feet and reached out to grip his forearm for support, shaking your head and apologizing.

"Sorry, that's the heaviest I've lifted and I guess I didn't eat enough for breakfast before I came," you stammered, looking up at him to see his face screwed up with worry.

"Hey, it's fine," he soothed, his hands holding your shoulders in a strong, reassuring grip. "Just breathe."

You did as he suggested, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply and slowly, your hand loosening on his forearm only slightly while he remained unmoving.

"Good, that's good," he whispered, his face leaning closer to yours, and you didn't dare open your eyes again in fear you really would pass out.

"Keep breathing," he repeated, prompting you to continue what he was quickly causing you to forget.

Another slow, calming breath filled your lungs, and when you blew it out gradually through your parted lips, Will spoke again, his fingers pressing into your shoulders.

"Good girl."

Your eyes flashed open, his words making you feel like you were in a haze, his crooked smile and glint in his alluring blue irises creating the opposite effect this whole exchange was meant to have.

"It always helps me," he admitted, his eyes not shifting from yours. "Whenever I'm stressed or angry…to breathe through it."

"Does that happen often?" you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Hmm, sometimes," he began, not seeming offended at your question. "Less than it used to."

"You must have been through a lot," you spoke, letting your thoughts come out freely, your hand giving a reassuring squeeze over one of the tattoos covering his forearm.

Will licked his lips, leaning slightly closer to you, holding in a breath despite knowing he shouldn't in a moment like this.

"Hey, are you done with this?" a man asked, pointing to the squat rack that was left abandoned beside you, his unexpected voice startling you both.

"Yeah, man, go ahead," Will answered, nodding at the man once and giving him a curt smile.

You watched Will size him up as the man switched out the plates on the bar, like he was waiting to see if anything impolite would come from his mouth next or turn into a threat somehow. The veins in his neck bulged as he increased his breaths, his cheeks flexing again due to his teeth clamping down on each other forcefully. When the other man continued about his business, Will seemed to blink back to reality, his chest still heaving sharply as he struggled to find calm.

Not thinking twice, you reached up and placed your open palm on his chest, directly over his furiously beating heart, bringing his attention over to you along with a sense of surprise.

He blinked quickly and sighed, his eyes searching yours for something to help him until you spoke.

"Breathe, Will," you coaxed, reminding him of what he needed to do, seeing him close his eyes and begin to slow it down until his breaths eventually matched yours.

"Thank you," he muttered, reaching his hand up to cover yours that remained on his warm chest, giving it a gentle squeeze as he flashed you a weak smile.

"Hey, I was gonna grab a protein shake from that smoothie bar down the road after, why don't you join me?"

"I'd love to," you beamed, feeling more than okay with ditching what was left of your workout to go with him, the look on his face making it even more worth it as he grinned brightly and took your hand to lead you toward the change rooms.

"Grab your things and I'll meet you outside," he ordered gently, revealing his effortless ability to delegate, and your willingness to want to comply.

Will leaned against the side of his truck as he waited, sighing to himself while he attempted to sort out everything he was feeling; the mix of wanting to lean in and trust you overpowering his usual go-to of staying distant and playing it safe, all of which was confirmed when you walked out the doors and instantly brought an easy smile to his face.

---

Part 2

Taglist: none!! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series or any other Charlie Hunnam roles I may write for 💗

[obliqueblade]

A Post from a Friend

Hello, everyone. I am not Obliqueblade, and for those who have been here before, I’m sure you know what that means. For those unaware, or those stumbling across this blog in the future, I will explain. 

The original owner of this account, my best friend, has died. 

I didn't even know that she had a Tumblr, nor that she had planned to leave it with me after everything. It breaks my heart a bit to see her updates and talk about her prognosis as she did. 

I’m sure I’ll have more to say, eventually, I do plan on doing as she asked, completing her work the way she wanted- but for now, I want to grieve my friend. Then, I want to talk about who she was, explain just how much this community meant to her, and generally just talk about one of the greatest people I’ve known. 

She did leave a message she wrote a month ago, about a week before she passed, and I would like to share it with you all now. 

Feel free to leave comments, I’ll be back to answer soon. 

Thank you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have been putting this off for quite some time, but I fear I have no more time I can delay. Despite everything, I’m still a procrastinator at heart. I have spent far too much time thinking of how I want to address those who have stumbled onto my account and on my writing, but I fear for all my writing I am not sure how to word what I feel. 

Rather than continuing to wait, I have decided to write what I have collected of my thoughts thus far. I deeply appreciate those who have left likes, comments, and reposts of my writing- even those outside of “Who are you, really?”. When I started this journey, I had not anticipated it taking as long as it has. I also did not foresee what would occur at that time. I had thought I would live to see the end of my fic, but that can no longer be the case.

But that is the way life works, I suppose. Most people are not dealt the hands they deserve, nor are they given nearly enough time. 

I have always wished to help people- I had hoped that I would be able to achieve that in my life, but I am not sure I can say I have. Regardless, I am grateful for those who were able to contribute to my happiness these past few years. 

Recently, I have to admit I took a step back from writing, as well as watching Hermitcraft. I fear my heart may not be able to take not knowing what I will be left never to know. Waiting on those cliffhangers of “what’s next”- when I do not know if I will wake up tomorrow. 

I am satisfied with what I have seen so far, and as of writing this, Joel has announced his own TCG common card. I have asked the friend I have left this account for to get one on my behalf to join the others I have. I would like them, as well as all the merch I have to be with me. It feels important that even though I will no longer be here, those stay with me. 

While I may not be watching Hermitcraft as I wait, I am pleased with the memories I carry—the joy they bring me. The edits, art, and stories this community has created supported and distracted me in some of my darkest moments, and I truly regret that I will not be able to finish this story, with my own words, the way I had intended. 

Finally, I want to say, thank you. Even if you are discovering all of this after my passing, I am grateful to all those who have stumbled into my little corner of the internet. Just because I am gone, the things I have gotten to create will forever remain as moments captured from a different time.

This was truly the happiest few years of my life and in the words of Technoblade himself

 “I hope you all go on to live long, prosperous, and happy lives because I love you guys”

~ObliqueBlade Out

[attapullman]

Last time it was 8 am thots, now get ready for 2 am thots.

We are flipping the tables, so I wish you would write a fic where... Reader walks in on neighbor!Bob getting himself off and moaning her name 😏

The morning thots always take me to horny jail. And I would like to live here permanently. 18+ go away minors

Because while neighbor!Bob takes his time watching before joining in, Reader has ZERO self control when it comes to the sweet neighbor man stroking that perfect cock.

You have dinner plans that night - he's promised he's going to make his mom's lasagna - and you're not due over for another hour and a half. just enough time for him to finish prepping the ingredients and get himself off once. It's been a week since he's had you and he needs to prepare himself if he's going to have you all the ways he wants.

However...you've finished work and showered, and there isn't much to do at home. You would rather sit in Bob's breakfast nook and talk about your weeks than be in your lonely kitchen. So you sneak over in your usual fashion, darting between your yards and climbing up the steps to his kitchen door. It's unlocked like it has been for months now, an unspoken symbol that you're welcome over whenever you'd like.

He's not in the kitchen, and the living room is dark. Maybe he's showering? You start down the hallway, admiring the knick knacks he's acquired over the years. And then you hear it.

