#got a heat lamp overhead

[itsalwaysdark]

okie so todayyy on the docket is um. i am going to my grans house with tag so they can watch dozer for the night (they arent allowed to go alone so they came and asked em to go with them and i was high and half asleep and hallucinating so i was like ummm. sure...) we r gonna head over Soon.... so thats notable...

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[bbdeongi]

Sloppy

☆PAIRING: idol! Seonghwa x fem! Reader

☆GENRE: smut😈

☆WARNINGS: seonghwa is still a dom but y/n is tryna dominate him😒, handjob, blowjob, riding, marking, choking, big dick! Seonghwa, unprotected sex (do not do that), pet names (baby, darling, bunny, hwa, good boy), seonghwa is a TAD bit subby obv

☆SUMMARY: your boyfriend seonghwa, comes back home to your dorm from dance practice, and he just so happened to dye his hair platinum blonde. And ofc you went feral.

☆A/N: HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN THIS VIDEO. Especially during dance practice part. But im adding that he has silver hair bc i was shocked this morning

It was 8 p.m., and the quiet hum of your desk lamp filled the dimly lit room. You were curled up on your bed, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone, when the sound of the front door closing caught your attention.

A few moments later, the door to your bedroom opened, and there he was—Seonghwa, fresh from practice. His sharp, bareface features were slightly flushed, likely from the cold air outside. He was dressed in a black tank top that clung to his lean frame, paired with grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips, his muscular arms on full 

display.

But that wasn’t what made your breath hitch.

“Is that...?” you started, sitting up as he stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The overhead light caught his hair, a striking platinum blonde that framed his face like a halo.

“Surprise,” Seonghwa said with a small, almost shy smile, running a hand through his freshly dyed locks.

You blinked, your mouth slightly open, as you took him in. “Seonghwa,” you murmured, your voice a mix of disbelief and something far hungrier. “You didn’t tell me you were doing this.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he walked closer. “What do you think?”

What did you think? You thought he looked devastatingly good—too good. The combination of his new look, the way his tank top clung to his chest, and the slight sheen of sweat on his skin from practice sent your thoughts spiraling.

“You look…” You trailed off, struggling to find the words, as he leaned down, his smirk turning into a teasing grin.

“Hmm?” he prompted, his voice dipping low as he placed a hand on the bed and leaned closer, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes. “What’s that look for, baby?”  

“Holy shit,” you whispered, unable to hold back your thoughts. “You look so hot.”

Seonghwa chuckled at your reaction, his eyes glinting with mischief as he straightened up, toeing off his sneakers. “You like it that much, huh?” he teased, peeling off his tank top and tossing it onto the chair in the corner. His toned chest gleamed in the dim light, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Your gaze followed him as he climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He moved slowly, deliberately, until he was hovering over you, his hands planted on either side of your head. His hair fell forward, the platinum strands framing his sharp features, and he smirked when he noticed your stunned expression.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he dipped closer. “Cat got your tongue?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as he let his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. He was playing with you, savoring your reaction, but you weren’t about to let him win.

“No,” you said, your voice steady despite the heat pooling in your stomach. “But I think I’d rather put it to use.”

His brows shot up in surprise just as you pushed against his chest with surprising force, flipping him onto his back before he could react. He landed against the headboard with a soft thud, his eyes wide and his mouth open slightly in shock.

“Y/N,” he started, but his words faltered as you straddled his hips, your hands pressing against his chest to keep him in place.

“I want to take care of you tonight,” you murmured, leaning in close so your lips hovered just above his. “Is that okay with you?”

Seonghwa let out a shaky breath, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. “You’re full of surprises,” he said with a grin, his voice rough with anticipation. “But I’m not complaining.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across your face as you leaned closer, your hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders. “Good,” you whispered before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss started slow, teasing, but quickly deepened as Seonghwa’s hands gripped your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your lips moved against his with purpose, your hands tangling in his soft, platinum hair. He let out a low groan when you gave a gentle tug, and the sound sent a thrill through you.

You broke the kiss, just enough to catch your breath, and trailed your lips along his jawline, then down the column of his throat. He tipped his head back against the headboard, giving you more access as you left open-mouthed kisses on his skin. His breathing grew heavier, his hands tightening on your thighs as you moved lower, your lips brushing the edge of his collarbone.

“Bunny…” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You pulled back slightly, your fingers ghosting over the waistband of his sweatpants. “Relax,” you said softly, your tone playful but reassuring. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

Seonghwa’s dark eyes met yours, his chest rising and falling as he nodded, completely at your mercy. You smiled, running your hands down his sides before hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, deliberately, you began to tug them down, your movements deliberate enough to keep him on edge.

The fabric slid down his hips, revealing more of his toned body, and you couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered. Seonghwa let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into a half-smile as he watched you. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, his voice full of teasing exasperation.

You smirked, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “Not yet,” you whispered, your tone promising nothing but trouble. As you threw his sweatpants, you were quick to also remove his boxers. A little wet stain already placed in the middle from pre-cum. You threw them on the floor besides the pants.

You kissed him again, this time deeper, more urgent, as your hands roamed over his chest. His skin was warm under your touch, and the way he responded to you—his lips moving hungrily against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he didn’t want to let go—sent sparks shooting through you.

Seonghwa’s head fell back against the headboard, a soft groan escaping his lips as your kisses trailed lower, down his jaw and over his collarbone. Your hands slid over his sides, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. He looked breathtaking like this—platinum hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

“Darling-“ he murmured, his voice rough with need, but there was an edge of tenderness there that made your heart flutter.

“Shh,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart. “Let me take care of you hwa..”

His hands shifted to your waist, his grip firm but gentle, and his lips curled into a soft smile despite the tension in his body. “You’re something else,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a featherlight kiss before deepening it once more. One of your hands trailed down his torso, teasingly slow, until it rested just below his throbbing length.

He inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on your waist, and the sound sent a thrill through you.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, and his eyes were dark, filled with nothing but you. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His breath hitched, and he tilted his head to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours with a mixture of passion and need. As you both lost yourselves in the moment, the room seemed to grow warmer, the dim light casting shadows that only added to the intimacy of the space.

You took a moment to look at his long, hard cock. His tip glistening with pre-cum on it.

“Such a pretty thing..” you say as you teased him, gliding a finger up and down as he whimpered.

“Bunny.. darling, please..” seonghwa begs you, his hands gripping the bed sheets as his knuckles turn white, he was so desperate and needy. He couldnt wait anymore and you saw it. You decided to be nice and start slow.

“Spit.” You held your hand under his mouth. Without any question, he obeys and spits onto your hand.  

Seonghwa’s hands roamed over your back, his touch firm yet gentle, grounding you as your lips met his again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, carrying an intensity that made your entire body hum with anticipation. You could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body reacted to every kiss, every touch.

As you shifted against him, your hand trailed lower, brushing against his abdomen. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock. The sharp intake of breath he let out made you pause, your lips curling into a small smile against his. “Sensitive?” you teased softly, your voice light but filled with intent.

“Only for you,” he murmured, his voice thick with need, his hands gripping your waist as if to steady himself.

You started to pump your hand at a steady pace, eventually moving faster with each second. Seonghwas breathing was uneven, his mouth was agape, panting as he watched you giving him a handjob.

“Oh fuck.. oh- b- bunny..” he breathed, his voice low and desperate as his fingers flexed against your hips. His vulnerability in the moment made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but smile as you leaned in, kissing him again to muffle the soft sounds spilling from his lips.

As one of your hands was moving up and down, the other one started to play with his balls. The blonde boy was a whining mess against your lips, as you smirked into the kiss. His hands gripping your hips as he was losing himself. “Y/N i- i think im gonna c- cum..”

You broke this kiss and smirked at him. “Mm.. be a good boy and hold it.” You say, he whined but still obeyed. This was payback for all the times he edged you and he knew it, knowing you wouldnt let it slide. 

You removed your hand and before he could even say anything you replace it with your mouth, motioning for him to keep his eyes on you. Licking the tip and sucking on it, you eventually started to deep throat him, mouth opening letting hwa look at how his long cock is disappearing in your mouth, gags and pants filled the room.. his hands flying to your hair as you started to speed up and gag

“B- baby.. i- oh.. s- so good.. s- so good” tears of pleasure and pain started to come out a little as he rolled his eyes back and whimpered out loud, biting his lip. You’ve never seen him cry before but it was such a sight. You knew he could take it though.

Seonghwas grip tightened on your hair, he couldn’t hold it anymore. “Y/N, darling.. i- i cant hold it.. p- please.. n- need to cum..” you moaned against his length, indicating he could finish. And he did, his white ropes shooting inside of your mouth, down to your throat. You lifted your head up and swallowed his load. Some dripped down your chin. Seonghwa pulled you into a kiss, tasting himself.

“Want me to ride you? Hm? To cum on your cock?” You teased him. He nodded fastly without hesitation. “Such a good fucking boy..”

Your breath hitched  when his fingers dipped under the fabric. Slowly, almost torturously, he began to tug your shorts down, his touch firm but deliberate. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin as he peeled them off, his eyes never leaving you.

Once your shorts were discarded, his fingers skimmed over the edge of your panties, the warmth of his hands sending sparks through your body. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting yours again. The tenderness in his expression made your heart swell.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

You leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands as you kissed him, your answer clear in the way your lips moved against his. “Yes, baby.”you whispered, your voice steady and filled with trust.

That was all he needed. His hands slid under the fabric of your panties, his touch reverent as he slowly slid them down your thighs. The intensity of his gaze as he looked at you, fully exposed and vulnerable before him, made you feel seen in a way that left you breathless.

He helped you sink down on his cock, earning groans from both of you. No natter how many times he fucked you, he always stretched you out with his dick. “Mngh.. fuck, so big~” you coo as he started to grip your hips again, his eyes looking at you.

“Oh shit, darling..” the way he looks up at you, breathless makes you moan a little. You bounce up and down on his cock, throwing your head back as your hands lay on his abs. 

You couldnt help but moan, and as soon as you tried to move your hands to grip somewhere else, seonghwa flipped you over and started pounding into you relentlessly. He lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, as his hands hold onto your hips. 

“H- hwa- o- oh- FUCK!” You cried out as seonghwa took control of you, fucking you hard and raw. His balls slap against your ass as you cry out. “C- close.. m’close-“

“Shh, bunny.. y’so tight bunny.. so tight for me..” Your hands gripped his shoulders for support, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He leaned forward suddenly, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth before trailing to your jawline, kissing you with an intensity that made your entire body tremble.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His fingers gently gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him. The tenderness in his eyes was almost overwhelming as he captured your lips in a kiss that was both passionate and grounding.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored his movements. His hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, and every whispered word, every soft groan, felt like a vow spoken just for you.

“H- hwa im gonna c- cum.. i- i cant..”

“Cum for me, baby.. make a mess in my cock.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as the overwhelming sensation reached its peak. You cried out his name, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you completely gave in and squirted all over him. Seonghwa groaned at the sight of you, the way your head tilted back, your lips parted, and your body moved against his, utterly captivating him.

The intensity of your release seemed to tip him over the edge, and with a deep, shuddering breath, he followed, painting your walls with his warm and sticky cum. His movements faltering as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His fingers dug gently into your hips, holding you close as his body tensed before finally relaxing.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your shared, uneven breathing. He stayed there, his arms wrapped around you, his forehead resting against your shoulder. You ran your fingers through his platinum hair, your touch gentle as you both came down from the high together.

Seonghwa shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before pulling back to look at you. His gaze was full of concern and love as his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice tender.

You nodded, a small, content smile tugging at your lips. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

He let out a soft laugh, his own smile forming as he carefully adjusted your position, helping you lie back against the pillows. “Stay here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping off the bed.

A moment later, he returned with a warm, damp cloth and a glass of water. He sat beside you, his touch gentle as he cleaned your skin with care, murmuring soft reassurances as he worked. “You did so well,” he said quietly, his voice full of admiration.

Once he finished, he tossed the cloth aside and handed you the water, waiting until you took a sip before settling back into bed beside you. He pulled you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair as you rested against his chest.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of conviction.

You smiled against his skin, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “I love you too,” you whispered, feeling completely safe and cherished in his embrace.

“God, you’re amazing.. my sloppy bunny.”

[d-z20]

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing. 

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33

[narrycherries]

call it what you want✨pt.3

As things seem to be heating up, Harry suggests a little more than kissing..

masterlist

word count: 6.1k

warnings/tags: harry x reader, friends to lovers, smut, fluff

The bed was as comfortable as ever while you laid there patiently waiting for Harry to join you. The day had been very relaxing for you, but climbing into his bed was just what you needed. Harry wasn’t far behind you. He was changing into something to sleep in. You bit down on your cheek as you thought about the oversized t-shirt you were wearing, no pants or shorts covering your legs or butt at all. He never minded, and you rarely did it anyways so he never made a big deal out of it. Besides, he was comfortable with it and so were you.

“M’gone leave the lamp on for a bit, that okay? I wanna read for a while after you go to sleep.”

You smiled as he looked your way. “That’s fine. Just need you to come on.. I’m cold.”

His playful eye roll made your smile grow bigger. He flicked off the overhead light and joined you on the bed.

“Someone’s being a little needy, hm?” He said through a low chuckle as he slid his arm underneath your head, and the other naturally draped over your waist.

“If you cut the air off every now and then I wouldn't be so cold.” Your voice was soft as you nuzzled your face against his arm, the feeling of his warm skin lighting yours on fire was nice and comforting. It felt like forever since the last time you felt that sensation, even though it was only this morning..

“Hmm.. maybe I keep it on to keep you cold.. make you have to cuddle me.” His words were laced with a grin, and you felt a wave of heat covering your cheeks.

“Sounds like you're the needy one, then.”

He gave your waist a pinch that you could feel through the fabric of your shirt. You winced, then nudged his foot with yours. You always tended to forget how close you really got to him, your faces were just a few inches apart.

“M’glad you got to spend a few days with me.. even though you got hurt.” He said through a sigh, his fingers softly dragging back and forth against your shirt, wishing he could feel your skin. He didn’t want to cross any lines with you, though, so he didn’t even think about lifting your shirt.

“I guess I have to go home tomorrow.” You shifted your gaze to his face, and you were not shocked to see his stare was fixed on you.

He lifted one corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to go.. unless you really want to.”

Your heart started to flutter as you thought about spending even more time with him, but you had to quickly remind yourself that this wasn’t a fairytale you were in. He watched as your eyes drifted from his and you rolled in your bottom lip. You usually did that while you were thinking, so he figured you were doing that. After a minute or two of just watching you curiously, he said something.

“Something wrong?”

Immediately, your eyes dart back to his. “No, just.. I, um, probably need to go home.. my roommate texted me earlier.. asking when I’d be back.”

He slightly raised a brow. “Care more about your roommate than me?”

“Don’t be silly.” You cracked a smile, he was only joking after all.

“You can go whenever, peach, but I’ll miss you.” Harry’s voice had dropped to practically a whisper, which made your heart beat a little faster than normal.

You went silent as you lifted your hand between your chest and Harry’s and started to mess with the chain around his neck. He didn’t want to disturb you, so he just opted to observe you. Of course, your eyes were fixated on his necklace, and he could tell you were lost in thought. Your fingers were carefully twisting the chain and running it against your skin. Harry wanted to ask you what was making your tongue poke through your lips before you bit down on your cheek, but he didn’t want to bother you. Despite seeming so distracted, you were content and quiet and, above all, comfortable.