It's downright illegal the way he's moaning your name, unmuffled as he pants into the open air. Eyes squeezed shut as he hastily jerks his cock, practically blurring with how fast he's trying to cum. A bead of sweat along his temple. Chest red and heaving. Looks more destroyed than when he's been in drills all day, amped up and rushing for relief.

He's delicious. And while you want to photograph every inch of him, commit it to memory...it's been a week.

Bob's so close to cumming, the memory of you warming his cock last weekend while you jointly finished the sudoku spurring him on. He's almost there...almost...

His eyes wrench open to you replacing his fist with yours, devilish smile upon your lips. Nearly distracting him from how you've stripped yourself bare, knees on either side of his hips, fingers aching to hold him.

"Mind if I hop on?"

Oh Helena, YOUR THOTS ARE THE BEST! EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU HELENA!

[hippolotamus]

You wanna talk fic?

tagged by lovely @spotsandsocks (rescuer of wayward bees) @inell @tizniz @kitteneddiediaz thank you 💞

1. How many WIPs do you have currently?

*laughs in Distracted Author while shoving a bunch of docs under a rug that now looks like it's hiding a body* I'm going to try sticking to the ones I'm "serious" about, but... yeah, take a seat, friends

watch my shattered edges glisten, with my heart in my lap (Twylexis), you can plan for a change in the weather and time, all my days i'll know your face, Bi Buck, home is where you love me (Twylexis), lights camera bitch smile, if this love is pain sequel, come close (let me be home), you're where I wanna go, run to the water, the darkest fairytale, a new religion, Buddie kid date fic, this is the part (OG work)

so let's see that's 1, 2... (runs out of fingers (fuck!)) 15! (not nearly as bad as I thought actually)

2. Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

Other than all of them? I would say home is where you love me because it's for someone and I'm probably putting a lot of pressure on myself that doesn't need to be there.

3. What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

Usually it comes from a song I've been listening to. Like a single line (or several) hit just right and make me think of a certain scenario. So then I go to my docs and tippity tap like hell so I don't lose whatever I'm thinking about. Then inevitably James will ask me a ton of questions that help me hash out what comes next.

4. Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Not on purpose. The only current WIP with an intentional playlist is watch my shattered edges glisten. Some of these have acquired quite a few songs that carry the right vibe so they wind up getting a playlist.

5. Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

Mostly balls to the walls tbh. Longer WIPs, especially those that cross multiple years/decades do get an outline if only so I remember what happened when 😅

Any one want to share? Not sure who’s actively writing right now so if you do please tag me

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @a-noble-dragon @diazheartsbuckley @dangerpronebuddie @saybiwithme

mi amor @bidisasterevankinard @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @stereopticons

@your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings

@jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress

@bi-buckrights @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus

@thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @welcometololaland @blackandwhiteandrose and anyone else who wants to 😘

[swissboyhisch]

First Date to First Dance

Pairing: Nathan Bastian x Reader

Summary: A song followed you through your relationship with Nathan, from first date to first dance.

Word Count: 3245

Warnings: Use of Y/N once. Mentions of love, some mentions of a wedding dress and other of nudity. I didn't look up his sister's name, I couldn't find it so I just did a random name. Also swearing.

A/N: This is for the lovely @shinyfalcon4 who is my Hockey Girlies Christmas Fic exchange buddy! I really hope you love this because I loved writing this. @mp0625 for the masterlist :) also unedited so soz for any mistakes.

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Never could be sweeter than with you

Finally, winter break came around and your family was preparing for their annual Christmas Party. It was an all day long list of preparations your mother had perfected over the years. Your family’s closest friends, along with some of the Neighbours, were all invited to yours for a fun evening of food and drinking. 

Your mother called you into the kitchen where she was preparing a chicken to go into the oven. “Can you be a sweetheart and get the oven door for me?” 

“Sure Ma.” You turned to do as she asked before closing it once the food was in. “Do you need help with anything?” 

“If you could make your gingerbread fudge, that would be fantastic. Everyone always asks for the recipe.”

The apron was handed to you. A patchwork of different Christmas fabrics your grandmother had made for you when you became old enough to help with the Christmas baking. Just like it was tradition on Christmas Eve in your family. The women of your family prepare the large dinner and things for lunch the following day. 

When you finished your fudge and it was in the fridge chilling, you double-checked with your mum she didn’t need any more help before finding your father and older brother out the front. The pair were setting up the Christmas lights. Due to work, neither hadn’t gotten around to setting them up before today. 

“Hey jellybean,” Your dad grinned when he spotted you rugged up in your winter coat. 

“Need any help?”

Your brother threw a snowball at you. Right at your face. 

“You bitch! Josh, I’m going to kill you.”

“Language,” Your dad chuckled as you took off to chase your brother around. 

You were soon sent inside for being a distraction to your brother. With your mum all good in the kitchen and your dad and brother nearly finished with the Christmas lights, you decide to start getting ready. You had a couple hours but why not get ready early. It meant you'd be ready by the time the Bastian family arrived. 

A pair of new jeans and your favourite, most cozy, Christmas sweater was the outfit choice. Paired with a red clip in your hair to keep your hair out of your face. Simple but cute outfit. By the time you were ready, you heard the doorbell ring through the halls of your home. There was only one guess needed for who was here early. Your neighbours.

“I’ll get it!” You shout as you race to the door. 

The door swung open to reveal the Bastian family. Nate stood with his older siblings, Nick and Natalie, and his parents. All dressed in festive outfits. 

“Welcome, come in!”

As each member passed you, you got a hug. Leaving Nate till last. The pair of you grinned, sharing a hug before closing the door and retreating to your room. There was still another hour until the rest of the guests would most likely arrive. 

“So I was thinking that we could sneak out and go for a drive to look at Christmas lights,” Nate suggested as he took in what you were wearing. It was like you were glowing. 

“Really?”

It wasn’t a secret that you loved Christmas. Your favourite part was going for a drive around your city to look at the lights. Usually Nick, Natalie and your brother would take you two with them for their annual drive. But this year, both you and Nate had gotten your license. 

Nate blushed, “Yeah, I’ll drive. You can sit in the passenger seat with a blanket and hot chocolate. I’ll even let you choose the music.”

“That sounds amazing! Oh my, a perfect night.”

“A perfect first date?” The boy in front of you asked shyly. His voice trailing off more with every syllable. 

“A date?” You whisper. “Really?”

When Nate nodded his head in agreement – too nervous to speak – you hugged him tightly. Blushing and pulling away when you realised that you probably seemed too eager. “I’d, uh, love to go on a date with you.”

Those words washed away all the teen’s nerves. Nate laughed loudly, picking you up and spinning you around. The pair of you stared at each other with wide smiles. Both clearly happy with the moment. You found yourself leaning in, closing the distance between yourself and Nate. 

“Come on you two, come socialise,” Your mother called from the living room. “We haven’t even seen Nathan before you stole him away.”

The sound of your mother killed the moment but that didn’t stop Nate from lacing his fingers with yours and leading the way to your family. He parted for a split second to hug you mum and shake hands with your dad. Your brother gave him a knuckles before Nate returned to your side. 

“Ever the guard dog,” Josh muttered to Nick, his best friend. 

“Always,” he laughed. 

The party was in full swing by the time that you and Nate decided to ditch it and go on your little adventure. While he made you a hot chocolate for your drive, you changed your pants into a pair of pyjama pants. The two of you snuck out and over to his place. After pulling your favourite blanket from his bed and he changed into his pyjamas, you two piled into the car. Off on an adventure. 

“You look comfy,” Nate smiled softly, glancing away from the road for a second to see you snuggled under the blanket, thermos of hot chocolate in hand. 

Under the glow of the nearby house’s Christmas lights, Nate looked so handsome. Just who you’ve come to love over the years of being best friends and neighbours. “I am so happy right now.”

“Me too.”

One of your favourite songs started to play through the radio. The whistling intro to Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros started to float through the speakers. A song you recognised immediately.

“Oh I love this song,” You smile as Nate goes to turn the song up. 

Nate knew this was a favourite song of yours. Having heard it over the years since you had first discovered it. Now as he drove up to the next house on their list, he listened closer to the lyrics. Suddenly it hit him. This was how he felt about you. He parked in front of the house lit up by thousands of little lights. You turned to him as he heard ‘never could be sweeter than with you’ and it all fell into place. You were the one. Even though you weren’t dating, he knew. 

Nate pulled you closer, caressing your face as he felt your uneven breath on his lips. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course,” You grin, closing the distance between you two. Lips moulding together as the song goes into the trumpet part. This song was how you felt about Nate.

Home is wherever I'm with you

Nathan had training today and it was tiring but he had something to look forward to tonight. Tonight was the New Jersey Devils’ Christmas Party. That meant he got to show you off to his teammates. Something he’s never shy of doing. Especially at Christmas. 

Since the two of you had been dating, your love for Christmas blossomed. Which meant it passed on to Nate. It was both of your favourite time of the year now. Every light reminded you of your first date together. Of your anniversary. Your love was at the roots of the festive season.

What was even better was that he was back in New Jersey after the frustrating stint in Seattle with the Kraken. Neither of you felt at home while he was there but as had become the motto getting you through each day was ‘home is wherever I’m with you’. A lyric from what had become their song. It was their way of reminding each other though Seattle wasn’t New Jersey, he had you. 

Nate could hear the music coming from his bathroom. Since moving back to Newark, all he wanted was to be with you 24/7. To come home after a hard training to you somewhere in the apartment. Making it come to life. But you had your own apartment you had to return to every couple of days or when Nate was on a roadie. 

Even now, he could see bits of your spread out in his apartment. A few stray pieces of clothing left on the ground from their sexcapades the other night. Pictures of the couple over the years; their first christmas as a couple, his draft, their first christmas with the team. Even the little things like your keys on the hook, your brush sitting on the couch, the smell of your cookies wafting through the apartment. It wasn’t home without you.

“Nate, is that you?”

Without waiting another second, Nate started to peel off layers of clothes until he was only in his underwear, standing outside the bathroom door. He opened the door and saw your naked form swaying to the music. Eyes closed as you watched your hair. His briefs hit the ground and he slid into the shower behind you.

The familiar whistle echoed through the bathroom. Off the tiles. Then your soft voice sang along with the music. Nate sang along as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Hi baby.”

“Hey, welcome home,” You smiled, spinning around and resting your arms on his shoulders. “How was training?”

He grunted in response. His head tucking into your neck as you lightly ran your fingers up and down his back in a calming matter. The two of you just stood under the running water, listening to the soft music echoing off the tiles.

“That bad?”

“Yeah.”

You sigh lightly, scratching the nape of his neck with your nails. One of his favourite things. “Oh baby.”

“I wanna come home to you every day,” Nate muttered, tightening his grasp on you. 

“What was that?” 

The man took a deep breath, deciding it was finally time to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since he had left for Seattle. One he regretted now asking earlier. “Will you move in with me? I wanna come home to you every day. Just seeing your beautiful smile makes my day a billion times better.” 

“Oh baby, of course I will,” You grin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. The final chorus was playing as you shared a smile. “Home is wherever I’m with you.”

I never loved one like you.

Christmas was always one of your favourite times of year. Especially since you and Nate got together. This year was like every other. Well maybe expect the fact this year you two were hosting both families. Nate had a game both before and after the big day so you couldn’t travel back to good old Mississauga. But that wasn’t stopping your families. 

Christmas morning and you found yourself in the kitchen with both your mothers, Natalie, Anna (your sister-in-law) and Lila (Nick’s wife). It was a full family affair. Waffles, eggs, bacon, and more all planned for breakfast. All three of you had a mimosa close by as the men of the family hung out in the lounge room watching a random hockey game replay. 

“It’s Christmas, can you guys please put something else on for once?” Nate’s mum sighed, hearing the commentating of the game. 

Without an argument, surprisingly, the guys turn off the tv and put on spotify. Nate hooks it up to the speakers you have running through the house and plays some carols. When breakfast was ready, all of you got comfy around the dining table. 

“Kiddo, can you please pass me the bacon?” Josh asked.

“Here,” you smirk, picking up a single piece and placing it on his outstretched hand. 

“You little shit.”

Your mum sighs, “Can we please just save the fighting for a day? An hour even?”

Instead of annoying your mum even more, you did as your brother asked and grabbed the plate of bacon and passed it over. Not before grabbing your own pieces. Bacon and maple syrup would always be one of your favourite combinations. 

When breakfast was finished, the family made their way into the lounge room, finding themselves sat all around. This year it was Nate’s turn at being “Santa”. Which just meant reading the labels and passing them to who it was for. Slowly, one by one, the large pile of presents under the tree was dispersed to the correct individuals. And soon enough it looked empty under the tree. 

Everyone started opening their presents, words of gratitude shared from one person to another when their gift was revealed. Though you were happily opening your gifts, Nate hadn’t touched his. And he seemed nervous. 

“You okay?” You mumble to him, trying not to alert the families if something was wrong. 

The man just sent you a small smile, “Just want to see you open mine.”

One by one, you opened the pile of presents in front of you. Mum. Dad. Brother. Nate’s Parents. His siblings. A present from each person in the room except one from him. 

“Nate, baby, I don’t see one with your name on it.”

Nate stood up and went back to the tree and grabbed a small gift hidden in the tree, behind to tinsel to conceal it. 

“I found it,” He states handing you the present to unwrap. 

As you slowly unwrapped the small present, Nate sank to one knee. When you looked up at him, realising what’s going on, he grabbed the now unwrapped ring box and opened it. Revealing the gorgeous ring he had picked out just for you. With the help of both of your brothers. 

That’s when you heard the familiar whistle echo through the room and house. Filling it with the notes of your love song. 

“I love you,” Nate begins, his hands shaking with nerves. “The couple years have been a ride, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t want to be on it with anyone else but you. I never loved one like you–”

“Yes,” You interrupt excitedly. You had tears running down your cheeks. Happy ones of course. “I want to marry you. Tomorrow even.”

Nate slid the ring onto the correct finger. Which was shaking with excitement. As soon as he completed the task, you flung yourself at him, tackling him to the ground in a loveful bliss. Just like the laugh he let out. 

“I’ve never loved anyone like you,” You whisper, in time with the song, before pressing your lips to his. The love pouring out as your family all celebrates around you. You were getting married.

Alabama, Arkansas. I do love my ma and pa. Not that way that I do love you.