Just as he had dropped his eyes down to stare at your plump lips, you moved your touch onto his chin. He shot his eyes back to yours as you gave him a glance and a gentle smile.

“You have a piece of fuzz on you.” You muttered out while picking the familiar colored, tiny ball of fuzz off of the underside of his chin. It came from the throw blanket that he kept on the couch.

He didn’t say anything, just kept eyeing you. A sudden ache in your leg made you grunt and bend your knee, pushing it into Harry’s leg. He squeezed your waist and hummed as a way of asking if you were alright, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you started to rub the pad of your index finger against the hair growing in on his chin. He let out a soft laugh as he watched your brows furrow.

“Don’t like it?”

You smiled. “I do.. it just feels funny.”

“As long as it doesn’t look funny.” Harry smirked.

“You couldn’t look funny if you tried.” You quietly said, the words as light as a feather.

Harry’s tongue darted out to coat his lips quickly. “Is that so?”

You scoffed. “You know you’re-“

When you paused, he moved his hand up just slightly to squeeze you in a new spot. “Hm?”

You gently shook your head, not wanting to say what you almost let slip. He let it slide, though. The last thing he wanted was to upset you by asking over and over what you were going to say. He had some ideas in his head anyway that made sense, so there was no point in asking. For a moment, he thought maybe you were uncomfortable and becoming tense from the situation, so he decided to distract you.

“I hate that you gotta go tomorrow.. I don’t like being alone.”

“M’sure my brother would like to see you.. he likes to tell my mom that I take up all your free time.”

Harry chuckled a little at that. “M’sure he’s jealous.”

“He’s just mad because I stole his best friend.”

“M’sure he never saw that coming.” He smiled, but let it drop as he noticed your eyes changing. You were just smiling, but now you appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head a few times, trying to just ignore everything that was weighing on you, but it was too hard. Harry started to move his hand up and down a small section of your side, as an attempt to comfort you.

“Don’t get upset. I don’t want you to cry, sweetheart.”

The word he said just made everything feel much harder, made it feel so much more real.. You fought your anxious thoughts and decided to just tell him what was going on in your mind right now. There were some things that just needed to come out.

“I wish I were a boy.. it would be so much easier to.. to be your friend.”

He was confused at first, but thought about what you said and what it meant. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. You weren't looking at him anyway, so he wasn’t afraid to be a little emotional with his reactions. Before he could say anything back, you spoke again.

“All the.. the cuddling and stuff.. I just.. it makes everything complicated.. we have to censor ourselves in front of.. everyone but.. we shouldn’t be doing it anyway.”

He chose to try and cheer you up, try to guide you away from those tears. “I’m glad you’re not a boy.. it would be a bit weird for me to be cuddling you.”

You huffed. “That’s the thing, you wouldn’t.. be doing that.”

“I.. I like doing that.. with you.” Harry’s brows dropped as your eyes met his once again. “I told you the other day that all of this is okay with me. Everything we do is perfectly okay.”

“I know.. I like it, too.. and.. I don’t.. I don’t know.” You were beyond flustered, and he could easily tell how nervous you were.

Your eyes were avoiding his as your face reddened and your hand started to tremble against his shoulder. You hadn’t even realized you were touching him there, but holding onto him was something you always opted to do - whether it was squeezing the fabric of his shirt, wrapping your fingers in between his, or grabbing onto parts of his body. You needed him close in order to feel safe, and right now you just wanted that comfort that only he provides. You just wanted him.

He licked his lips gently. “Hey, how about we just.. take a moment to relax,okay? I don’t want you to get worked up.”

You let out a soft breath. “Okay, that’s okay.”

It became quiet for a while. Your eyes were closed but Harry knew you weren’t asleep. Your hand was on the side of his neck, your index finger softly moving from side to side. The feeling of his warm skin against yours was a cure for your anxiety. It made you feel like the world had stopped spinning and it was just the two of you in existence. You were calm.

Harry, on the other hand, was watching you closely, making sure you didn't make any weird faces or appear to be uncomfortable in any way. He didn’t want you to worry about the kissing episode from the other night, and he surely didn’t want you to think that the special things you do with him are not acceptable. There was nothing more he loved in the world than being with you - and that included cuddling on the couch, sleeping close in bed, every little thing he did with you..

His eyelids were hardly opened when you started to furrow your brows and frown your lips. He watched you carefully, observing every little move you made. Your hand slowly moved to his jaw, your fingers splaying on his neck as your thumb pressed into his relaxed dimple. He took a deep breath through his nose and slowly pushed it out, waiting for you to open your eyes. When you did, he didn’t expect you to seem so sad. He thought for sure that this quiet time had allowed you to relax.

“Harry.” You spoke his name in a soft whine, your lips tugging downward as a wave of sadness crept through you.

“What is it, darling?” He asked quietly, not wanting to be too loud while being this close.

You didn’t say anything at first, just shifted your gaze to his dimple. You poked your thumb into the intention, making him smile. You couldn’t resist a small lift of the corner of your mouth as your thumb dipped into the dimple.

“Y’know that tickles me.” He muttered out as you started rubbing delicate circles into his cheek, your skin barely touching his.

“Mhm.” You looked at his eyes, admiring his relaxed features.

His brows were laying perfectly on his forehead, his smile was gentle but present, and his eyes were locked on yours. If you shifted your gaze, he followed you. He was always so intrigued by whatever you did, big or small. You gave his cheek a pinch, your fingers brushing his skin as you moved your hand. He chuckled lightly as you did it a second time.

“You’re being cute, hm.” His words came out in a mumble, making your stomach churn and your heart flutter. Sometimes his words had a crazy effect on you, it was complicated for you to process.

You shifted your head, turning your face in to the pillow. Harry tightened his hold on your waist, almost forgetting that he was touching you there. You grunted, ignoring his silent request for you to look back at him. Despite trying to hide, he could still see how your cheeks started to regain that bright red flush you had earlier.

“Being a bit shy now.” He whispered as his fingers carefully gathered a bit of your oversized shirt. He wanted to pull it up and touch your bare skin like he did the other day, but he refrained. “You were sittin’ on my lap on the couch.. now you’re actin’ like you don’t know me, hm?”

“Harry.” You whimpered his name, protesting his teasing.

You could feel the vibrations of the low chuckle coming from his throat. You squeezed your eyes shut and forced your face forward - right against his collarbone.

“Don’t want you to hide from me, darling.” His hand slid around to the small of your back. “No need to hide such a pretty face.”

You grunted back, which made his smile grow. He knew that he did things that made you feel a different way at times, and right now you were feeling insanely different. Your heart was beating faster than usual, and your toes were curling as you tried to ignore the thoughts in your head. Your stomach was bubbling and butterflies were threatening to come up your throat. He knew how special the feelings were, because he always got them, too.

“Why are you hiding from me, hm?”

He was surprised when you muttered a response to him. “Cus.”

“Look at me, peach.”

At first, you were going to just ignore him, but something inside of you sparked and you caught yourself moving your head back so you could see him. As your eyes met his, he gave you a warm smile and pressed his hand against your back. You could feel how warm his palm was through your shirt, and you wished he’d touch your bare skin..

Harry didn’t say anything else as he just laid there and watched you closely. You were struggling to keep your stare locked with his, but you didn’t want to look away. Fighting off the nervousness was a struggle, but you had a desire to be brave. You didn’t want to cave into the anxiety and shyness he made you feel at times.. you wanted to show him how confident and content you were with him. And right now, you were leaning more towards content.

You glanced for a split second at his lips as his tongue came out to coat them. You swallowed a lump that had been shaping in your throat, but moved your eyes right back to his. He of course noticed your moment of distraction and took advantage of it.

“Hey.” His voice was the softest it had been all night.

“Hmm?”

His hand gently moved a few centimeters down your back, closer to the dip in your spine than before. Your fingers were lightly scratching against the skin on the side of his neck, you were too nervous to touch his face again. He leaned a little closer to you, leaving a very small gap.

“Do you.. want me to.. to kiss you?” Harry asked you in a light whisper, his half hooded eyes staring deep into yours, like he was searching for something.

Your stomach dropped, and absentmindedly you let your hand move upward so that your thumb was rubbing over his ear lobe. “Do you want.. to kiss me?”

He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I do want to.. but.. it’s your call.”

You thought about it intensively for a few long moments. Would it be worth it? Or was this something that could lead to a catastrophic ending to your friendship? It was difficult to not consider that, but you opted to ignore it. It was so perfect the first time, so why would this time be different? Right now in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

“I want you to, yeah.. I.. I do.” You whispered softly.

“Yeah?” He lifted his brows slightly, making sure that you want to do this.

“Please.” You muttered back, almost in a sad tone.

His heart melted as he saw your eyes widen. “Don’t have to say that.. I will.”

Harry moved his face closer to yours, your lips barely apart at this point. He watched your eyelids close and your lips form a pout, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Pretty please.” You quietly said while your hand found its way to his neck again.

After what felt like forever, Harry brushed his lips against yours, he was smiling. “Of course, darling, of course.”

Just like the first time, it felt magical and surreal. Harry’s lips were gently moving with yours, allowing you to somewhat take the lead. He didn’t want to feel like he was forcing you or pressuring you, and you appreciated that. It felt easier than the first time, though, since he was laying next to you and not on top of you. Your mind was able to focus on the kissing and not on his hips pressing down into yours. His hand moved to your hip, but he didn’t do anything besides hold onto your body. You didn’t care, it felt perfect to have him this close to you.

He let out a grunt as your hand moved up to cradle his jaw. Your thumb was rubbing against his skin as you parted your lips for his tongue to enter your mouth. He hesitated at first, but eventually slid his tongue between your lips. Before you realized, you were swapping control and shoving tongues around like it was normal and not just your second time. Everything felt so natural, so honest and real. It still terrified you, but right now, you were ignoring everything in your mind. Nothing else mattered.

Harry was a little unsure when you decided to shove your knee between his legs, but only because of how you reacted to him last time putting his body on yours. He figured this was a little different though, so maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. After a couple of minutes of kissing like you’d never see each other again, you broke the kiss and moved your lips to his cheek. He smiled as you gave him a few pecks.

“Everything okay?” He asked in a low voice as he savored the feeling of your lips against his skin.

“Can.. can you..” You were nervous and he noticed very easily. You gulped, trying to find some courage to say what you want but it was hard.

Harry moved his hand to your waist and he gave you a squeeze. “Whatever you want me to do, peach.”

That special pet name made your toes curl and your stomach churn in the best way. No matter what, you knew that he was going to take care of you. He wouldn’t make you do something you didn’t want to do, and at this point, he wasn’t going to tell you no. If you knew anything, it was that he’d do whatever you ask of him. Knowing that you were more of a priority to him than any of his other friends always made you feel special, and right now.. he was definitely giving you the best treatment.

“Can you, um, touch me? Like.. under my.. my shirt and stuff?”

He gave you a soft chuckle, then pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Sure, darling.”

“Like it when.. when you do that.” Your cheeks were on fire, but he thought it was cute.

“Yeah?”

You nod back, your eyes opening to see him as he slightly leaned back. “Like it a lot.”

“I like touching you.. always so soft, like a little peach, hm?” When his eye dropped to a wink, your heart nearly exploded.

Without hesitation, you pushed your mouth onto his, your grip on his jaw was tighter than before. He was surprised that you took the lead, but he was glad you weren’t being so shy.

Like you asked, he quickly slipped his hand under your shirt and began practically massaging your side, from your hip to just below your boobs. He didn’t want to go too far, because you hadn’t asked him to.

You were easily lost in your thoughts again. There was this magical world you constantly fell into that was only full of you and him. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. You felt waves of happiness and pleasure and excitement continuously rush through your body. A spark of curiosity hit you, and your hand slid to the nape of his neck. He grunted as your fingers twisted into his hair. You gave him a gentle tug, in which he replied with a tight squeeze of your waist.

Everything was so intimate and intense. You were pulled so far in to the feelings that you couldn’t comprehend what was real and what wasn’t. You wondered if his mouth moving with yours was even real..

Suddenly, your hand fell from his neck and he felt your arm moving between your bodies. He wasn’t quite sure what you were doing, but when you pulled your knee from in between his legs, you got his attention. He pulled back from the kiss, making you grunt.

“What’s the matter?” He asked as he tried to peek underneath the covers but you mumbled a quiet “no” that made him stop.

When his eyes met yours, he saw that you were a little flustered and possibly upset. He kept his hand on your waist, his eyes locked with yours. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Harry.” You whined back, but he still was unsure about what was happening.

“What’s wrong, peach?”

You shook your head and finally brought your hand back up, but not to his neck or face. Instead, you curled it against your chest and turned your face into his arm, not wanting to look at him anymore.

“Lovey, what’s wrong? Did.. did I do something?”

There was nothing more important than communication right now, and you knew that telling him quickly would save you both the hassle. You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m.. getting tingles.. and.. stuff.”

He was shocked that you told him so quickly, but he wasn’t complaining about that at all. He took a deep breath and moved his face closer to yours. Even though you were hiding from him, he still peppered a few kisses over your jaw in attempt to relax you.

“Tingles, hm? Are they.. good tingles?”

“Yeah.” You muttered back.

He stayed quiet for a minute, thinking about what he was going to say to you. He had a few ideas, but he was nervous about it. What if what he suggested wasn’t what you wanted, and it ruined the moment? Or what if it was what you wanted and he was able to satisfy you? He opted to take the risk, because at the end of the day, nothing was going to change for the worse. You would still be his best friend and he would still be yours..

“Does it.. feel like you need to take care of it?”

You let out a shaky breath, bolting your eyes even tighter. “I dunno. It’s.. like throbbing.. I.. It’s a lot.”

“Hm, sounds like it needs to be dealt with.” His words were soft as he carefully trailed his hand down to your hip. The feeling of your cotton underwear against his skin was causing a ripple to go through his stomach. “Do you.. want.. it to be dealt with?”

Your heart was racing a million miles an hour at this point, and you were easily picking up on his subtle words and suggestions. You knew that if you could escape his hold and go to the bathroom, you’d take care of the issue yourself. But slipping out of his arms and running from the bed wasn’t going to be very graceful. A thought began to circle your mind. It’s only Harry, it’s not like he's a stranger. It’s just Harry, you trust him. It’s Harry…

“Kinda, yeah.”

When your head shifted back, you let your eyes find his. He saw how red your cheeks were and there was a hint of a smile on your lips. He swallowed the small lump forming in his throat, ready to risk it all.

“Do you want me.. to do it?”

His straightforward question made your stomach drop, but you couldn’t really focus on anything besides the throbbing between your legs and the pooling in your panties. You needed to get rid of that desire, you had to either do it yourself or let him do it.

“Please, if.. if you want to.”

“Oh, I definitely want to.” He chuckled, making sure you knew he was just as comfortable with the idea as you were. “I’d love to.”

“Then please.. please do.”

Harry placed a kiss on your lips before gently pushing down on your hip. “Lay back.”

You gently fell onto the bed, your head still resting on his arm as he moved to get situated next to you. His hand was resting on your stomach, your shirt had rolled up from when he was beneath it, so your skin was exposed. You quickly adjusted the blanket over your chest, not wanting to see what was happening down there. It was a matter of embarrassment for you, nothing else. You didn’t want him to see your stomach or your thighs and get turned off, even though he definitely wouldn’t.

Harry didn’t say anything about your decision. He knew that letting you lead would be better. If you wanted him to see, then you would have shown him.