Mrs Bastian. Who could believe it. Certainly not yourself or Nate. Both of you were still trying to wrap your heads around the fact you two were married. After so long of dating. 

The day had been perfect. From the morning spent getting ready with your loved ones to the moment Nate first saw you in your dress. Yes, he even cried at the sight. Then his speech that made you nearly ruin your make-up (thank god for water proof makeup). So far, it was perfect and you knew the rest of the night would also be perfect.

Here you were with your husband behind the barn doors, waiting on being announced by the DJ. All of the bridal party had already entered the reception tTo a couple party songs. Some of which were a little ridiculous but were a right laugh. Now it was your turn. Well you and Nate’s. Nate pulled you closer, sneaking another kiss. 

“I love you, wifey.”

“I love you too hubby,” You grin, pressing your lips to his once more. 

“Are you ready for this?”

You giggle, “I’m always ready.”

Then you heard the DJ. “Please welcome, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Bastian!”

The large doors swung open and you two walked in to clapping and cheering. When you reached the dance floor, Nate was sure to spin you around, showing off your white dress for the reception. Then he proceeded to dip you, kissing you in front of all the friends and family that were present. 

“Get some Big Nate!” A voice that sounded awfully like Jack Hughes shouted. 

The pair of you shared a laugh with many others who had heard the boy’s words. Instead of doing the first dance after the food comes out, you both had decided to do it first. It was how you wanted to start off such a great night of celebrating your love. 

“To kick off the long night, the newlyweds will be doing their first dance.”

The familiar whistle started to play and you two wrapped your arms around each other. Anyone who knew the couple knew this was their song. One that has followed them throughout the relationship. 

“Alabama, Aarkansas,” Nate starts to sing quietly as you two sway to the song. 

“I do love my ma and pa,” You continue.

You both smile as you sing the next words. “But not the way that I do love you.”

You come to rest your head on his chest, just listening to him sing to you as you dance. This, ever since you realized this song was your song, was your first dance song. And being in the moment made you know you made the right choice. With the song and Nate. Sure, you knew before this you two would get married. But it made you feel at peace knowing you and Nate were in it for the long run that is life. 

“(Y/N),” Nate spoke, going along with the song but changing the lyrics.

“Nathan.”

“Do you remember that day I took you to see Christmas Lights?”

You couldn’t help but grin at the change of lyrics, “I sure do, you drove me all around town.”

“Well, you looked out the window, admiring every light you saw and pointing out every house you loved, you remember that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, there's something I never told you about that night”

“What didn't you tell me?” You knew the lyrics but every time you and Nat reenact this little part, it always made you grin that cheesy in love smile. Especially with the change he’s made. Hearing Nate speak about falling in love made those damn butterflies come back. Every. Time.

Nate came to cup your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes. “While you were sitting in the passenger seat, with your blanket and drinking your hot chocolate, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you. And I never told you 'til just now.”

“Aww.”

No matter how many times you and Nate heard this song, it will always be your favourite. As the last chorus played, both of you thought back on your relationship. How many times this song happened to be playing at important moments. From the first date to the day he proposed. This song was a way to show your love to each other. The love of your relationship. Exactly what you were doing right now. 

You two sing the last line to each other, encapsulating both of your feelings into those same 7 words. “Home is when I'm alone with you.”

TAG LIST

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @dasiysthings @dancerbailey3 @puckmaidens @cole-mcward48 @sammiejane22 @kajasagmo @linneasblog

[exquisiteserotonin]

I haven't written fic in such a long time, but Pedro is such a muse. Also I initially thought my writings were going to be on my original tumblr, but I decided to move them here for organization. Enjoy! <3

Better Than Vanilla

Mr. Ben x F! Reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing: Mr. Ben (SNL) x F!Reader (HS English Teacher)

Warnings: 18+,MDNI, Explicit content, SMUT, language, oral sex (male and female receiving), light bondage, PIV sex, praise, Mr. Ben is the consent king.

“So, when you get a steal, you have to conference with your team,” you emphasize, hoping that your exasperation wasn’t obvious.

One of the 6 students in your classroom began crunching on a snack he reached for in his backpack.

“Ugh!” exclaimed one of the female students, snapping a dirty look at him. “He’s not being serious!”

The student raised his hands and shrugged, “What? I’m hungry? Coach, pleeeease?”

The urge to roll your eyes grew as you heard the student whine. Ben, your colleague and academic team co-advisor, snatched up the packet of Voortman vanilla wafers.

“Thanks for the snack, kid!” he quipped as placed the wafers on your desk with a wink before turning back to your group of students. “I think we’re gonna call it a day, don’t you think?”

A sigh of relief floated from your students as they hoisted on their backpacks to leave. You also felt a weight lift off your chest and shoulders as the left. A small smile was all you could muster as the last of them shuffled out of your room. Two students lingered behind giggling as they asked Mr. Ben for extra advice. You sauntered over to your desk and sunk into your chair, organizing the mountain of papers screaming to be graded. Meanwhile the two lingerers continued their giggles as they left your classroom. Their goodbye to you was friendly and quick, the opposite of the one they offered to your counterpart.

“Bye, Mr. Beeeeeeeen.”

It escaped their lips like a squeal. Adding a groan to your eye roll seemed apropos, but you managed to keep your composure. Supervising and sponsoring an extracurricular club full of hormonal teenagers was a small price to pay, especially if it meant more money in your paycheck. You at least had the company of a colleague despite him being the object of infatuation for nearly half the student body of St Lawrence High School. Ben sat at the corner of your desk, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater and button-up shirt.

“Thanks for taking those, by the way,” you commented as he grabbed the confiscated vanilla wafers and popped one in his mouth, savoring it.

“God, I love these!” he declared, devouring another one after the first.

“Ugh, why,” you questioned, “they’re so boring.”

“You’re probably eating them wrong,” he teased. “If you let the wafer sit in your mouth a little bit, you can feel the vanilla cream just kind of melt all over.”

You cleared your throat at his description. It sounded sinful and gave you enough pause to briefly reconsider the wafers as an inferior snack. Lifting your gaze to him, you reaffirmed your resolve, “nope, too vanilla.”

He was interested in you, that much you could sense. A combination of professionalism and apprehension prohibited you from any kind of active pursuit.

A little flirting is harmless, your mind spoke. Right?

He shrugged before finishing the last of the wafers.

“How do you think they’re doing?” He asked, pointing his chin towards the door where your students had exited.

“They’re so smart,” you replied and tapped his forearm with pencil , “but I think they’re easily distracted.”

“By me?” He scoffed, throwing his hands up.

“Yeah, I know, I don’t get it,” you teased, “Must be the way you wear your tie.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” he said dryly, playfully tossing a white board eraser at you as you opened your laptop. “Are you seriously doing more work right now? It’s Friday.”

“Hey, I’m still considered the new girl in town,” you replied as you set a stack of papers next to you to grade, “I still have to earn my keep.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, approaching your classroom. In the doorway stood Jenny, a close friend to you and best friend to Ben.

Her arms crossed in front of her, she tutted before speaking, “you’re not seriously working this late on a Friday?!”

“That’s exactly what I told her!”

“You’re coming out with us, right?” Jenny asked. “With me, Ben, and Kate?”

“I’m trying to be good and finish these grades up; I’ve been procrastinating,” was the explanation you offered.

“It’s Friday, we’ve been here all week; do it tomorrow,” Ben suggested, giving Jenny a hug before bouncing out of your classroom. “I’m gonna head home for a minute and I’ll meet you guys there.”

“You got it,” Jenny agreed.

“Make sure this one doesn’t stay here too late,” he commented, directing his eyes to you.

Jenny nodded and you furiously began entering grades in your laptop as he left. Grabbing a student chair, she parked herself in front of your desk. The quick clicks and clacks of your typing echoed over the peaceful silence of your room. Soon she was leaning over your desk with a grin and a raised brow. She knew you well enough to realize that it wouldn’t take too much convincing to close your laptop and join her for some post-work revelries. Instead of continuing to try to convince yourself to be productive, you gave into the invitation, but not before gauging the situation a little further.

“Wait a second, this isn’t a work thing, is it?”

“Oh god, no!” Jenny sneered. “You know they’re not exactly our people.”

Your agreement with Jenny was an understatement. It wasn’t that you disliked working at St. Lawrence. The prestige that came with being a student there was also bound to the excellence of the faculty and staff. The administrators would beam at any good news that followed the people that worked at the school. This also meant being hired at the school was no easy task, especially when parents paid for a certain level of prestige. A sense of entitlement would sometimes extend to their colleagues, sometimes making team building insufferable.

“Kate’s going?” you asked Jenny, speaking of her girlfriend who did not work at the school.

She nodded, helping you pack your things and walking you out of the building and towards her silver Honda Civic.

“Do you need a ride?” Jenny teased, “you know, in case things get a little bit wild.”

“Sure, we can carpool,” you agreed. “And please, things aren’t going to get that wild.”

You took off your too-formal blazer that you had worn for most of the school day and straightened your pencil skirt before you sat in the passenger seat. You looked over with suspicion at Jenny and noticed her making an extra effort to maintain a reserved silence. As she started to drive, she glanced at you, tightening her lips.

“Are you going to give Ben a chance this time?”

You rolled your head and eyes towards her and an exasperated, but involuntary laugh escaped you.

“So, there it is.” You sighed, now fully aware of her intentions. “Why do you always try to set me up with him?”

“Because you are attractive, he is attractive, you’re both intelligent and single,” Jenny stated matter-of-factly. “And I love you both dearly and you two would make the cutest couple.”

You smiled in appreciation of your friend’s efforts. With it only being your second year of teaching at St. Lawrence, navigating friendships was still difficult as many of the teachers had been working there for a decade or more. You latched onto Jenny quickly, first as a department colleague and next as a kindred spirit in personality and interests. She urged you to sponsor the academic team this school year, knowing that her best friend in the math department, Ben, would be co-sponsor. Trusting her judgment, you knew that he was at the very least safe and respectful.

“What are you thinking?” Jenny's eyes twinkled. “You know he thinks you’re pretty hot.”

“Jenny, shut up!”

You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress your increasing intrigue. Aside from his math expertise and help in planning the academic team, “Mr. Ben’s” good-natured reputation among staff preceded him. He had always been friendly and managed to bring entertainment to even the most mundane faculty meeting. And of course, you also were most recently inundated with the way students giggled, blushed, and ogled him as he walked through the halls. As much as you hated to admit it, especially to yourself, he was pretty cute. The TikTok incident at the school assembly was to blame, you convinced yourself.

“I mean,” you paused, an image of him eating vanilla wafers at your desk flashed in your brain, “I guess he‘s cute, he’s just—he just seems so…vanilla.”

“VANILLA?!” Jenny’s voice squeaked incredulously, and it caught you by surprise. “Are you serious?”

“He wears pullover cashmere sweaters!” You cried with laughter.

“We can’t all be perfect!” she laughed with you.

Before you realized it, you had arrived at a restaurant far enough from campus, decreasing the likelihood that you’d run into any teachers or parents from your school. Jenny studied you as you got out of the car. She undid the top two buttons of your dusty pink blouse, revealing a slinky, tan, lace bodysuit you had beneath.

“Ooh, you hussy,” she teased, adding with a wink, “by the way, Ben is probably about as vanilla as you.”

The last few words silenced you. You felt your eyes get wide and felt heat growing on the apples of your cheeks.

Trying to recompose yourself, you followed Jenny inside. Ahead of you, Jenny spotted her girlfriend, Kate, who gave her a bright smile and a sweet peck to her lips.

They then lead you to a u-shaped booth with plush, rich, teal fabric peaking at the edge. And then him. Ben. You stole a glance at Jenny before she pushed you in front of her and into the booth.

“Hey Mr. Ben,”  you greeted.

“Just Ben,” he replied with a boyish grin, “we’re not at work, we don’t need to use the formalities.”

You nodded and slid closer to him, as Jenny followed you into the booth. The proximity provided a different window for you to look at him. His brown wavy hair was perfectly mussed; his shoulders were loose, relaxed, and he had even discarded the confines of his tie and cashmere sweater. Amplifying his breeziness was how he had not one, not two, but three buttons undone on his pale, terracotta colored shirt. They whispered to you to peek at his neck and chest which always remained hidden during the school day. It was as though you were bearing witness to something you weren’t supposed to see. The thought warmed your cheeks.

Maybe Jenny was right. Maybe he wasn’t as vanilla as you presumed.

“You didn’t take my advice from earlier,” he stated plainly, “you stayed at work late!”

“Hey, it wasn’t that late,” you retorted, teasingly pushing into him with your shoulder and hip.

“Jenny texted me that you almost didn’t come out with us,” he murmured, a trace of disappointment soaked in his words as he took another sip of his beer. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

He pressed into your side so your shoulders touched.

“Hmm,” you mused, wondering what more you could pull from him, “really glad, huh?”

“Well,” his lips appeared poutier in thought, “I had to see if you were more than just an amazing…brain with a good work ethic.”

His tone had you thinking sinfully again, just as when he described the vanilla wafers.

“I guess you’re about to find out,” you replied, the words coming out with ease and your tone like honey trapping a fly with sticky sweetness.

Ben looked at you with surprise, giving you a smirk and a wink. That wink was dangerous.

“What are you drinking?”

“I should ask you that,” you stated, grazing his thumb that rested on his beer mug, “is that a bock, pils, a lager?”

Ben looked at you with a raised brow, impressed. He tipped his beer towards you in acknowledgement and beckoned for a waiter to come to their booth. The response was quick, a young woman rushing to your table.

“My friend right here will have a Yuengling, like me,” he touched the small of your back and then leaned over you to get Jenny’s attention.

A tingle climbed up your spine, like electricity climbing up your back, and down again igniting every nerve ending. You fidgeted in your seat and fixed your gaze at him. You tapped your foot, counted inside your head, and observed to see if the electricity would leave. It didn’t. 

Fuck, you thought. This is new.

Your attention found its way back to you. It was possible that Ben had asked Jenny what she wanted to drink, since you heard her request for an Old Fashioned. A different kind of clarity took over you as you kept your eyes on him, like seeing something in high definition. His nose was prominent and strong. His facial hair grew in endearing patches. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, revealing a dimple on his right cheek.

“What convinced you to finally come out with us?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” you replied thoughtfully, “the promise that there would be no unwanted co-workers here.”