“Are you comfortable?’ He asked quietly as you laid the hand closest to him on your stomach.

“Mhm.”

He took that as a sign to begin. His hand moved down until his fingers bumped the waistband of your underwear. You took a deep breath and let it come through your nose as he toyed with the fabric.

“Do you wanna take your panties off or leave them on?” His voice was as gentle as ever. He was going to do his best to take care of you, and you knew that.

You thought quickly, but shot down any ideas in your mind. You were too scared to get embarrassed. “Leave them on, please.”

Harry furrowed his brows slightly and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Darling, you don’t have to say please, okay? You’re in charge.. it’s whatever you want.”

“Okay.. I.. I know.”

“Just have to remind you, sweet girl.”

You smiled at his words and nodded, wishing you could peck his lips but you didn’t want to move. You were too comfortable like this, it felt perfect.

Despite wanting to jump right into it, he had to assure himself that you were okay with this. He rubbed his hand in a circle over your stomach, making you smile as it tickled your skin, yet it felt very intimate.

“Are you positive that you want to do this?” He asked, looking down at you intensely.

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

You laughed a little and rolled your eyes. “Yes, Harry.”

“One thousand percent?”

You adjusted your head on his arm, getting as close to him as you could. “A million.”

Harry knew that he needed to tease you for a little bit before actually touching you. It wasn’t to torture you, but to make sure that your orgasm would be the best one you’d ever had. So, he moved his hand down as your legs naturally parted for him. You were on the verge of exploding as he pressed his palm down. You let out a soft whine that made him smile and press a little harder.

“Harry.” You whispered his name quietly, turning your head so your eyes could see his. He was, of course, already looking down at you.

“Be patient.” He mumbled back.

Your head shifted back and your eyes fell shut. You wanted to soak in every second of this. He moved his hand back up, but stopped as his fingers touched your covered nub. A grunt left your mouth and he knew that you were sensitive right now. He applied some pressure and moved his fingers from side to side. You were groaning like crazy, your feet digging into the mattress as you silently begged for more. Harry let up the pressure and gave you a soft pat, which caused you to gasp.

“Hmm, when’s the last time you touched yourself? You’re a bit sensitive, yeah?”

You were taken off guard by his words at first, but decided to just ignore any potential embarrassment and just talk to him. His voice was such a comfort for you, especially right now when it made you feel a thousand times better.

“I dunno.. a couple days.. it's usually not this.. intense.”

He smirked to himself. “I’ll make it feel good, promise.”

With that, he slid his fingers under the fabric of your underwear and finally touched you skin to skin. A moan fell from your lips as he circled two of his fingers over your clit, just to get you a little excited, before slipping through your folds. He guided his fingers back up, being sure to feel every inch of you.

“You’re so warm.. so wet for me, hm?” He said in a deep voice as he lowered his lips to your temple, pressing a kiss there just seconds after.

“Harry.” You muttered out, digging your own nails into your stomach as you realized his hand was inside of your panties and he was about to satisfy you.

“Have to make sure m’careful.” He said while pulling his hand out. You whined immediately, not sure what he was doing. He chuckled before spitting onto his fingertips. “Patience, peach.”

“Please, want to feel good.” You whined back, the words went straight to his crotch.

“I’ll make you feel so good.” He promised as his hand returned to its previous spot and he was swirling his spit around your clit.

While you were soaked, he had to make sure he had plenty to move around you. He didn’t want any undesired friction to happen. The second the heavy moan left your throat, he knew this could not be the last time he did this to you.

“Alright, tell me if its too much, okay?” He said, starting before you even had a chance to respond.

He pressed down with his index and middle finger, rubbing them in circles over your clit. You were already experiencing slight spasms in your thighs, you couldn’t control yourself.

“Oh, Harry.” You were quiet, but the gasping for air assured him you were enjoying it.

He watched you closely as he kept up a good pace of his fingers. He wanted to make sure you were okay the entire time, so he never once looked away from you. He thought that it couldn’t possibly get any hotter watching you come undone from his touch, but he was wrong.

“Please, faster.” You said through a huff while your hand moved onto his elbow. Something about you wrapping your small hand around his arm made him close to busting himself. You sunk your nails into his skin and let out a heavy moan as he did what you requested. He stayed like that for a few minutes, just rubbing you as hard and fast as he could without hurting you. And you, well, you were enjoying every second of it.

“Do you wanna try to take a finger, doll?” He asked as he started to slow down a little, he didn’t want to overdo it.

“Mhm.. just one.” You said with a nod, knowing that sometimes when you did it yourself it helped and felt really nice.

“Just one, okay.” He whispered out as his fingers slowed on your clit and he carefully moved down your slit.

You were whimpering at the loss of touch, but he knew he’d return to that soon. He wiggled his finger around to get it wet before gently pushing the tip inside. His eyes were glued to your face so he could catch your reactions. The possibility of hurting you was on his mind.

He grunted as he felt how warm and tight you were, but the pleasure quickly ended. It had been a while since you had anything other than your own finger in there, and his was much bigger, wider, and longer than yours..

“S’too much right now.” You shook your head, turning to look up at him.

“Okay, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He pulled his finger out and returned to your clit, where he quickly started to rub again.

“Are.. are you.. upset?” You asked with a worried voice, your brows dropped and your lips were frowning.

“No, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m glad you told me. Besides, you’re in charge.” He was consistently talking sweet to you, making sure that you were okay.

“Okay.. please, keep going.”

Harry hadn’t noticed he had stalled his movements, but he instantly started back up. You were taking quick breaths, your eyes were rolling back in your head as he sped up, then slowed down - just to speed up again. It was driving you mad in the best way.

“Tell me how it feels, darling.” He said in a deep voice, his eyes watching your face as it contorts and reacts to him.

“Feels.. feels so good, Ha-Harry.” You struggled to get a clear sentence out. Your legs were moving around, your toes twisting and curling as you felt your orgasm get closer and closer.

“Listen, darling, you’re so wet.” His smirk made you bite down on your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut - the sloshing sound he was causing down there was very evident.

“It’s.. fuckin’ hot.” You suddenly slung the covers off of your body, making Harry laugh a little.

He was glad he could see how your legs jolted around and how your belly rolled as your body experienced waves of pleasure. Your back arched off the bed and you were groaning like crazy.

“Harry!” You moaned out his name as loud as you could while your hand slid down his forearm, almost to his wrist. You held on tight.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” His words were only fuel to your fire.

“Yes, yes, Harry, m’gonna.. cum. Please.” You turned your head upward so that it was pressing into his shoulder. You needed to be close to him.

He watched in awe while you came undone. Your nails scratched his skin and soft whimpers were falling from your lips. You kept mumbling his name over and over again, begging him to get you to the edge.

“Cum for me, cum all over my fingers, baby.”

That did it. Within a second, your jaw dropped and you were gasping for air. Your clit was throbbing as your nerves exploded all over. Harry kept rubbing oyu through it, which was driving you insane. Usually, you stopped after a few seconds, so this was something new to you.

“Harry!” You squealed as you clawed the skin of his hand, trying to pull him away, which made him chuckle.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Did so good for me, yeah?” He finally gave you the break you wanted. His hand rested over your vagina, and he laughed as your legs closed with his arm stuck there.

“I.. I can’t believe.. we just did that.” You were trying to catch your breath.

Harry smiled but then remembered how you reacted about the first kiss you shared. Maybe this was different? Maybe it wasn’t, though. You pushed your hair away from your face and relaxed your legs, letting him pull his hand out of your underwear. He laid on your stomach and licked his lips as he stared at you. You were definitely taking the much needed time to come back to earth.

“Yeah.. I know.. um, but remember it’s fine.. if you don’t want to do that again.” He said nervously, trying to hide it but it wasn’t really working in his favor.

You scoffed at him, then let out a laugh. Your eyes opened and you looked directly at him. He was afraid of your reaction, but what you said gave him relief.

“Are you crazy?” Your brows raised on your forehead as you gave him a grin. “M’never touching myself again.. nothing can be as good as you.”

He smirked, feeling proud of himself and glad that you were okay with everything. “Well, whenever you need it again, darling.. just let me know.”

[a/n: I really enjoy writing this pair so I hope you enjoy, more spicy stuff coming with them ;) hope you’re all doing well and surviving the summer heat if you’re in it!]

taglist: (notified for all posts)

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

@victoriasigaard

@ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04

[whimsicalpolitical]

Stormy ride // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: idk how it is with you but weather is so shit right now, I’m in a stormy mood

summary: you’re in the car with Matty but you have to pull over cause it’s storming too bad, now you have to spend your time otherwise

content warning: stormy weather, swearing, smoking, p in v, dry humping, fingering

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It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.- Edward Bulwer-Lytton

You’ve been on the road for two hours now and still not at Matty‘s house. Usually it takes 50 minutes but it’s already 9pm and you lost all hope that you’ll arrive today.

„Oh for fucks sake,“ Matty cusses, hitting the steering wheel at the third red light in a row.

The rain is still pleasant, the windshield wipers are still set to the slowest setting but the clouds are thickening and getting darker while the sky is turning black.

„You’ve got to be joking,“ his right hands comes up to his face, to rub his forehead and sigh out. The second the light turns green you expect that you can drive immediately, however the driver in front of you doesn’t move at all.

„Start driving you wanker,“ Matty honks and screams at the driver ironically because he can’t hear him. You giggle at his impatience. Driving for a long time in the rain is annoying, especially when you’re not the only one on the road, having to stop a lot.

„Relax,“ your hand squeezes his thigh, resting there, which pulls Matty out of his angry state.

Matty’s hand comes on top of yours, his thumb rubbing slow patterns on your skin. „Sorry love, just wanna get home.“ He brings your hand to his mouth kissing every knuckle.

„Your hands are fucking freezing,“ he says mildly, bending his head to look at the way your nails are turning blue. „I already turned the heating to 71 Fahrenheit.“

He brings your hands up to his face and blows warm air on the blue tips of your fingers, massaging them with circular motions to force the cold out of them. Your heart picks up at the way your hands disappear beneath his, what’s visible of them looking small in his gentle grip.

„My hands are always cold but it’s worse when it’s storming outside, I don’t know,“ you shrug, „I feel the cold.“ You wink at the parallel to ‘girls.‘

Matty snorts at you quoting him. “Fuck off.” He shrugs his jacket off with one hand, keeping the other steady on the wheel. He drapes it over your lap, its warmth immediately soothing. “S’ should help.”

“Thanks Matty,” your heart swells with affection as you look at him.

The rain began as a light sprinkle, but now it is pouring, the sky dark and heavy with clouds. You glance over at Matty, his hand firm on the wheel, while the other still holds your hand, eyes focused on the road. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the rain, swishing back and forth.

“I don’t like this weather,” you admit, goosebumps spreading all over your body, shuddering at the dark road in front of you.

The storm outside intensifies, lightning flashes across the sky. You tense, trying to ignore the unease creeping up your spine. Matty's thumb strokes your hand in slow, soothing circles.

"It's just a storm," he says softly, his voice calm.

You nod, trying to relax. Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, shaking the car. You flinch, your hand tightening on Matty's thigh.

“Easy there, love. If you squeeze any harder, I might not be able to drive properly.” He jokes, glancing over at you for a second to make sure you’re actually alright.

“Caught me off guard, sorry.” You pull your hand from him but he finds your wrist to keep it on his thigh.

“It’s just a bit of weather,” he reassures, “nothing I can’t handle.” He has a smug grin on his face but you’re not really in the mood to smile at his jokes, feeling like the road is getting more slippery.

Right now you’re driving through the -well known- forest road which takes up to 20 minutes to drive all the way through. There is nothing but dark trees beside you, the lightnings lighting up the green color only for a split second.

Matty doesn’t seem really bothered by the weather, only annoyed that the ride back takes so long. You are too. The thought of laying in bed with Matty- a warm bed- makes you more excited to finally arrive. If you arrive.

“Love, you’ve gone quiet there,” he observes, your grip on his thigh also a bit loose. “Does the weather bother you this much?” He tries to find any concerns written in your face but it’s gotten also very dark in the car, just outlines to recognize.

You nod, hiding both of your hands under Matty’s jacket on your lap. “Maybe we should pull over, wait till it’s a bit better?” you suggest, your voice barely above a whisper, barely audible over the roar of the rain hitting the car.

“I wouldn’t mind to keep driving, you’re the scared one,” a smile tugs at his lips, “say the word and I’ll pull over.”

You flip him off and turn your head to observe the weather. You can’t see anything besides when the surrounding lights up. You hear however a lot, which is making you fucking crazy.

“Pull over?” You ask, turning your head back to Matty, who is already nodding and pulling to the side of the road. You didn’t see a single car in front or behind you since you’ve been on the forest road, but Matty turns on the hazard lights anyway.

“Anything for my girl,” he remarks, stopping the engine, the rain getting louder. “Didn’t know you hate storms so much.”

Matty leans back, his hand reaching into his hoodie pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. With a casual flick of his wrist, he flips open the lid, revealing the neatly lined rows of slender white sticks. He selects one and deftly tucks it between his lips, his movements smooth and practiced.

Then he pulls out his lighter, tugging the packet away. With a quick motion, he sparks the flame to life, holding it steady as he brings it to the end of the cigarette. The flame dances and flickers, casting fleeting shadows across his face as he takes a long drag, the tip glowing bright orange with each inhale.

You watch him, unable to tear your eyes away as he exhales a plume of smoke, the scent hanging heavy in the air between you. There's something undeniably alluring about the way he handles the cigarette, a sense of ease and confidence that draws you in despite yourself.

You unbuckle yourself and pull your feet up, Matty’s jacket wrapping around yourself, trying to keep you warm.

Matty takes a long drag, the ember pulsing with each inhale. He exhales slowly, the smoke swirling around him in lazy tendrils. “You know,” he says, his voice low and husky, "there's something about the quiet of the forest at night. It's like being in a whole other world.”

“Weirdo,” you laugh which is quickly replaced by a quiet inhaling sound when another roaring of a thunder is passing through the air. You shudder, your hands shaking in your lap.

“What are you on about,” he asks, taking the last drag of the cigarette before opening the car door, letting the cold air fill the car, to throw the end of his cigarette outside. “You’re still shaking.” He states.

Matty too unbuckles himself now, rolls his seat back and adjusts it so that there is more space in the footwell. Then he empties his pocket and puts his lighter, his cigarettes and his phone on the front of the desk.

You’re curious on what he’s planning, drowning out the sounds of the storm with watching Matty’s curls fall into his face when he looks around him to check if everything’s alright.

“Come here,” he finally says, pulling his jacket off of you to grab your arm.

“Matty,” you roll your eyes, thinking he’s just going to tease you about freezing and scaring your ass off.

“Come here,” he repeats, spreading his legs a bit, “m’not joking, hate to see my girl freezing.”

That does it. You climb over the console, wrapping each leg on each side of Matty, lowering yourself onto him, onto his warm body. You sigh contently, your head immediately resting on his shoulder.

Matty wraps the jacket he pulled off of you over your shoulders again, doing everything he can to keep you from turning into an ice block.

“There we go,” he feels you relax as his fingers brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, not from the cold, but from the electrifying touch of his fingertips. You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, a silent exchange of longing and affection passing between you.

He’s smiling at you, and you don’t have a single moment to spare to register that he’s leaning in before his lips are on yours. 

You sigh into the kiss, pleasantly surprised to be interrupted in this way, and glad your hands are free so you can hold onto him. One second of it and you’re ready to collapse under the sweet weight of it all. His arms circle your waist to pull you against him, and your arms circle his neck, keeping him close. As close as you’ve really wanted him.