Ben scratched at the patchy facial hair on his chin and turned to you. His chocolatey brown eyes were big, expectant, and you swore you noticed a not-so-innocent twinkle in them.

“How’s that working out for you?”

Before you could answer, the server returned with your drinks. She handed Jenny her Old Fashioned but before you could reach your hand to take your beer, Ben took hold of it and handed it to you. It was an authentic attempt at being charming. A self-study of the consistent butterflies fluttering in your abdomen floating up to your chest, neck and shoulders declared to you that his attempt was working.

“I guess the kids were right, Ben,” you admitted, “you are in your assembly era.”

He guffawed, his voice rich and throaty. He shook his head and ran his right hand through his hair.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

With an up and down nod of your head you confirmed his answer and turned towards Jenny, “and neither are you, mommy.”

Jenny nearly choked on her old fashioned as you reminded her of her role in the fancam debacle.

“First of all, yes, I am mommy,” she affirmed and looked intently at Ben before shifting her eyes to you to wink, “and second of all, those kids don’t need to be messing in our romantic business anyway.”

Suddenly, Ben became bashful. You swore his cheeks turned the same shade of reddish pink as his shirt. Vanilla or not, you decided that Jenny’s testament of him as a good human being was worth further exploration.

For the rest of the evening, you and Ben traded life stories over intermittent drinks. Things you discovered about each other included siblings, your older brother to his  older sister and younger brother. You found he was passionate not just about teaching, but math as well and was too much of a kid to work with adults 24/7. His favorite part of teaching, like yours, was to advocate for students who never had anyone to believe in them. And a shared love of late 90s, early 2000s alternative rock led you two to engage in heavy critique of the cover band playing for the evening.

“What do you think of the band?” he asked at one point during their set.

“If they play Creed, it’s over, I’m peace-ing out,” you replied in a deadpan voice.

He keeled over in laughter, leaning over towards your shoulder.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. He smells so good.

You found yourself staring at his neck and the hint of chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt. It made you feel shallow. You glanced at your watch as a distraction, noting it was nearly midnight. Jenny had been ushered out at Kate’s behest, indicating that the whiskey was making her extra drunk and extra sleepy. You were now without a ride.

“My driver left me,” you sighed to Ben.

“Oh shit,” Ben remarked, “I would offer to take you home, but I might have to Uber it---I’m not sure I can drive.”

An inspired proposition entered your mind. A conflict waged in your mind, contemplating all the ways this evening could end and the one way you wanted it to, “Um…well, we could share an Uber.”

“Well, sure,” he replied earnestly, “if you don’t mind.”

He followed you as you beckoned him outside with a single look. As you stood before each other, you noted the broadness of his shoulders as he reached his hands over his head to stretch, rolling his shoulders up and then down the length of his back. You caught a glimpse of the elastic of his boxer briefs and his belly. The physicality of his movements was enticing and kept the tingling flame you felt earlier in your stomach alight, willing it to travel lower between your legs.

I’m fucked. You thought to yourself.

Ben opened the car door for you. You slid in and he followed, his knee brushing against your leg where your pencil skirt had slid up a few inches. Ben slid in, reaching over, grazing the exposed skin of your thigh with his hand. He looked up at you holding your gaze captive for what seemed like minutes.

“Sorry,” his voice came out in a gravelly hush.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you countered, biting your lip involuntarily.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you spoke softly, keeping your eyes on him.

A grin grew on Ben’s face. “Same.”

Emboldened with desire, your hand caressed the mapwork of veins on his forearm, gently tracing the curve of his knuckles, and the lines on his fingers until he opened his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You watched, transfixed, as his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He turned to face you, your noses just a few inches apart. You tilted your head and perused the shape of his pouty lips, soft, and inviting. Nuzzling your nose to his, your lips nearly touched his sweet pout.

“I’m going to ask you in,” the confession melted off your tongue.

He took another deep breath, and you swear that once again, for the third time that evening, his cheeks were quickly painted red. The car began to slow as you noticed it approaching your neighborhood, until it stopped in front of your modest, but adorable mid-century home. You slid out of the car, leaving your door open for him to follow. When he did, your exhalation threatened to consume you. A hot-blooded thumping coursing through your body. He closed the car door gently behind him, thanking the driver with a wave before he turned to follow up on the walkway to your door.

Fumbling for your keys, you felt him close in behind you, feeling the heat escaping  from your body and his. A tiny gasp escaped as you felt his hand behind you, touching you first at the small of your back and then circling around to land at your hip. He stepped forward and pulled your body close. Instantly, you felt a tenting build in his pants, pressing himself against you while you unlocked the door. Reverberating tingles vibrating over every inch of your skin. His other hand caressed up your triceps, to your shoulders, gently brushing the hair away from your neck leaving goose bumps behind in their wake. Replacing his hand, his nose caressed your neck, breathing you until you felt his lips taste you with gentle kisses.

“Fuck me,” he panted, warms breaths leaving him as your touch pulsated through every cell in his body.

“That’s the plan,” you smirked and growled at him

You rushed into the house, shoving the door closed behind you. Your lips caressed his Adam’s apple, breathing him in as you licked, kissed, and nibbled on his neck and ear. A growl rattled from him to your ears, his heat rising from his body with each touch. You pressed your lips hungry meeting his soft pout. Instinctively your hands weaved through the soft waves of his hair, until you tugged at it. Not too hard, not too soft but just enough for him to open his mouth with a gasp, allowing you to savor the taste of his bottom lip with your tongue until you met his tongue with fervor.

You pulled from him to take a breath of frenzied desire as you simultaneously attacked each other’s buttons. You marveled at his broad chest and shoulders as you pulled back his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. A wanton dizziness took over you as his large hands pulled you effortlessly towards him. His bulge throbbed against you as you pressed your pelvis into his, gasping and heady with desire. Electric desire moved through you, your skin on fire as a primal lust darkened his eyes while he studied your tits and how your nipples stood at attention, beneath the tan, lacy fabric of your bodysuit.

“Fuck, baby,” the way he growled at you was decidedly not vanilla, “you’re so fucking pretty.”

Lips hot and swollen you grabbed him by the belt loops of his slacks, pulling him towards your bedroom. A giddy gasp escaped you when the jingle of his loose belt buckle reached your ears, sliding it free from its confines tossing and onto your bed.

Ben caressed your shoulders and began to play with the thin straps of your body suit pulling them slowly down your arms, down the fabric covering your breasts, ruching the fabric as he slid it down to your waist. A moan escaped lips as he pulled you with one hand at your waist and the other found a home at your neck with the perfect amount of pressure. A yelp left you as he pushed back against you until you felt the edge of the bed behind your knees, where you fell together.

His mouth found your right nipple licking the numb in tight circles before taking a small bite. The fire on your skin grew hotter from the wet heat of his tongue and it left you panting for more. His deep laugh rumbled from his chest to yours. In his dark eyes he reveled at how he was slowly making you come undone. That pout of his traveled the valley of your chest and gave your other nipple the same attention.

You felt his hardening cock against your thigh and your core began to pound and cry for him. Reaching your hand to his boxer briefs you pull at his cock, eliciting a low moan as your hands slid off the barrier keeping you from his thick hard member. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size. An astonished gulp left your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Your grip barely closed around its girth as you stroked up and down his entire length. A tear of precum escaped the tip. You look up at him deviously and bring your tongue down to taste the saltiness of him. You then wrap your lips around him, taking as much of him in as you possibly can, causing your cheeks to hollow. The taste of him was a perfect combination of sweet and musky and sometimes salty as a hint of more precum coated your tongue.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “Stop, wait.”

You released him with an audible pop, pouting a little bit.

“I just want to make you feel good.”

“Fuck, are you real?” He sighed, brushing his hands through wavy locks.

You nodded and then gasped as he grabbed you and tossed you on the bed like a rag doll. An excited moan leapt from you through heaving breaths as you savored the feeling of his naked body as he crawled over you. A different expression took over his gentle face as he caressed you and kissed your inner biceps as he raised both of your hands above your head. His hot breath branded you as he began to whisper into your ear.

“Can I cuff you with my belt,” he growled.

A whimper escaped you. You were no stranger to being cuffed, but the offer from Ben was…unexpected. The wetness at your core grew when he asked and all you could do was nod.

“Good thing you picked the correct answer,” he sighed, satisfying his hunger with a taste of your lips.

“I like this,” you keened, “this side of you.”

“Good, because you’re going to do exactly as I say,” the demand made you breathless. “You’re going to move when I say you move. You’re going to cum when I let you cum and I’m going to fuck you, when I’m ready.”

“Ben--,” you called out his name like a mantra.

He grabbed his belt from where you had tossed it on the bed. His hands moved with the quick competence of a man who had definitely done this before. The deftness in the way looped the leather as he cuffed your wrists with the perfect amount of pressure left you panting.

“You sure this is OK?” he asked, his fingers gingerly stroking your face and lips.

You opened your mouth taking one digit, swirling your tongue around it, and sucking the tip.

You nod and replied, “Consent is so fucking sexy.”

He smiled and kissed your lips, neck, and breasts. He pulled your pencil skirt from your body, but tortuously left you in your bodysuit, damp with heat of your desire. Your breaths were heavy with anticipation as he traveled to your ankle, up your calf, to your knee, to your inner thigh, until he floated closer to your center. His nose breathed in the scent of your wet core and his broad shoulders pushed your legs apart, licking at the fabric that separated her from his tongue.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” he moaned, kissing, and licking the fabric again causing shivers to erupt all over your body.

“Ben!” You cried and you writhed beneath him. “Please.”

Your wrists strained against the thick leather of his belt, desperate to touch and grip his body with your hands. our back when you heard him chuckle as he pulled the thin fabric of the bottom of your bodysuit to the side. He flattened his tongue, pressing it through your folds and up to your clit. Like a man starved, he devoured you licking up and down, up, and down and then circling and sucking at your clit. Then he took sanctuary there, making it his place of worship, circling you, sucking you and then licking you again, between maddeningly slow and unbearably fast. A jolt twisted through your body when he slowed down to a stop.

“Oh fuck, Ben, please,” you begged, “I need to cum, please, let me cum.”

“You sure?” his voice full of wanton lust.

You bucked your hips towards him, and you felt his soft pouty lips smirk into your core. His large hands ripped the thin, cheap fabric of your bodysuit, tossing it to the floor. A lascivious chuckle rumbled from his chest as his hands seized your hips before putting his mouth back to work on you. You were devoured, as if you were the last and best meal he would ever have. You trembled slowly at first, your core beginning to quiver and quake. The quaking moved outwards from your core, ready to erupt within your body, as he teased, licked, and sucked, slowing down, or speeding up until you cried out his name begging for mercy.

“Oh god, Ben; you’re so good,” you wailed, the leather becoming tauter around your wrists. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes while your breaths became more and more ragged.

“Yes, sweetheart, cum for me, cum for me then I’ll fuck you.”

An order, not a request.

A tightness began resonating outward from your core, as Ben latched his mouth to your clit and suddenly you felt him push not one, but two fingers deep inside you, finger fucking you relentlessly until you could do nothing but cry out and scream his name. Your own personal mantra. A merciless spark took over your body until every inch of you trembled, as a wetness spread onto your sheets beneath you.

“Wow, baby, you are amazing,” he sighed, granting you a moment to regain your composure.

It felt as though you had run a marathon, you were breathing so hard.

“Was that?” You asked in shock through breaths, “did I?”

“Yes, and it was amazing,” he confirmed, releasing your hands from his thick leather belt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never squirted before.”

You shook your head vigorously, the freedom of your hands allowing you to pull his face towards you in a passionate kiss. He growled over you, capturing you by the waist, allowing your bodies to savor the heat and sweat from one another.

“You taste so good,” he praised. “Sorry about your bodysuit, I guess I’ll have to buy you a new one.” 

It didn’t matter. Clothes just seemed like an annoying inconvenience. You needed to be naked with him. You felt how rock hard his member was, upright and ready for you.

“Ben, please, I need you inside me.”

“Condom?”

You held his gaze before speaking, “I’m clean and protected, you?”

The excitement rose within you again at his confirmation. He leaned over you, his eyes almost black with lust. He pushed your legs apart with his muscular thighs before kneeling upright, his large, capable hands dragging your hips towards him. He wrapped your legs around his hips as he grabbed the base of his throbbing cock, slapping it to your clit, nearly making you scream. Your heart pounded into your ears as he lined up his tip to your glistening entrance. He pushed through your slickness, inch by inch, agonizingly slow, rewarding you with his pulsating girth . You threw your head back, nearly sobbing as he stretched you. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as he rolled his hips into yours, moving his length in and out.

“You’re so big, you feel so good,” you praised as you felt him increase his pace.

“I’m never leaving this pretty little cunt,” he groaned as he rolled and thrust into you.

“Faster, baby, fuck me harder, faster,” you implored.

His thick fingers pressed into your hips, and he began to drive into you exactly as you asked, pounding into your tight, wet cunt. Your name left his lips in repeated growls through gritted teeth. It was like he fucking owned you. A gravelly hiss leaves his throat as your walls rippled and squeezed his thick cock. He thrusted deep into you, hitting your g-spot and you gifted him with a loud moan of his name, your voice unable to form any other words.

His left hand pressed down hard at the base of your neck, and you felt his thrusts begin to roll into you at a slower pace. With his right hand, he lifted your knee towards your chest, hooking it over his shoulder. A pleading whimper escaped your lips when it felt like he was almost completely out of you. But as quickly as the thought drifted in, he pounded into you even harder than before. The pleasure was amplified one-hundred times with the newfound angle. The way his cock pounded your g-spot was somehow better this way and just as you thought it couldn’t get more perfect, Ben took his hand from your neck and began circling your clit with his thumb.

You let out a long, loud moan, crying out his name in a never-ending chant. “Ben! I can’t, my pussy can’t, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck, me too, baby,” he moaned with each thrust. “Wh—where, can I?”

“Cum inside me!” you demanded.

His cock throbbed and reverberated in you, until you found it impossible to contain everything you felt. Your orgasm washed all over you, your core quivering and every part of your body shaking as he thrust in with every bit of strength he had. Not once, not twice, but three more times, he chased your high with his own until you felt him fill you with ropes of his sweet, hot cum. Your voice cried out with him as he hissed and moaned through his own orgasm. His cock stayed sheathed within you, savoring how your core pulsated around him. He released his hands from your hips and slowly he pulled out of you. You let out a luxurious gasp, feeling a twinge of sadness from not feeling him inside you anymore.