When you finally break for air, it’s only to press your foreheads against one another’s, not wanting to move too far. “Don’t seem so scared now.”

You hit his chest playfully before leaning in again to brush your lips against his. “Want me to make you forget about the storm? S’that it?” He asks between kisses, his hands resting on your hips, giving them a light squeeze when you bite his lower lip slightly. You just nod, too busy to answer him.

“Say it to my face darling, you haven’t got that tongue for nothing,“ he grabs your ass and starts to help your body grind against his growing bulge. You’re already clenching against nothing, huffing and puffing as Matty‘s lips travel down your neck and licking wet stripes on the sensitive skin there.

“Distract me Matty,“ you whisper, head falling back as Matty keeps sucking on your neck.

“Anything‘ for my girl,“ he growls in your ear, biting your earlobe gently right after, thus causing you to shiver.

Your hips stir over his, and Matty audibly groans. At last, he drops a palm to your ass and gives it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberates with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“Fucking hell,“ he groans, your hips rolling over his again, this time with more pressure. His fingers trail from your thighs up to your pants opening your zipper. “Lift your hips for me,“ he pleads, puppy eyes looking up at you. “S‘ too tight in here,“ he mumbles.

You lift your hips, letting Matty pull your pants down, leaving your panties on before slamming you down onto him again. The friction of his jeans is now rubbing against your clit perfectly making you gasp into his mouth. “Needy little thing,” he hisses as you rock yourself on his bulge.

Matty slots his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jump. His fingers slip beneath your panties and make swift, easy contact with your heat. You bury your face in the crook of his neck to try to muffle the sounds that are clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“So wet f’me,” your hips rock back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion. He works his free arm under your body and pinches hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Matty’ above him.

“Love your tits,” he has a boyish grin on his face, acting like it’s the first time he has touched your boobs.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

If you would still be grinding on his bulge instead of fingers, he would’ve cum seconds ago, you’re messy hair and flushed cheeks enough to pull him over the edge as well as the friction on his cock.

“Matty,” His fingers curl up and hit that sweet spot inside you, your barriers beginning to crack with each thrust of his fingers.

“Make a mess baby,” he encourages, keeping the same pace hitting your sport, “show me how good you feel.”

Your hips are grinding erratically, Matty’s tongue is pressed against your neck, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs, watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

“That’s perfect,” he hums, kissing you while you’re riding out your orgasm, “always so good for me.” He pulls his fingers from you, a whine leaving your lips, your head falling back against his chest which is heavily moving up and down.

He takes his fingers into his mouth groaning around the sweet taste of you, “need to be inside you right now,” he groans, opening his belt. Your hand swats his away and he throws his head back, a grin on his face when you first palm him through his jeans.

“Baby don’t-“ he begs, his hips involuntarily thrusting up to meet your hand, “don’t want to fucking cum in my pants like a pathetic teenager.”

You listen and lift your hips again to pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard cock which is leaking with pre-cum.

You don’t waste another second. You wrap a hand around his length, slowly sinking onto him. Your cunt stretching around him and you both grown into each others mouth as the pleasure hits you. Matty pulls you into a kiss again, trying to keep his sounds as quiet as possible.

“You feel so good,” he has his hands pressed deep into your hips, helping you move in a fluid motion. You feel him hit your sweet spot as you make your way down, letting out tiny whimpers at the feeling.

“Fucking knock yourself out,” you can’t hold in the loud moan you had been holding, feeling your stomach flutter at his words. You feel a slight burning in your thighs and you know Matty’s shoulders hold tiny crescent shapes from how tight your grip has become. You feel one of Matty’s hands move to your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves.

His cock twitches inside of you and he holds your hips down for a second, preventing him from coming too soon. When you lift your hips again he lets out a guttural sound, bunch of ‘baby’s’ leaving his mouth.

He grabs your chin, making you look him in the eyes. You look at him and grin, fucked out and eager before he thrusts up into you. “Close,” you whisper and he nods, “fuck,” is all he can say.

You rake your fingernails down his tattooed chest, lowering only to reach back behind yourself, and grab his thighs. Adjusting yourself before dropping back down and bouncing on his cock, feeling him repeatedly strike a deep spot within you that causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. 

Fuck, you felt absolutely incredible around him, and not only that, but you looked beautiful the entire time. Breasts bouncing in that tight pullover, ass jiggling, and repeatedly smacking into his thighs, slightly sweaty with the scent of sex tainting each other's bodies. 

Your hips rocking at your own pace, it was starting to become unbearable on Matty’s side of things. His hips were trembling to the sound of your wet folds struggling to take him all the way down to the base. 

“Let go darling,” His tongue slides into your mouth, parting your lips as the rough skin of his thumb rubbed rough circles against your clit.

The new sensation is enough to drive you over the edge, and Matty is watching your body tense and tighten. The feeling of you squeezing around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm, his thrusts stuttering as he continued to ride out yours. 

“Christ,” he shudders, prepping kisses all over your face, his cock softening inside of you. “How are you feeling love?” You giggle at his attempt to focus his attention but he looks just as fucked out. Pupils dilated, curls sticking to his face and his chest flushed.

“Very good Matty,” you offer him a smile, sliding off of him, pulling your pants up and get Matty dressed before sitting down on him again. “Sorry,” you say, suggesting to his stained pants but he just chuckles, kissing you, rubbing your lower back.

“Don’t ever apologize for that,” he hums, your hand finding its way to his hair, wrapping a finger around his curls, “it’s wickedly hot.”

“And look at that,” he looks outside, only small thuds of rain hitting the window, most of the storm having passed. “Can finally drive home and take proper care of you.”

You get off of him, climbing back over the console to sit down in the passenger seat, fixing your clothes the right way and wrapping his jacket back around your thighs.

You lean your head over to give his cheek a gentle kiss and then resting your head on his shoulder.

The drive back is way more relaxed, no thunder, no lighting, you can finally drive your attention to Matty and his singing skills to ‘teenage dream’ by Katy Perry.

[whynot-tryit]

Angel of Small Death

Chapter 2

Summary: You start working on helping Ghost fix his sleep schedule and make slow but steady progress. The captain takes notice and decides to go to you to help him with the same problem

Word count: 4,627

Warnings: medical inaccuracies, talk of insomnia, talk of nightmares, elusion to masturbation, elusion to sex, touching, ummm I think thats it lmk if theres something I missed.

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It’s been closing on two weeks of you working with 141, the long corridors of the base have become somewhat familiar. You’ve slowly but surely been making your room fit to your standards, some low lighting from some candles and lamps, you hated the overhead lights that came with the room. Some soft blankets and pillows. The candles were strictly against the rules but they were your little secret, not like you were inviting people over to be able to snitch on you about it. 

The boys have made you feel at home, inviting you to eat with them during meal times when you weren’t bound to your office trying to organize all their medical records and setting up a timeline for check ups and routine vaccines and tests. 

Soap was the talker of the group, filling the silence most times and making actual intellectual conversations the other times. Gaz was still not that much of a talker, mostly coming out of his shell to agree with something one of the other boys had said or to call out Soap on his bullshit. Ghost was basically a shadow- he was there physically but not there in any other sense. John didn’t usually come to meal times. He was almost always in his office, you had never even heard any of the boys mention his living quarters which made a knot grow in your stomach when you thought about it. Did he live on base? He had to, most likely. Did he sleep in his office? He was still a stranger- a handsome one at that- but the thought made you unhappy to even think about. 

When you had originally met with Ghost you had made somewhat of a game plan to try to aid him with his insomnia. You had come to learn that he had issues falling asleep, staying asleep, and avoiding nightmares. You were glad they weren’t night terrors, that would’ve been even harder to help him with. Most of the meeting was taken up with a number of questions of things he had previously tried that surprisingly got you a deeper look into who he was. 

He had tried tea, but found the taste of chamomile to be sickening. Lemon balm tea was too strong for his nose, along with peppermint tea. He had liked lavender tea but found it hard to buy it out of the sight of his teammates, finding it embarrassing. He slept with his mask on, regardless of the heat and never under any blankets- no matter how cold. His adamancy about not resorting to drugs held you back quite a bit but you reassured him you’d try your best. 

You started with black out curtains, courtesy of the small fund the medical bay was allowed to use. You had delivered them to Ghost’s room yourself, the look in his eyes when he had first opened the door for you was almost enough to send you running but you stood your ground. He was thankfully handy enough to be able to install them himself. While in his room you had taken notice that he had not moved the furniture in the room at all, the bed located against the middle of the wall you are faced with as soon as you walk in the room. It took a lot of convincing but you got him to move the bed in the corner, he would sleep facing the door- easy to spot an intruder, and safe enough to not have to worry about someone sneaking up behind him. 

That same visit you had brought him another surprise, a kettle and three boxes of lavender tea. Ghost was deeply touched by the action, he hadn’t explicitly told you about the embarrassment of going to the kitchen on base at two or three in the morning to make himself a cup of tea. The smell would waft through the halls on his way back and there had been multiple times he had made the whole walk just to get himself a cup of water instead once he realized how many men were there. 

“I can buy them for you, the boys don’t need to know.” 

He responded the way he usually did, the way he had since you first met him- with silence. You’d have to admit that you would usually have to see someone's whole face to be able to read them but Ghost’s eyes were surprisingly loud. The gratitude, the hesitance, the timidness that he’d stare at you with were enough. You had set up the kettle and boxes on his desk, now he didn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen to make himself a cup. “I know it’s not a proper cup of tea but hopefully it's enough.” 

“It’s enough.” His response was airy, almost like the ending of a chuckle. It ends up being the first night that he only wakes up once in months. 

You can see his shoulders are less tense and the bags under his eyes- when not covered in black face paint- look better after a few weeks. You get him a decent pillow next. It wasn’t a medical diagnosis on your part, men were known to have unbearably flat pillows, like the fluffiness of then had been beaten out of them. So after noticing that Ghost was one of those men, who owned such pillows, you had bought nice fluffy ones- just two. Sturdy enough to where his head would still be above his shoulders when he laid on his side. You made sure to get ones that had that cooling stuff, so that his mask wouldn’t make him overheat while he was asleep. 

The gift was left by his door, you had been in a rush and didn’t have the time to knock and come in but Ghost knew it was you, the next step in your treatment for him. It's the first time he falls asleep in less than an hour in what seemed like years, maybe.

At this point it was nearing over a month that you had been there. Ghost had been going from multiple cups of black coffee to an occasional one with maybe a pack of sugar here and there. This stark difference did not go unnoticed, especially from the captain who often made his next cup of coffee a few feet away from him almost every morning.  

…

John’s eyes watch over the hulking masked figure as he shakes out a sugar packet before ripping off the top and dumping it out into the mug of dark liquid. He sets a hand down onto the counter while the other brings his own mug up to his lips as he takes a sip, brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you liked sugar in your coffee, lieutenant.”

Ghost grunts, “I don’t, but the coffee tastes like shite more than usual.”

That earns him a chuckle from the captain before Ghost makes his way to a seat at the wooden table a few feet away. He takes the seat at the end, keeping a distance away from Soap and Gaz who are slowly but surely picking away at their food. John watches the boys for a second, his eyes finding their way back to Ghost. He seemed chirpier than normal, at least as much as he can get. He hadn’t reached for the bottom of his mask to chug his coffee before pouring himself another one like normal. The mug still sat in his hands, situated in his lap. Almost like he was nursing it, savoring the taste instead of biting the bullet and drinking it for the sole purpose of the energy boost. 

You had made it a habit to join the boys for a cup of coffee, talking about what your plans were for the day before you went to the med bay. You round the corner and make your way to the counter, in the same vicinity of John to make your usual cup. You liked sweet things, always have- although you saved your guilty pleasure until you really needed them but coffee was the one thing you indulged in at least once a day. You put a heaping amount of milk until the liquid was a light brown color before grabbing two sugar packets and shaking them out. 

“You gonna have any coffee with that cup of milk, love?”

You giggle, “Wow, never heard that one before, Cap” You give him a small side eye before ripping off the top of the sugar packets and dumping them into the concoction. You take a finger and swirl the liquid around until you feel like it was mixed together enough for your liking and bring the finger up to your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit- the taste of the sweet coffee hitting your taste buds. You pull your finger out of your mouth with a pop before looking over at John. “Probably tastes better than yours anyway.” 

He watches your retreating figure as you find a seat by the boys, easily slipping into conversation with them. John’s eyes look over the four of you, settling specifically on you- watching you silently sip on your drink.

Thoughts of you had been plaguing him for weeks, going over the interaction between the two of you. You technically didn’t work under him, you worked with him- helped him. You gave him a sense of comfort that went far beyond what was in your job description, that had to mean something. Maybe that's what you're doing- all that you’re doing, being nice. The hesitance of him acting on his feelings have been holding him back. He’s finally had time to look over your file, you’re younger than him by a good amount. Maybe you just saw him as a sweet old man, your captain but nothing more. It’s been keeping him up at night, at least more than his other problems usually do.

Price had been lost in his thoughts for a bit, when his eyes finally focused on the group Soap and Gaz are getting up- nodding a goodbye before walking out. You shift yourself in the chair to whisper something to Ghost with a small smile, the mask seems to shift over the lower part of his face. The exchange of words doesn't reach Price’s ears and his brows furrow. What were you guys talking about?

You seem to end the conversation with a final word and rise up to your feet and throw a small wave over your shoulder to John, making your way to the door with the mug still in your hands. Ghost seems to sit for a few still minutes before pulling up the edge of his mask to take a sip of his coffee. 

“What was that about?” John had made his way over to the table, taking a seat and spreading his thighs. Ghost grunts a questioning sound. 

“What were you and the Doc talking about?” John didn’t want to pressure the man to talk but he was interested. Ghost pulls his mask down after another sip before opening his mouth to speak. “She’s been helping me out.” John’s eyebrows raise. Is that why he’s been drinking less black coffee? He had seen Ghost acting a lot more friendly than usual, chuckling at something Soap had said, less aggressive criticism while training, and overall a lot more awake. He wasn’t bouncing off the wall but his eyes looked better, the bags under them improving as well.

“Are you sleeping?” The question is almost whispered, lower than most of the words they’ve exchanged so far. John had known Ghost for years. He’s seen his face on some occasions and was given the opportunity to know his real name. Brothers, almost- rather than just teammates. There had been multiple times- on missions- when they were a mere few feet away from each other and had woken up in a sweat due to their nightmares. It came with the job.

Ghost fiddles with the mug on the table, “I sleep better than I did before, I’ll say that much.” 

……………………

You had briefly asked Ghost if he had used the pillows you had left for him. He had kindly but quietly said yes, and a small brief thank you. It was actually the first real thank you you’ve seemed to have gotten since first moving to the base. You worked somewhat side by side with the rest of the medical team but they were often rude and rushed. You somewhat had the feeling that they were upset with the fact that Laswell decided to bring someone from outside the base instead of just picking someone on base to work with 141. The feeling hasn't exactly been proven but it was still there, hiding in the shadows of your thoughts.

There was a small office space that had been given to you on the outskirts of the med bay, almost like your own little doctor's office. You loved it, it was small but in a way you were fond of. Most of your time since getting here had been to go over test results, Gaz had tested for anemia and was put on a supplement, Soap’s hearing was only a decimal under average, and well Ghost seemed like he was finally getting sleep. The captain, who had been taking up most of the space in your brain, in a completely unprofessional way- didn’t really have anything to attend to in a medical way.