A breath of satisfied exhaustion left him as he rolled next to you, but he also deftly found a way to wrap you in his arms, pulling you close into him. You came down from your high together and you listened intently to his heartbeat as you caressed his chest gently with your fingers. He brought his left hand to yours and began to mirror your gentle touches, bringing your palm to his lips kissing the inside of it. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you even closer, your legs tangled together, your bodies still glowing. You closed your eyes, breathing him in as you felt the velvety soft touch of his fingers caressing your hair and your shoulders. He pressed his soft lips to your forehead, a kiss so gentle it stood in direct contrast to how relentlessly he had fucked you. And it all felt right.

You looked up at him and he held his gaze to yours. A serene smile grew on your face, your cheeks flushing with a rosy warmth. 

“Wow,” was the only thing that could leave your lips as you caught your breath.

The balmy air of sex hovered over you. A feeling of surprise and giddiness mixed in with the afterglow as you thought of the pale pink impressions the leather of his belt left on your wrists. Just thinking of the way he controlled your body with his tongue, hands, and cock was almost enough to make your arousal reawaken.

“Mmmm, that was not…vanilla,” you exhaled, chuckling at the thought of him eating those snack wafers, “you are an enigma, sweet Ben.”

“Thank you, I think?” He laughed.

Your hand traced up his Adam’s apple, snuggling against him and caressing your fingers along his endearingly patchy facial hair. You propped yourself up and brought your face close to his, nuzzling your nose against his, inviting him in for a sensual kiss.

“I promise you, it’s a good thing,” a giggle escaped your lips. “Even just laying here with you is…it’s something.”

“Something you want to try again?” he asked, his breath hitching as he waited for your answer.

“Fuck yeah,” you replied without hesitation. “But…”

“Uh oh, there’s a…butt!” He laughed, as he smacked your behind, tingling your core again with desire.

“Ben,” you laughed with him, gently caressing the soft skin of his pelvis, “what I was going to say is, ‘yes, there is a 100 percent chance of this happening again,’ as long as you take me out on a real date.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the most attractive and radiant smile.

“How does breakfast sound?”

“Mmmm,” you whispered, pulling your soft bed sheets over the two of you, “I would love that.”

Thank you to my darling friends @legendary-pink-dot & @blueheat1-blog for beta-ing this for me! &lt;3

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

(This was originally started in February, but I got distracted and forgot about it. Then I started watching a video about a dude spending so many hours trying to play a no-death run on nightmare mode for Alien: Isolation, and decided, yeah, let's finish this thing.)

Fuck it, I'm writing some more lesbian Crowlien au stuff because I keep thinking about Crowley facing the Horrors alone.

Warning: talks of injury, death, violence, Crowley butchers another android that's no longer functional for parts

On with the fic!

--

Crowley had learned very quickly that crawling from place to place with one whole leg and half of another one was very difficult. It was also insanely stupid. The exposed live wires scattered about the ground and bits of metal all over could harm her even more.

Just because she recently discovered that she was an android did not mean she was going to act like she was immortal. That was just fucking stupid.

After getting to the medbay, and having herself a very long, very necessary cry because this was her wife's work station, she thanked that beautiful angel for being smart and bringing crutches onto the ship. Yes, it'd probably be easier with a wheelchair, but the doorways weren't always wide enough and with how the gravity stabilizer was shorting out constantly, it was a bit better to use crutches.

At least if she crashed back to the ground when gravity returned, Crowley wouldn't have a heavy chair do her more damage.

Crowley had spent time in the medbay patching herself up, there had been quite a bit of damage done to her by that horrible monster and all the chaos. Her leg had been torn at the knee by the freak of nature, but Aziraphale had been clever, using said leg to beat the shit out of it until... well...

She tried not to think about that, tried not to...

Fuck, Aziraphale had been so brave through all of this, much braver than Crowley had been. Hell, she had fought off that malfunctioning Working Joe-

Crowley blinked as she paused in putting a plaster on a torn bit of skin. If you could even call this skin.

The Working Joes.

They were standard issued worker droids, used by a number of companies for more dangerous tasks out in space, like some of the drilling, mining, and studying of hostile environments. Crowley hadn't been thrilled about their inclusion on the mission, they humans were capable, they had been doing missions like this for years.

The Joes mainly stayed on the ship, doing minor repairs and monitoring, which had greatly annoyed Crowley more. She was their chief science officer and lead engineer, she knew this ship better than some androids who gave her the creeps.

They'd always stare with the most dead eyes she'd ever seen.

And when all this shit happened, those creepy, white eyes had turned red.

They did that when there was a threat to the ship, they were used for protection. But they hadn't protected anyone.

They had killed some of the crew.

It had been brutal, and Crowley had nearly been a victim of one. Until Aziraphale bashed the damn Joe with a chair from the canteen. Snapped the head at a horrifying angle, but it had stopped the Joe from strangling Crowley to death.

Crowley sat in her wife's office, thinking about that, about the crumpled form on the ground. About how it hadn't bleed the white substance androids used like blood. The same substance that had came out of Crowley's broken leg.

The broken leg that had been warped and damaged beyond repair in order to protect her.

Grabbing the crutches, Crowley hobbled out of the office. "I'll be back," she told the empty room, "I need to see something."

With a bit of trouble, Crowley was able to get herself to the canteen, panting as she did from the effort. She really needed to get a new leg, this was going to make repairing the ship difficult if she couldn't move fast enough.

She had noticed the power outages, the damaged areas, if she didn't get herself fixed up soon, she wouldn't be able to do repairs on the ship.

And that would mean certain death for her...

Crowley snarled as she moved into the room. She was not going to die, Aziraphale wanted her to live. Her wife hadn't done what she had done just for Crowley to die because the oxygen went out or something set on fire that wasn't properly put out and caused massive damage.

"I'm not gonna let this fuckin' place be my grave..." Crowley growled, staring down at the broken Joe, the neck at a terrible angle.

Attached to Crowley's hip was a tool belt, one she had snatched one her journey to this room. She grabbed a screwdriver and got to work.

It took a while, with lots of pain because who the fuck decided that an android needed a nervous system, but the leg was attached. It was functioning, though Crowley suspected that she'd probably have a limp, the leg was different from what she originally had.

She sat there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the noises of the ship, the dripping of the white fluid from the Joe, which she really needed to stop cause she could probably use that. What a silly thought to have, especially with everything going on, everything that had happened.

The fact that it has sunk in that she was alone.

She was completely alone.

Aziraphale was gone.

Crowle felt her throat tighten, her eyes burned, and a horrible sob escaped her.

"What happens now, angel..." She asked, knowing there was no response.

She sniffed, rubbing at her face, before looking at her hand. There, on her finger, were two rings. Aziraphale had given her the ring, to hold onto, she's come back for it, as she had said.

Despite everything that had happened, and that Crowley was a logical person, knowing that Aziraphale couldn't have survived, she was also an optimist.

Always had been, always would be.

She got herself up with some trouble, grabbing from the crutches. "Alright, angel, alright. You better come back, you promised."

--

Don't worry, Crowley! She'll be back. :)