You place your pen down on the desk and run your hands over your face before placing them under your chin, elbows resting on your desk. You were thinking about it again, about him. There would be moments where you would find yourself smiling to yourself, thinking of him. Or you’d stare off into that small piece of peeling wall paint in the corner, going over the small interaction again and again. Maybe if you could come up with something that would get him into your office, something he could complain about enough to come and talk to you about. You let out a sigh once the thought hits you. This is so unprofessional.

But God, the things you wanted to do to that man, the things you wanted him to do to you, were definitely not professional. You wanted to ram your head straight into the wooden frame under you just to get it out of your head.

 A soft knock bursts you out of your thought bubble and you turn your head to look at the doorway. John still has his hand slightly raised to the door but slowly puts it down before giving you a friendly smile. Fuck me.

“Mind if I come in, love?” 

You splutter out an of course. “Is there something I can help you with, John?”

He takes a couple steps into the room before coming to a halt and crossing his arms across his chest, void of his tactical vest. You try not to stare at the way the ripples in his shirt stretch over the expanse of his shoulders and chest. “I was speaking to Ghost earlier, you’ve been helping him?” 

You’re sitting in a slightly more comfortable stool than last time but still pretty low, you have to crane your neck just a little to meet his eyes. You start to fiddle with your fingers. “Yeah, just some home remedies and stuff, to help him sleep.” 

Since the captain hasn’t been wandering around the base, you take it he’s quite a busy man- you haven’t updated him on any of the treatments you’ve been giving to the rest of 141. A part of you wonders if that's what he’s here about. “I’m sorry if that was something I was supposed to keep you updated on, you seem like a busy man. I didn’t want to interrupt you in your office.”

Your fidgeting becomes even worse, picking at your nail beds with your hands in your lap. John glances a look down at them, he feels a tad bit of guilt for making you nervous. He moves to take a seat in an abandoned chair in the corner, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “You’re alright, don’t worry.” A calloused hand comes up to scratch at the side of his face, through his beard. “I was actually here about something else.”

It’s like a flip switch in you. Your training kicks in and you use a hand to push yourself away from the desk, slowly coming to a stop a few feet in front of him still seated in your chair. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, love.” He chuckles. “It’s the same thing as Ghost, not as bad though.” You hum before scooting an extra foot or two back. “Stand up.”

John’s eyebrows raise in a look of surprise but gets up, his arms idly staying by his sides. Should he put them in his pockets? The thought itches his brain and he starts to move them to do so. 

You stand, now crossing your arms. “Do you have nightmares?” The question hangs in the air for a couple seconds while you slowly make your way around John. You circle him, trying to get a good look at all of him- trying to find anything that you can use to help him. “Not usually, especially after a glass or a cigar.” He’s tense, your eyes are tracing him- from his shoulders, to his back, his fitted waist in the cargo pants he’s wearing all the way down to his feet. You let out a light laugh before you come up in front of him again. “Are you having problems falling asleep or staying asleep?” 

You look him directly in his eyes while you ask him the question. “Falling asleep.” He gives you a tight lipped smile. Your feet start moving again, walking in a circle around him once more. John was strong, his stance told you that much. His shoulders were tense, your eyes trail down his back. “Do you have someone at home helping you when you can’t sleep?”

John turns his head, trying to catch a glimpse of you behind him. You take notice of his neck, he doesn’t seem to be able to get a good look behind him, at least not without turning his whole body. He seems surprised by the question, trying to get a coherent thought out of his mouth to answer you. “Don’t have anyone waiting for me if that's what you’re asking me, love.”

You had asked the same question to Ghost when you were doing your initial interrogation, it was quite awkward but it was essential in your treatment. You don’t know if that was gonna be a good thing or a bad thing with John.

“I have to ask you.” You feel a heat run up your neck and into your check and you try to fight a smile while you finally are in front of him again. “What's your sex life like?” 

John's chest shakes with laughter, it's the first time you’ve heard the real thing. It's like it's coming out from deep within him and you have to bite your lip to not let out the same sound. “Don’t have much time for that.” His eyes are still crinkled, those crows feet peeking out at you yet again. “Well are you at least getting it out of your system?” 

“Why would you like to know, love?” 

You have to clear your throat a little because of the look he’s giving you, his eyes are boring right into you- arms now back to being crossed. “It can help you fall asleep, especially if the reason for you not falling asleep stems from anxiety or stress.” It takes almost everything in you to hold his eyes with your own. Your face feels like it's on fire.

“I’m alright in that aspect, love.” John is fighting off another smile, it’s adorable seeing you this way. He wants to see it more.

You lick your lips before resurfacing to the conversation to add another question. “Do you get any headaches?” You slip your hands into the pockets of your scrub top, anxious to do something with your hands while his eyes are still on you. He gives you a hum as a yes. “Are they usually towards the back of your head?” 

“Yeah, does that mean something?” 

You slowly make your way slightly behind him and raise a hand, lightly touching the base of his head, almost the start of his neck. “Right around here?” 

Besides the time John shook your hand and you had touched his neck, there wasn’t any physical touch when it came to the two of you. Did you really have to touch the area to ask him if if hurt there? No. Did you want an excuse to touch him? Yes, a hundred percent yes. Was that probably unprofessional? Most likely yes. 

You add a little pressure with the tips of your finger into the tense spot and John winces. You let out a small sorry but slowly tiptoe your fingers down the back of his neck, follow the trail of muscles until they reach almost to his shoulder blade. You add the same amount of pressure as before but now in a new spot and you hear John let out what almost sounds like a sound of relief. His arms have slowly uncrossed and his shoulders slump a little at the feeling. 

“I thought you said massages were part of the deluxe package?” John says with a chuckle. 

“Let’s call it the captain treatment for now, just until you upgrade.” You move to grab the stool you were previously sitting on and motion for him to take a seat. John does so, his head comes to rest just at eye level with your chest and you try to stop your stomach from doing somersaults at the seemingly innocent occurrence. You move to get behind him and continue the little massage. 

You focus more on the right side of his neck and he cranes his neck to the left to give you enough space. Your other hand comes around to cradle the left side of his face, his facial hair rough against the palm of your hand. John takes a sharp inhale at the feeling of your soft hand caressing his face. “Is this okay?” You don’t mean for your question to come out in the form of a whisper, you’re only a few inches away from his ear, trying to massage the tenseness out of his neck, slowly making your way to his shoulder. “This is perfect, love.” 

John’s voice is breathless, almost gruff and the sound of it makes your stomach flip. You try to swallow down the saliva that's suddenly over powering the space in your mouth. 

You make your way to the left side of his neck, now cradling the right side of his head in your hand while the other one makes work in his tense muscles. John slightly winces and you let out a hushed apology. “I got you.” 

You don’t know why you said it, maybe to provide some sense of reassurance but your small whispered voice hits John’s ears. He fights back a full body shiver from your voice. He gulps and you can feel the action through his skin with your hands. It’s an innocent thing really but the touches seem more intimate than intended, the words adding fuel to the fire. 

The tense muscles finally give away underneath the tips of your fingers and you slowly move them away, already craving the feeling of his skin- his beard underneath your hands again. “That should be good.” You give yourself one more chance and give him a soft squeeze on both of his shoulders, the feeling their broadness almost makes your knees weak. 

John takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to feel the new lightness on his back. “Do I have to pay extra to get that again?” He laughs. You come around his body- back to your desk and lean your back against it. “Maybe come back and say please and I’ll think about it.” 

His eyes are soft, gratitude radiates off of him and you feel it, offering him a kind smile. “Let me know how you sleep for the next two or three days and then we’ll see if there's anything else I can do.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.” John knows he should probably make his way out of the room, say thanks and push the intimate moment to the depths of the folds of his brain but he can’t seem to do it. He wants to be in your presence longer, hear your voice more, anything with you. 

He clears his throat. “How has the base been treating you?” He almost winces at the stupid question. The urge to punch himself is strong but he pushes it down. 

“It’s alright, I think I’ve gotten the hang of things. The rest of the medical staff haven’t gotten used to me yet but I think they’ll warm up to me soon.”

“They haven’t said anything wrong to you, have they?” The kind look on John's face disappears once he hears your words, a stoic look now replacing it. 

“No, they haven’t.” You giggle. “Plus you and the boys are more than welcoming. I’ll be okay.” 

John knows he hasn’t been as present to your new environment as he’d like to be. He’s cramped inside his office for most of the time, in a completely different part of the base. “Well, you know I’m here if anything. Anything you need at all, love.” 

You glance down at your feet- trying to hide the blush you feel rushing up to your cheeks. Fuck, he’s good at that- making you blush.

“We can meet in my office, go over some of the treatments and preventions for the team.” John’s pretty sure Laswell had mentioned that he should meet with you once a week, maybe once every other week to go over your reports and overall the health of the team. It was one of her tactics in persuading him to look into hiring you. It wouldn’t take a lot out of his schedule, or at least it shouldn’t. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you any busier than you already are.” The idea sounds lovely. Time to get to know him, less time in your office and away from the rest of the medical staff. John pushes himself out of the stool, coming to stand in front of you. “Don’t worry your little pretty head about it. How does next week sound?” 

You probably look like a fish out of water, at least that's what you think. First love and now this? He was trying to kill you.”Yeah, that sounds good.” You sound breathless, rightfully so- your heart is beating out of control- in your throat, your chest, maybe even in your stomach. 

John strides to the door, “I’ll see you then, love. Goodnight.” He flashes one more smile before turning past the doorway and down the hall. You barely have time to throw out your own good night. 

You stand there for what feels like an hour, chewing at your bottom lip. It has to be some kind of crime to be that charming. When you finally regain the sturdy feeling of your legs you gather your things and try to head back to your room for a good night's sleep. You’re definitely gonna have to take care of yourself tonight to make sure you can sleep at all after that. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I just wanna say thank you so much for all the notes on the first chapter, you guys are so cute and sweet. I added everyone who asked to be on a taglist, some even messaged me directly and tbh I don't know how to answer those without posting it for everyone to see so I didn't wanna do that incase they didn't want others to see their message. I am also so excited for the next two chapters, I have some good ideas planned that I am so excited to share with y'all. I hope you enjoy! Love you guys!

Taglist: @sharkiestory @midwesternwitchery @lavenderhhze @thriving-n-jiving @rivalriotrenegade @bitchoftoji @wasteland-babe @chloepluto1306 @sagewtff @not-so-innocent-now @scuftryo 

[loveshotzz]

here's some dumb cute foxy shit.

Eddie pouts when he gets home from his shift at the bar, calling you from the dark green plastic phone in the kitchen -- cord dangling in curls on the wall. "Ed, baby, it's two in the morning," you mumble, sleep mostly speaking for you. "C'm'over," he says, you can hear the pout in his lips. You sigh into the receiver, "You c'm'over."

"I just got home, c'mon --" he mumbles, "Please?"

"I'm suh-leeping," you huff, "I'll leave the door unlocked." It doesn't take him long to make it there, coming into your bedroom to see you sitting up in bed with your lava lamp on in the far corner. He looks upset, a boyish glint shining back at you in his brown eyes. "Where's your green stuff?" he asks. "Green stuff?" you ask, trying to stifle a laugh, "Got plenty of green stuff in this apartment, you gotta be more specific honey." "I got a sunburn," he pouts, flicking your overhead light on. He pulls off his shirt, the bright red on his shoulders clashing against his stark white chest, "Rick made me and Harrington stand outside for the $5 marg bullshit." "Bet you had a lot of ladies come in tonight," you smile with a wink. You get up and take his hand, guiding him to the bathroom so you can fish out your bottle of Banana Boat Aloe Vera Gel. Your 'green stuff'.

"None as pretty as you," he flirts, "Sad you didn't stop by."

"I was busy," you shrug, bending over to rifle through a graveyard of forgotten products under the sink, "Aha!"

He can't help but stare, looking at the way your hips round out into your thighs, your cheeks peeking out from your boy short bottoms. The heat brewing inside of him makes his sunburn sting worse, like God is punishing him for his wandering eye. When you come back up he smiles at you in the softlight light of your bathroom, bouncing back on you in a bluish hue from the wallpaper you had him put up last month. "It's gonna be cold," you warn, looking him over while you rub some of the gel in your hands. He looks painfully delicious like this: flushed and shirtless with his tattoos on display, a sliver of his Tommy Hilfiger boxer's waistband inching out from the tops of his jeans. He wore his handcuff belt tonight for good luck, the better the belt the better the tips or something stupid like that. "S'fine," he shrugs off, blowing his bangs out from his forhead from his full bottom lip. A few strands float by his cheeks, the rest pulled up in a twist with a claw clip -- your eyes narrow -- your claw clip. "Shhhit," he hisses when your hands meet his shoulders. You can feel the heat buzzing off the burn, pouting in solidarity for him. "Poor baby," you coo. "I am a poor baby," he pouts back, "Really think I need a kiss to make it better."

But one kiss is never enough, pulling you in close so he can take over your lips with his own -- tongues meeting for a waltz that turns into a tango. Eventually, he gets you bent over the sink -- mumbling something about how maybe he needs some 'sexual healin''.

CAROL 😩😩😩😩😩 this is the cutest shit EVER.

He’s just a sweet lil babe with sunburn, all he needs is aloe and pussy to make him feel better and we’re gonna give it to him!

[sylix-royalty]

If you’re still taking prompt requests, can I ask for 23 with hotchreid? <3 🥰

Of course! I’m so happy to fill request while I write my next part for my alphabet series, gives me a little motivation! Request as much as you’d like!

Ship: Hotch/Reid, Heid

Prompt: "I'm... lightheaded..."

Type: Fluff

Warnings: Nothing really, just a headache as expected

I made Hotch the Vulnerable one, I couldn’t help it.

Enjoy under the cut!

Aaron sighed as he sat his bags down. Thankfully they’d finished the case just in time, as tended to happen with them it seemed. Due to inclement weather, they weren’t able to fly out until morning, which the team seemed fine with taking an extra night to sleep and relax. David and Derek had a room, JJ and Emily, leaving Spencer with Aaron. The men would rotate rooms occasionally, but for the most part this is how it ended up, mainly because Aaron stayed up late and Spencer was the least to complain about it (meaning he never did).

Spencer noted the exhaustion as Aaron seemed to collapse into a seated position on his bed. He was worried, but he tried not thinking about it too harshly. This case hadn’t been easy for any of them, least of all Hotch since he helf such a high standard for himself that the rest of the team never truly understood. He took such a pride in himself, but he never really reflected it to the rest of them unless he had to, to get the team kicked more into action than they already would be.

Still, it worried Spencer just how out of it his boss seemed. He couldn’t hold his tongue very long as Aaron held his temples with one hand, covering his eyes. Spencer shut off the overhead lights and decided to stick with the lamps in order to try and help.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, not wanting to pry, but at the same time, he wanted answers.

“I’m fine,” Aaron said, still keeping up that demeanor that everything was fine when it most certainly wasn’t.

“Hotch?” Spencer tried pressing gently. He didn’t want to go too far in fear of making Aaron angry at him, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

Aaron knew that.

“Yeah…” Aaron sighed, “I’m just… I’ve got a headache, is all,” He mumbled, blinking himself back and not wincing at the dim light, as he glanced at Spencer. His eyes seemed unfocused, and Spencer didn’t like it.

“Are you sure that’s everything?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah, just a headace. I’m gonna shower, the heat and steam will probably help,” Aaron mumbled, standing and grabbing one of the hotel towel’s to bring into the bathroom with him, along with his go bag.

Spencer didn’t say anything else as he watched Aaron disappear into the bathroom. Spencer didn’t tend to calculate how long someone to shower, it really depended on outside factors like cases and how someone was feeling that he didn’t spend his time doing it. However, he knew when it was too long for Aaron. Especially when the shower turned off and Aaron hadn’t emerged after a typical couple of minutes to get dressed.

It took him 9 minutes and 45 seconds to come back out to the main room, and Spencer was fully watching him now. Aaron took hold of the wall to keep steady.

“Hotch?” Spencer asked as he slowly stood.

“I’m… light-lightheaded,” Aaron whispered, and as he tried to take a step, his knees buckled beneath him. Spencer was able to catch him and keep him steady.

“Woah, I gotcha, I gotcha,” Spencer whispered, carefully carrying him to the bed and sitting him down. He pressed the back of his hand against Aaron’s forehead. It wasn’t at all accurate, since the man had just emerged from a hot shower and a steam filled room, but still Spencer didn’t like just how warm Aaron felt.

“You might be running a fever,” Spencer whispered. “I won’t be able to completely tell until you’re body has cooled from the shower.”

“I don’t… feel sick,” Aaron whispered.

“You’re lightheaded enough to lose your footing, that seems sick to me. How much have you slept?”

“This case or in general?” Aaron asked.

“Let’s go with in general,” Spencer said as he stood to grab a washcloth and grabbed the ice bucket.

“I only sleep for about 4 hours a night,” Aaron admitted.

“Not good,” Spencer mumbled. “I’m gonna go grab you some ice. Lay down if you need to.”

Aaron nodded, and Spencer left to do that. When he returned, Aaron was still sitting up, but his hand was back over his eyes, middle finger holding one side of his temple and his thumb holding the other. Spencer filled the washcloth with a bit of ice, not enough to make a huge mess when it melted, but enough to provide a little relief for a headache.

“Do you want some of my over the counter medication?” He asked, carefully placing the washcloth over his neck.

“No, I’m fine,” Aaron whispered shakily.

“We both know you’re not,” Spencer whispered.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Aaron whispered, dropping his hand to look at Spencer. There was a weakness in his eyes that Spencer had never seen before. Not even after the murder of Haley, this was a different kind of weakness.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Spencer whispered. “You’ve taken care of me, right? You don’t always have to be by yourself, Aaron.”

Aaron blinked, clearly exhausted enough not to argue. Spencer watched his reaction, trying to keep his face steady and warm.

“I’ve got you,” Spencer promised. “Lay down, I’ll take care of you.”

[irellia]

516.

Snippets of Vi's life in prison as she grows from a girl into a woman. / word count: 4,182 / blood, death, violence cw

i.

She looks up when the cell door rattles. Despite the deep dark bruise she can feel blooming on her left cheek, the crack in her jaw that makes her whole face ache like it's being split in half every time she inhales, she musters every drop of bitterness in her blood to say, with an impeccable tone of cheery hostility, "back for more? can't get enough of me?"

She has been a Stillwater Bay prisoner for five years and eight months when the nameless soldier standing guard that is now leaning heavily against her cell door says, “I knew you... when you were a kid. I knew your father... Vander?”

Vi stares up at the ceiling, watching the lightbulb overhead ripple red, hating the lazily-amused tinge to his voice.

"congrats. so did I." she dead-pans, and does not look at him, her eyes are hard and on the ceiling, her hand curled into a fist at her side on the bed, and she can smell the salt tang of her unwashed sheets,  her knuckles (thin-skinned, still healing) cracked and bleeding all over them. She's got blood on her mouth, too, a tooth missing, and the old scar on her upper lip is throbbing. She does not mind it; she sinks her teeth in it and bites, listens to the slow rhythm of the guard's breath, the low chuckle that escapes his throat at her sneer.

"he was a good man. a decent man. You could count on him to make things right. He saw reason." the guard won't take a hint, won't go away, and Vi snorts, does not ask what reason means to people like him whose whole life has been a smooth trail, does not even wanna know. Her eyes are on the ceiling and her hand is bleeding on the bed and she digs her nails into her torn palm, blood gushing from the wound and sinks them deeper, her teeth snagging her lower lip.

She hears the fizz and flicker of the fluorescent lamp overhead, feels the sweat that is trickling down her back and soaking the waistband of her trousers; she can smell the hot blood spouting between her nails, the ripe heat of the air that's drenching her cell, the reek of her bed.

“What happened to you?” the enforcer asks, holds onto the bars of her cell door. “I mean—fuck, you were a cute kid, a good kid. Vander was proud of you.” and she can't stand the shape of her father's name in his mouth, she wants to tear it from his tongue, does not wanna hear it, not from someone like him, another asshole criminal in a fancy suit, biting off more than he can chew, thinking that he somehow knows anything about them, just because he didn't kill her people, didn't shoot them dead, didn't drag Vander away into a cell like they had done to her; he still came for them like the mouth of a gun held to their head, still pushed them deeper into the cold dark mouth of their death, stripped them off their freedom, their choice, him and his asshole friends, every last one of them.

How fucking pathetic, to think that she will give a fuck about what he has to say about her, or Vander or what he thinks be knows about them.

Vi opens her eyes, watches the ripple of the fluorescent light overhead, like the shimmer of heat, like water. Her hand curls into a fist, blood leaking through her fingers, hot and thick in her palm. Her sheets are crimson next to her thigh, they stick to her gloves. Under the top bunk, someone has scratched be well in tiny handwriting. She blinks at it.

She says, finally, “you've no idea what you're talking about.”

ii.

Perhaps she should have tattooed a chemical hazard label right across her mouth: this woman is highly reactive, warning; contents under pressure, will explode right into your face if pushed the wrong way.

She's got one ear scarred from where she launched herself at some asshole cutting in line in the chow hall, and got his teeth in her face. He had gotten her fist in his throat and her nails in his left eye, and she had been sent to solitary confinement for a month.

She's got a bruise twice the size of her hand on her left thigh, another sprawling black and purple across her lower back.

She doesn't remember the last time she's eaten more than soupy, green slop and dry bread.

She doesn’t remember what it is like to feel the sun;  all that she knows is the soreness of touch and the pain of every breath, blood on her hands and broken bones. Her fists fly when someone touches her food, shoves her out of their way, sneers at her; she picks fights with every last one of them, every last little bitch they haul off whatever little hole Silco's got them working in and stuff them in her block; she's got thunder in her blood and she is angry, she is furious, years of being shoved into cold, dark places have left her dark and cold herself, her body scarred and bruised; every bone, every surface of flesh, aches.

Her senses are simultaneously numbed as well as in overdrive; she's got a warning in her mouth and her eyes are sharp like the blunt edge of her knuckles, a fist through a drywall.

They throw her in solitary at the drop of a hat, for the slightest reason; it's like she's got eyes stuck on her back 24/7 and she can't throw them off, they are a hand around her throat, choking the air out of her: she breathes the wrong way, does not show up at work, stares at a guard a little too long, a little too hard, and it's over; they steal her meals, stall her in the maintenance room until she's missed dinner, or outdoors time, and the dark, deep anger inside of her flares up and explodes; she's always one step away from flying off the handle, but takes the taunting anyway, takes the beatings and the sneers and the laughter, because she's got to, won't bend for them, won't fold herself into something smaller. She gives as much and as violent as she gets; she's on her way to the chow hall, once, when a guard forcefully steps in her way and sneers, blows his cigarette smoke in her face, patting her down, a sudden inspection, but she's done nothing, she's worked all day at their maintenance room, and she's hungry, she's fucking starving, and he is in her way, his hands on her waist, on her thigh; her fist flies before her mind registers what it's doing, and it's her knuckles, hard and bloodied, smashing through his teeth, a feral, crippling blow to his throat, and he is howling in pain, reeling back in shocked agony, blood gushing down his chin; "fuck you!"  Her entire body heaves as long, shrill, dark screams pour out of her throat, "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" and she now uses one hand to grab onto his shirt, her other hand curled into a hard fist that plunges into his face over and over again. She heaves forward once more and topples over him as they crash onto the floor with her on top of him, and her fist is a dark, black blur in his face. "fuck you!" her hand is numb and aching, scarlet with blood, "fuck you!" her eyes are blurry and heat consumes her. Her whole body is shaking, her other hand furiously clutching at his throat as she lands blow after blow into his face, and then, there are hands on her shoulders, grabbing at her, a foot in her side, kicking out viciously and she screams, like a wild, feral animal, she bucks against them, growling and shoving at them as they drag her down the halls and push her into some cold dark cell. Her cheek smacks the wet floor. She moans, feels the hard sharp edge of a boot in her side, and a dark rivulet, meaty and viscous, slips from her mouth. There are hands and boots all over her and her body is burning with the pain of them, her head is spinning and she cries out, a long, shrill, deafening wail of pure, hot rage, swimming on her elbows on the wet tiles, dragging herself to the corner. She hears the steel door be slammed shut with a clang.

She lays on the freezing floor curled up in a ball and screams, clutches at the tiles furtively, her throat raw and gutted, making clogged snorkeling noises.

She passes out.

It’s an image that she has replayed a thousand times in her mind — a glimpse into her safe haven, a recollection that invokes a cosmic sensation of solitude and mental quiet.  Though they seek to break her:  in mind, in body, and in spirit, when her mind is at its wit’s end, she thinks of her, of that moment just before dawn, Powder and herself sitting on that rooftop, watching the lights of the city blink like fireflies and laughing; her little sister's hand in hers; Vander, a warm, soft shadow at their backs, and she is well.

She can do anything.

Take care of Powder. Protect the family.

She gasps awake, her heartbeat shattered in her throat.

She sways on her feet and, groans, slapping her hand around in search of the bed. She can't find it, and she blinks furiously, eyes straining against the darkness that's swallowing her up. There's no bed in the cell, and she slumps against the wall, a pathetic, pained little whimper spilling from her lips.

She's no longer herself, she is anger trapped in tissue-paper skin, netted between bones like gunpowder— balanced on the precipice between death and the silent vastness of her guilt.

I can't. I can't... I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,

she answers him in her head, and passes out again.

This time, no one comes for her, the both of them dead and gone; even the ghosts that haunt her dreams abandon her, she's well and truly all alone.

iii.

She sits on the edge of her bed and peers at herself in the cracked mirror, her hands on her ear, needle piercing into the shell of it, splitting it open. Her cellmate stands at her back, looks down at her, says, "let me do it" and Vi shoves her hand away, says "I'll do it."

Blood trickles down her wrist and she can feel the sharp ache of the hole she is puncturing open. She can feel her cellmate's breath against the back of her neck, and when she feels her hands on her now, carefully sliding the earring through the fresh piercing, Vi does not flinch away. She pours alcohol over her ear and Vi hisses through her teeth and bangs her fist against the wall, and that earns her strange laughter from her, a flick in her cheek. "there. pretty." she says, and Vi snorts, meets her eyes in the mirror. "lets do your nose." she says and when she reaches for the needle, Vi lets her pry it from her hand.

iv.

Something about her feels wrong as she makes her way from her cell to the gym down at rec like she’s more storm than woman, a danger-zone high-risk disaster area, full of sharp bone slabs and a dark snarl on her lips, rough calloused hands swathed up in wraps soaked through with blood. Her lower lip is split but it’s healed over, congealed dark blood in the corner of it.

She takes her anger out to the walls and the punching bags; but she does not stop there; she takes it out to anyone bold enough to get on her bad side, give her a look she does not like, sound a little too condescending for her liking when answering a question she's asked or demanding that they return something they've taken or she believes they've taken from her; she takes it out on the assholes at chow hall that cut in line, to the prick that steals Zeri's smokes, and the guard that gets too handsy with Janna.

She doesn't mind the solitary anymore; if anything, she almost welcomes it. Whatever they throw at her, she takes and gives back twice as much.

The next time a guard gets all up in her face, she does not hesitate.

She swings at them with everything that she's got.

v.

The only time she finds herself actively pouring every last ounce of willpower she's got in her to behave and stay out of trouble is when she starts working on her tats. She doesn't wanna fuck this one up, doesn't wanna have to spend half a month in solitary, tattoos half finished, or worse, ruined in her hurry to get them done before they throw her equipment out.

She's been given a sketchbook and a pen at one of the art classes this Piltie (that Vi vehemently thinks fancies herself some sort of noble saviour) holds every week down at the rec, and although she does not actively participate, sometimes she'll sit and silently watch them work with a snarling smirk draped across her lips, chugging coffee (she's put too much milk in it and it's burnt but she chugs it all down anyway) and when Noble Lady who fancies herself a saviour of poor misguided souls looks her way, tries to catch her eye, Vi pretends she does not see it. She's been staying up at night in her bed, scribbling away in it until she passes out, pen in hand, sketchbook sprawled open next to her pillow. When she runs out of pages, she scowls and doesn't say anything, but she doesn't take her sketchbook down at the rec anymore. She shoves her hands into her pockets or chugs down black coffee, standing against the wall, pretending she's not there for the class.

Somehow, a brand new sketchbook shows up on her bed. She does not question it, won't look a horse in the mouth.

She's got so much art in her that she doodles on her hands until it spills up her wrists and on her kneecaps with their little goosebumps, ink splashing onto her neck and arms and even her back, the part of it that she can reach.

Something's snapping in her mind, synapses flashing, and for the first time in years, she feels alive, she's crackling with it, the fire, the want, the exhilaration.

She gets down to work: makes a tattoo machine from the motor of a portable record player she steals from rec. The barrel for the needle is made from a hollowed out pen. She scoops the plastic out and fills the tube with sooty, thick ink she's made out of burnt plastic, makes the outer case of the pen shorter by cutting it in half. A sharpened guitar string from Zeri's old guitar is what she uses as a needle, shoves it through the barrel and connects it to the motor.

She sets to work. For days, she sits in her little cell and plunges the needle through her skin, feels its sweet, sharp kiss as she moves it along her arms.

When Zeri silently comes to sit next to her on the floor and eyes her doodles in her sketchbook, Vi gives her a strange look. Zeri offers to do the parts of her back she cannot reach, and Vi tells her to fuck off.

Later, when their cell block's dark and quite and there's only an hour of light left before they're forced back into their cells to sleep, she slips into Zeri's cell and leans against the doorframe, watches her bury her nose deeper into her book, sprawled across her bed.

She says, "Sooo..." and strange, sly bashfulness pauses on her lips, frothing at the corners of her heart-shaped mouth, tugging gently at the seam of her lips. "You still wanna help, little one?"

She does.

vi.

She remembers this one time when she was 9. Powder had been sick, burning with a fever that had been refusing to abate for days, and she had helplessly sat on the floor by her bed and had sellotaped her entire hand for some unholy reason, probably because she had been going fucking stir crazy with worry and guilt that she could not make this right, she could not punch the hurt away and Pow had been whimpering in her sleep, calling for their mother and Vi, mother and Vi, and Vi could have never given her mother but she had sat there curled up close to her and whispered that she was there, she wasn't going anywhere, she was never going to leave her, it would be okay.

She had sat fuming in her helplessness, had sellotaped her hand from her elbow right down to her fingers, and then, she had just knelt there, at the side of Powder's bed, sobbing because she had been terrified that she would never get out of it, she couldn't move her hand, couldn't even lift her fingers enough to touch Powder, and she had sat there and sobbed into her little sister's sheets until Vander had come in to find her crying and had had to cut her out with scissors, and to this day she could still remember him patting her head, telling her that it was going to be okay. "Why'd you trap yourself?" he had laughed, ruffling her hair.

Vi hadn't given him an answer.

It comes back to her one morning as she stares at her ruined cell after a sudden inspection (she had been the only one in the whole cell block to be marked for it, then again, she had kind of been expecting it after beating those assholes up with the barbell and her fists down at the courtyard during mandatory exercise; she had come to know now it was common procedure after a malfeasance— huh, what a ridiculous fucking word to use to say that she's beaten some dick's face into a bloody pulp), her whole life scattered along the floor: her wraps, her pencils, the few clothes she's got, an empty can of beer that she has been using to spill the ink she makes out of burnt plastic cups she steals from the chow hall to draw.

She cries over her torn sketchbook with a laugh in her throat, alone in her cell.

vii.

Pink, they keep calling her.

Pink, they sneer it at her like it's her name.

Pink, and Kid, and 516, sometimes just "five one' six" or "five sixteen!" like she's some dusty file shelved away in their cabinet that they suddenly need to spread open and read through, nothing more than the color of her hair, a number, an age.

She's pretending to sweep the floor when it happens, a chore she's never willing to do. The constant flicker of the lightbulb overhead is pissing her off, and she lifts the broom and taps it hard, shaking it back and forth. The buzzing stops.

Someone howls into the silence, a bloodcurdling, dark shriek of terror.

The block is flooded with enforcers, and she stands in the hallway in numb confusion, and gasps when they drag a dead girl from a cell.

She can hear the wet, slick noises her body makes when they drag her out into the hallway, blood streaking the floor like a ribbon tied to her throat.

Someone tries to pump the life back into her heart, but she doesn't come back.

Vi watches the red ribbon of blood around her throat, blinking hard.

They ask for her name, and no one gives it to them, but they keep asking. The air ripples, filled with the metallic stench of death. A fly buzzes around her ear.

There's a rough, hard hand on her shoulder, and she's shoved back, spit splattering against her cheek, and she's shaken out of her daze. She growls out "I don't know." teeth snapping.

"two ninety." someone calls the girl on the floor. She's two ninety to them. "She's dead." She's two ninety to everyone. She doesn't know her name... She never asked.

"hey, grab her legs. Help me pick her up" one of the wardens says to the other.

"Hey! Hey! Five sixteen! clean up the mess!" They bark in her ear, and as she watches her broom swirl the last of the girl's blood on the floor, something inside of her snaps.

She's got a fucking name.

The next time she walks down that hallway, she stops to stare at the floor, the fading crimson stain that has soaked through the tiles, won't ever be completely scrubbed off as though some part of the world is refusing to forget her.

Her name had been Alys.

Vi's name's tattooed on her left cheek.

viii.

“you can be so nice when you want to.” her hands are on Vi's lap, they are sitting in her bed, in her cell, and Vi is painting her nails with delicate strokes of the brush. Her teeth have left bright marks on her lips from the searing tangibility of her concentration. Her patience astounds the other girl, she's never seen Vi hold still for more than ten seconds at a time, yet here she is, brush in hand, lips pinched; the detail is so miniscule and there are small red marks on her skin where Vi has pinched her for fidgeting. Vi's eyebrows have long since been furrowed into harsh lines, so drawn, she's cocooned herself with her thoughts. Her voice is absent when she responds, noticeably lacking in any interest.

"Hey! You gonna let me do this, Miss Chatty, or not?"  Vi taps her leg once. “Keep still.” Is all she says.

There’s a fleeting smile in her eyes. 

ix.

"hey" she smirks her way to where this massive dude is standing, broom in hand, sweeping the floor. He doesn't recognise her, that much she can immediately tell by the way his eyes (dark, cold eyes, eyes with teeth) sweep over her like she's something he needs to scrub clean too, and sudden, furious anger swells up like a flood in her throat. She swallows.

"I didn't know they locked up little kids."

Her cheek spasms.

"funny. They don't."

He just stares at her meaningfully, like she's some kind of a joke, and laughs. Sharklike, his missing teeth feel like they make the bark harsh.

"you gonna give me what I want, or we gonna have to add another missing tooth to your fucking collection?" Vi growls.

He blinks, his eyes empty and on her, like the barrel of a gun held to her teeth.

She's been his shadow, sleek, unassuming, watching him for days now; he's got answers and she will not walk away from him without them.

He pats his thigh, and Vi knows what he's got stashed away there, has watched him use it on another dude at mesh, unblinkingly chewing down her dry bread as her eyes trailed after his every little move like a hook, sinking into the prey.

"I know what you're in for. I know who you and your little friend work for. So." Easy way or hard way, goes unsaid, she cracks her fingers hard, violently rolls her left shoulder into a slow shrug. "Where's my fucking sister?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." A shrug, more laughter. Rotten, yellow teeth.

"bet you fucking do."

"Don’t let ugly words touch those sweet lips baby, I’ll wipe your mouth clean."

Her fists clench, her mouth twitching spasmodically, "and I'll color you purple." she plunges forward, follows her anger like a fishing line. She cuts out safety and speeds towards the ocean of her fury.

When they drag her away from him, she's laughing, her hands are numb and aching, crimson with blood.

"I got all I wanted." She hisses in triumph, and they have to rip her off of him, but she doesn't struggle when they haul her off, clawing at her back, shove her back into her cell block. Her laughter spills like gasoline through the hallways, waking everyone up, even the air is thrumming with it, sharp and hot.

That night, before she sleeps, she adds the spiked knuckles she's stolen from him in the collection, under her bed.

"fifty-two..." she whispers, and tosses the t-shirt that she was wearing the day they had brought her here, back over the weapons, shielding them from view. They'll be fucking gone next time they toss her cell, but for now, no one's gonna get their hands on them.

Her head feels lighter when she lays her body down on her bed.

She stares at the tally marks on her wall until she falls asleep.

[cagesofgold]

jean kirstein headcanons <3

🎵 cry baby - the neighborhood 🎧

You and Jean had been friends for about a year before you confessed your feelings for each other, and for your one year anniversary, Jean’s gift, alongside the bundle of others he got you, was a notebook full of sketches he had made of you. You only found out how long he’d been drawing them when you realized that the one at the front was you sitting in the lecture where you first met.

a total plant dad. for one of your first dates he took you to a plant market and let you pick out three plants to take with you, which now sit on the windowsill in your shared apartment. (he also named all of them and speaks to them when no one’s around)

his favorite place to paint/draw is outside. in your apartment you have a relatively minuscule balcony, where he can often be found shirtless, letting paints coalesce across a canvas in the early hours.

he likes his coffee strong, will refuse to add sugar to it and tends to lean more towards savory than sweet.

he is the BEST gift giver. he is so thoughtful and will always paint you something for every birthday or gift giving occasion.

he’s very sentimental, harbors a cardboard box under his bed full of photos from high school and various nick nacks he had acquired throughout his life.

loves lamps. he likes a space to be cozy, and turning the overhead light on, to him, is the same as stabbing him in the eyes with a ten inch blade repeatedly. will whine, “noooooo” and bury his face in his arms any time you have to turn it on.

will pay for everything, wont even let you reach for your card, he’s just too fast.

is easily agitated, not by you though, mainly by Connie and Eren who always find a way to torment him on the regular. He blocks them at least four times a week.

loves the colour green. mainly darker shades, bring him a neon and he’ll act as if you’ve shot him.

is like a kid in a candy shop if you take him to an art shop, will take you by the hand and talk your ear off about different painting techniques and consistency’s of paint.

is extremely attentive. will instantly know if you are even so much as a little off. he knows you in and out and will simply ask, “listen or solution?” and will provide service on which you choose.

has a comically large phone, due to his hands. whenever he holds your phone it looks ridiculous.

his mother absolutely adores you, has a groupchat with you and jean where she frequently asks you two to come over for dinner.

he is an extremely cautious driver, this man will never be caught with a speeding ticket. this also manages to drive connie insane because of how fucking slow he is.

“i’m just being careful!”

“yeah okay, grandpa…” 💀

he loves to dance with you, arms wrapped around your waist as you sway to a gentle rhythm, him humming softly in your ear.

your apartment is extremely well decorated due to Jean’s artistic nature. he’s painted the walls, and made sure everything explodes with color. he believes beige home to be the death of interior design.

this also applies to beige babies, jean’s child will be having colorful toys and that’s that.

despite his size, he loves being little spoon. The feeling of your body heat against his spine helps him drift right off.

whenever he’s sick, no matter to what degree he always watches “singing in the rain” - it’s a comfort film to him due to his mother putting it on any time he had the flu growing up.

he adores jazz clubs. he just loves how peaceful and calming they are, and he likes to observe the different types of people who all come together to listen to the sweet hum of a saxophone. a lot of his art pieces are set in that environment.

he has a collection of hand cream. due to his career his hands constantly mirror that of a paint palette, and so, to ensure he doesn’t have cracked hands he always makes sure to moisturize them. his hands are his tools after all, in more ways than one….

you will always be his no.1 muse. a perfect day for him is letting you indulge in any hobby, read, watch tv, cook, bake, and as you do that, he’ll sketch, taking extra time on your eyes and smile. he just truly believes no landscape, no still life, and no composition will ever be as beautiful as what you can make occur on his page. <3

3 aot boy headcanons down, six to go 💋

[bropunzeling]

just dropping in to say I am looking forward to seattle au very very much! as someone who is technically a seattle native but has never lived there as an adult or in the city proper, the romance and plot is nice and all but I would be here just for your palpable love for the city! I hope your scene driving over the 520 bridge in the dark and the rain made it in <3

ahhhh anon ty ❤️❤️❤️ while this fic is about many things it really IS about me being like fuck i love my hometown and im so glad someone else is excited about that too. and you best believe that scene is in there! in fact it's so unspoiler-y that i think i can share:

They don’t talk for the first few minutes of the drive, the driver navigating quiet, curving suburban streets as they slowly make their way towards the bridge to some music station that only seems to play quiet world music Leon’s never heard in his life. Leon’s surprised to find himself breaking the quiet as they finally get on the highway. “Weird how everyone else lives over here except us.”

“God, I know,” Matthew says, laughing. “I mean, I get it, good schools and all, but it seems so inconvenient.”

“Yeah,” Leon says. “ I just told the realtor I wanted to be close to the arena, and the building seemed okay, so, yeah.”

“So, yeah,” Matthew repeats, tone teasing. “Well, that sounds a lot better than my search.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm.” Matthew tilts his head back, chin tipping up, the yellow light from the lamps along the highway changing his skin to a strange pale gold. “Dad got all invested, looking up neighborhoods and resale values. Kept telling me I should go for a house on the lake or something.” He sits up, adopting a new tone, exaggeratedly loud and brash. “It’s a good investment, Matthew. By next summer, the market’s gonna be crazy. You can make a nice little profit when your contract is up if you decide to sign somewhere else. This is about planning for your future.” Then Matthew shifts, slumping back into his seat and laughing softly. “Always so opinionated.”

“Sounds annoying.”

Matthew shrugs, resting an elbow on the car door and propping up his chin, looking out at the dark, choppy water of the lake on his side of the bridge. “Yeah, well. That’s parents for you.”

“Yeah,” Leon replies. Almost unconsciously, he mirrors Matthew’s pose, staring out his own side of the car. When he looks at the lake water, it’s mirror smooth. The whole view is dark, still, disturbed only by the blue lights of the toll cameras flashing as they pass underneath. “Well, I think you picked a good spot.”

Even without looking to check, Leon can hear Matthew turning in his seat, can feel the sudden heat of his attention. “You think so?”

It’s Leon’s turn to shrug. He watches as the far shore comes into view, the yellow lights of the houses, the occasional red and green flash of a plane up overhead, the dark silhouette of the football stadium. “I mean, I picked the same place, didn’t I?”

Matthew’s laugh is quiet, hardly audible over the murmur of the radio. “Fair enough.”

[mystic-writings]

Tommy and rain😌

Like a gloomy rainy inside day with him would be nice I think

i'm so sorry this took forever but omg i love this prompt so much it's so adorable- also this is my first time writing for tommy so i apologise if it's not quite right (but there's barely dialogue anyway)

rainy days | tommyinnit x fem!reader | 630~ words

From the moment you woke up, you could feel the damp in your bones. Living in England, a rainy day was common, but you were still getting used to it. Unlike your loving boyfriend, who definitely wasn’t snoring in the bed beside you, England wasn’t your native territory. Originally, you were from America. You’d had your fair share of rainy days, but not as often or as windy as the ones in England – Brighton especially. 

The rest of the room was cold, but the bedsheets and Tommy’s sleeping body were providing a comfortable heat that was nearly lulling you back to sleep. 

You would end up staying this way for a little while longer, until Tom’s phone rang and Toby was on the other line, asking him a favour about one of their stream plans for later in the week. It was when he got up to head to the computer that you decided to get both your days started with breakfast and tea, which you were setting up on the coffee table instead of the table itself when Tom entered the room. 

“How’s it sound we have a quiet day?” He asked, coming to wrap his arms around you as you stood all the way up. 

You leaned into his body, soaking up his warmth. “Sounds perfect, actually. Wanna watch something on the tv?”

“Sure, love. Is it okay if we watch some of Schlatt’s new videos before we watch movies or something like that?”

Quickly, you agreed before pulling apart and sitting down. Tom put the videos on and queued a few others up before you both dug in. 

Breakfast was delicious, and you were proud of yourself for your steadily improving cooking skills. The rain continuously battered the window on the other side of the living room, providing a nice ambience for the otherwise chaotic video. You took yours and Tommy’s plate from the table and brought them to the kitchen, making more tea for the both of you while you were there. 

After handing Tom his mug, you sank into the couch next to him, curling up into his side and grabbing the blanket that was draped across the back of the couch to cover you both up with. 

For a while, you sat and watched videos, until moving onto a rotating selection of movies – one you wanted to watch, then one Tom wanted to watch, and so on until things got boring. You put a nice ambient video from YouTube on the TV, still curled into Tom’s side while he scrolled through his social media platforms and you grabbed the book you’d been recently reading from the coffee table. 

Days like these were peaceful, relaxing types of days. The apartment was mostly dark, since only a warm lighted lamp and the glow of the TV provided light. The dark clouds overhead added a beautiful atmosphere, and you wished that days like these could last forever. 

Tom had his phone on silent, and your book was beginning to get interesting. There were no distractions, just you and Tom, enjoying each other in silence – aside from him occasionally showing you something interesting or funny that he thought you would like (and you usually did like what he showed you). 

Most days spent like these, including today, you and Tom normally end up taking an absurdly good and slightly too long nap. At some point, with the lull of the music and the soft, warm lights, you fell asleep with your book on the floor, Tom’s phone slipping from his hands, as you splayed out as best as you could on the couch – with your head on Tom’s chest, his arm around your waist, the blanket tangled up in your legs, intertwined with his as the rain continued to pour well into the evening. 

[talkfastromance4]

Slow motion—Ashton blurb

Warnings: mentions of being high, consuming a gummy, high sex, some fluff and giggles

Word count: 724

Feedback is welcome!

••••

It’s slow building at first. The gummy bear torn in half was slow acting and you first felt it in your head, a certain type of weightlessness. The warm glow of his salt lamp paints him in warm fuzziness and it makes you giggle then you touch your lips.

“What’s wrong?”Ashton squints at you.

“My lips are fuzzy…” you probe them with your fingers. “Like caterpillars.” You gasp. “They’re gonna turn into butterflies and leave!”

“No they won’t, I won’t allow it,” he giggles then moves his fingers forward. They tangle with yours, grazing your parted lips. “Never let these lips go.”

“You better catch ‘em quick.”

And now it’s in slow motion.

You and Ashton meeting in the middle of your conversation pit, lips colliding, fingers threading through hair. And then you’re falling in slow motion, down and back onto the fluffy pillows and comforters. The words of Bob Dylan play overhead, sweeping in and out of your ears. 

Then Ashton is tracing the ladder of your ribs with the length of his fingers. You’re tugging his tank top up and over his muscles leaving his hair fluffed. He traces your lips delicately. You feel each caress.

“You are soft,” he whispers. 

“Are your lips soft and fuzzy, too?”

“Kiss me and find out,” he grins.

It’s slow motion with lips touching lips. His hands are under your shirt again, inching higher and higher until your shirt rolls over your breasts. You rise up gently letting him remove it. Soft palms on your breasts. 

“These are soft, too,” he mumbles. Silken lips trace your neck. Your fingers undo the drawstring of his sweatpants and then you’re skin to skin. 

Bob Dylan transferred to The Weeknd. Ashton’s lips leaving a heated trail down your body. He’s glowing in amber light and he’s rolling your pants down your legs. Hot lips on warm legs, the tips of his hair tickling your knees. Warm lips on lips. 

“All of you is soft, too,” you whisper on his jaw.

Bodies begin to rock and sway. You’re weightless and weighted beneath him. As you connect in hushed whispers you’re ascending. You’re moaning in his ear and his ankle brushes your foot. Fuzziness fills your body and when you laugh it’s like bubbles in his ear. 

“What’s funny?” he smiles, nose bumping yours. 

“Now my feet are fuzzy,” you can’t stop giggling. His hips snap against yours in the perfect way and you moan. You nibble on his ear. His pulls and thrusts elicit intense points of pleasure. 

“You’re silly,” he laces his fingers with yours. Lips brush your ear. “My silly girl.”

Your lovemaking is slow and meticulous, every neuron is fired up. Your head feels fluffy. Your body floating. Ashton is everywhere and anywhere. 

“Love you,” you sigh.

“Love you more.”

Giggles happen with kisses as you ride the rollercoaster of consistent pleasure. It’s exhilarating and relaxing. You tap his side and he rolls over leaving you on top. His hands help guide your hips up and down. Each pull is pulling you tighter and pulling you apart at the same time.

His fingertips graze and squeeze over your skin. His mouth sucks on the soft skin of your neck and then it’s silky against your tongue. Breath to breath you fall apart but Ashton keeps you upright with the motion of his hips until he’s spent as well.

You’re warm and sticky and fuzzy with gooey thoughts and a blissed out smile. He tilts your face up, his fingertips brushing your lips. Your body rises and falls with his breathing, music notes soak over your pores.

“That was a dream,” he says.

“Let’s never wake up,” you shake your head and kiss the pad of his finger. “Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry, can we make popcorn?”

You’ve got on a long tank top and you’re leaning on his counter as you watch the popcorn rotate in the microwave. You’re humming a song to yourself and Ashton rests his hands on your hips.

“What song is that?”

“You don’t know?” 

“Sing a bit for me,” he kisses the top of your bare shoulder.

“My life’s just a carousel spinnin around poppin some corn.”

You both double over in laughter falling to the floor as the popcorn burns above you. It’s still the best popcorn you’ve ever had.

Taglist: @calumance  @in-superbloom @wiiildflowerrr @sunshineeeluke @littledrummeraussie @suchalonelysunflower @hoodhoran  @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sunshineeashton @ashtonsunflower​ @mymindwide​ @itjustkindahappenedreally  @seanna313 @pandaxnienke @celestialams @in-a-world-of-fandoms @blairscott @writersdare

[lady-djarin]

biker!din djarin

an au where din is a biker who rides a ‘razor’ motorcycle by the company ‘crest’ and you wait tables at the local biker bar. also there has been no proof reads i just pumped this out bc it was haunting me. 18+ unprotected piv, fingering, sex w/ a stranger

you meet on a night like any other. you were working on a busy friday night, it was always the busiest of the week.

he came in with full riding gear like he always did. it was like a uniform at this point, he never took off his helmet either. it was kind of eerie at first but the more he came around it became… well, hot. very hot.

he wore thick kevlar armor and pretty much every inch of his skin was covered so it felt silly to lust after a man you could barely see. something just drew you in, he was alluring.

he would sit in the corner table and talk to almost no one, except for you. his waitress.

‘hey hon, need anything?’ you always tried to get something out of him.

‘no, thanks.’

it was more than he said to anyone else. his visor was dark and steady on you. always on you. you started to notice that after he came in and sat in your section for the 3rd friday in a row.

he tracked you around the room as you weaved through tables. every time.

he never ordered anything. not once.

just like tonight. he sat in his usual spot, just looking around, until he sees you. then he’s locked on you. he watches you check other tables and chat with other bikers and patrons, blissfully unaware he’s tracking you.

then you see him and your body temperature rises. you make your way over knowing that his gaze is burning a whole in your clothing under his dark helmet.

you leaned over the table, hands planted to the sticky surface trying to make sure he hears you over the noisy bar. of course that’s all you were doing.

‘what’da need hon?’

he didn’t answer. the tilt of his visor told you he was eyeing the dip of your top, exposing the pillows of your chest.

‘i’ll be around if ya need me.’

‘mm hm.’

the grit in his voice sent shivers down your spine. as you turned away to tend to your other tables you knew he was looking.

later, you took a break outside the back door. sucking down a smoke for your dinner break. you crushed the butt under your boot and heard the back door swing open before slamming shut.

before you could even look to see who it was, he was crowding you. pining you against the brick wall. his helmet loomed over your head, eclipsing the lamp overhead. you were surrounded in him.

you stared up at him as the visor remained locked on you. his hands tore at the fabric around your hips. he yanked the shorts down your legs and dipped his bare hand into your panties.

the gasp that escaped your lips drew his head back up. he was watching where his hand connected with you. he liked watching. watching you.

watching you fall apart just by his fingers was all he wanted in this world.

you whined as he pressed his palm to your clit and pushed his fingers into your heat. your back arched off the brick and your hands grabbed at his kevlar. his broad shoulders hunched over you as his helmet fell to the wall beside your head.

‘ngh, so wet all for me.’ he groaned in your ear, the helmet muffling his thick voice.

he made you cum, twice, in that alleyway. he did this the following weekend and finally. he cracked.

he was two fingers deep in you when he slowed suddenly and pulled back, his other hand flipping up his visor.

his eyes.

they were a deep brown, almost black. fabric framed his eyes under the helmet and it made him look menacing. but the look in his eyes was downright sinful.

his eyes darted back and forth over your face, still screwed up in pleasure. he liked to watch you.

you knew what he asked without words.

‘fuck me, please’

he waisted no time in unzipping his jeans.

he was large. and he knew how to use it. he snapped his hips into you as he held one of your legs up, pushing you into the wall.

‘you’re gonna cum for me, ok? g-got it?’

all you could do was nod dumbly.

‘words! i need to hear it.’ his tone was biting but it made you listen regardless.

‘i’m gonna… i’m gonna cu—‘

you think you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, bouncing off the walls of the alley, but you were too close to blacking out to tell. your body shook as you rode through it. his voice in your ear the whole time.

‘fuck yes, give it to me.’

‘there it is.’

‘such a good girl.’

he helped you back into your clothes before opening the back door for you. he melted into the crowd of the bar as you went back to your job.

later that night you found simple business card in your pocket.

BOUNTY HUNTER (555)928-9203

next to the bold text he scribbled his name. din.

———————

thanks for reading! here’s a little sketch i did picturing how he looked in my head lol :)

[goldenempyrean]

From Super to Sniffly

〚Notes - Miss Somber threw some random prompts at me last night so I stayed up WAY too late writing this :P Im gonna try and get some marvel done soon…maybe :,) 〛

〚 Pairing - Supercorp 〛

〚 Summary - Lena is more than willing to look after her girlfriend when she solar flares. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 3140 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Just try to take it easy this time, okay?” Alex had sighed after she’d finished taking her sister’s vitals, “Maybe we should get you under the solar lamps for a bit, help you recharge a little?” 

Kara shook her head, wincing a little at the cut on her arm where Alex had patched up earlier, “I can’t I need to get home and finish my report, Snapper will have my head if I don’t.” 

Typical. Of course, Kara was worrying about her work instead of the fact she’d once again became powerless. It wasn’t really her fault this time, not entirely. The alien she’d been fighting an hour or so early had entirely drained her cells of their solar energy, in turn, taking away her powers - leaving her just vulnerable as any other human. 

“Fine, well I’ll tell J’onn you’ll be out of commission for a few days. Just until we get those powers back.” Alex said, hurrying round the med bay before turning her attention back to the Kryptonian, “I’ll arrange transport to take you home.” 

“No, no,” She interrupted, pulling herself off of the bed and stretching her legs, “I think I’m gonna walk myself home, I could do with some fresh air.”  

“Alright, just take care, okay?” Alex agreed, there was no point in arguing. Kara could look after herself, even if it made her worry, “No crime fighting or gallivanting into danger, I expect you to go straight home.” She added as she began to escort her to the door, watching as the blonde headed to the exit. 

As she stepped out into street the cool evening breeze brushed against her skin, causing goosebumps to run up her arms and Kara pulled her jacket just a little tighter around herself.  

She continued down the street, not in a hurry by any means. She was taking her time, enjoying just how human she felt in that moment.  

But suddenly something snatched her attention, the approaching crackle of thunder overhead - she’d forgotten about the storms that had been forecasted… maybe she would’ve been better taking the transport after all. Soon enough, the first droplets of rain started to fall, lightly spattering the pavement around her. She glanced up at the darkening clouds and decidedly quickened her pace. 

Not that it helped much, before long the rain intensified, turning from a light drizzle into a steady downpour. They plastered her hair to her forehead and soaked through her jacket.  

Kara hunched her shoulders, shivering as the cold rain seeped into her clothes. She groaned, crossing her arms as she walked, just trying to keep a little bit of heat in. 

 Not that it really worked, on second thought maybe being Kryptonian had its benefits aside the whole superhero thing - her usually heightened body temperature normally would’ve been enough to stave off the chill settling into her. But she made her bed, so she’d have to lie in it - she’d wanted to enjoy being human and after all what was more human than this? 

She knew that, eventually, her powers would return, and the weight of her responsibilities would come crashing back. But for now, she finally allowed herself to be just plain and simple Kara Danvers. 

That could’ve been relaxing, only if Kara Danvers hadn’t completely overslept the following day and had to run around her apartment in a rush to get ready on time. 

After she’d finally got home that previous night, she’d was shivering and soaked to the bone. All Kara wanted to do was to sink under the hold of a hot shower before changing herself into some soft pyjamas and crawling into bed, but much to her annoyance she had that report to finish, and well, work came first.  

Maybe she could’ve gone to bed a little earlier, but if a jobs worth doing, it's worth doing well. That was what she had told herself as she stared mindlessly at the screen, the small time in the corner had way past midnight by now. On the bright side she did manage to steal a little sleep in the end though, a couple of hours at least – that wasn’t by choice, she had simply just fallen asleep as she worked. 

Still, it wasn’t enough to recharge her, not by a long run so here she was, rushing around, wasting the little energy she had left as she hurriedly grabbed her laptop and files before hurrying out the door. This time however she’d decided against walking, instead choosing the bus as a safer option.  

But as Kara boarded the bus, she couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that seemed to have settled deep within her bones. Maybe she shouldn’t have skipped that warm shower after all. As the city passed by, her skin began to feel clammy - something she hadn’t felt before, it was felt strange - and that wasn’t mentioning the of a headache beginning to throb at her temples.  

Finally, her stop was approaching. She buzzed the bell and stood up, making her way to the front as the bus began to slow. It was just as she was about to take her step that she suddenly sneezed twice, barely able to cover with her elbow.  

That should’ve been the first sign something was up. But the blonde was too busy focussing on getting to work on time, instead she muttered a quiet apology to no-one in particular before rushing off towards CatCo. 

In the end she didn’t end up being that late after all. Only by about 10 minutes or so. Of course, no-one noticed. No-one except for Lena that is. The two may have only started dating recently but the two had been friends long before that and as a Luthor, Lena had learnt to become observant of people and their behaviour. So, when Kara wasn’t sat behind her desk, or waiting happily in her office with coffee she instantly knew something was off. 

“Kara! There you are, finally.” Lena sighed with relief as the blonde came into the office, “You okay? I tried calling you last night did you didn’t answer, I heard about your powers.” 

“I’m fine.” Her tone came out a little snappier than intended, as she kept walking over to her desk, planting her stuff down on the table, Lena following swiftly behind. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning, someone feeling a little grumpy today?” The CEO teased lightly, keeping her voice down as Kara rubbed at her temples as she sat down. 

“I'm not grumpy.” Kara sniffled discreetly as she pouted, “I just didn’t sleep too well, I had to finish this article.” 

Lena couldn’t help but sigh, she knew how hard Kara worked. Most of the time it the other way round and the reporter was often scolding her for overworking but it didn’t mean she didn’t notice how far Kara could push herself sometimes. 

“Maybe you could use some more sleep then.” She suggested lightly, taking on the files from her desk and pretending to read over it, not wanting to seem too bossy, not when her girlfriend was clearly exhausted, “I think an early night is in store for you tonight.” 

The reporter nodded, that aching in her head felt like it was worsening under the bright white LEDs above, “Yeah, maybe.” She mumbled, opening up her laptop beforehand absently tapping away, “I’m really sorry Lena, I really need to edit this article.”  She excused, not wanting to seem rude. 

Lena gave her a small kiss at the top of her forehead, just a gentle sign of affection before leaving her too it - she did have her own work to attend to after all. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off so made a mental note to keep an eye on her. 

Unfortunately, as time passed Kara didn’t seem to be doing much better. She was keeping her head up by propping her hand beneath it, occasionally ducking down to muffle terribly stifled sneezes which had clearly been heard by the entire office. At one point the whole office had quietened at the sound of a rather chesty sound coming from her desk, earning a sigh of sympathy from her girlfriend. 

Her head was swimming was worry as she abandoned her own work and instead headed over to a supply cupboard before swiftly yet discreetly taking an unopened tissue box and placing it on the blonde reporters desk. 

“You sound like you need these.” Lena whispered, her voice filled with worry, “Baby, you don’t sound too well, did Alex give you the all-clear from the DEO yesterday?” 

Kara nodded before reaching out to open the box, “She did, I just hH-“ The Kyrptonian’s breath hitched off as she hastily pulled out a handful of tissues before ducking into them with a pitiful sounding sneeze, “Hh’itshhu! Ugh, excuse me.” 

“Awh love your nose is all red.” The CEO murmured, as she came to stand behind the reporter’s chair, her loving hand rubbing her back, “You sound like you’re coming down with something.” 

“Maybe, my head feels funny.” Kara admitted with a sniffle, too tired to lie to her girlfriend. She’d find out eventually anyway and as the throbbing ache in her temple increased, she was feeling too crappy to deny it. 

The Luthor’s caring hand came to cup her cheek, a small sigh leaving her lips as she moved upwards, letting her palm rest against Kara’s unusually pale skin, “Make that definitely, you’re quite warm dear.” 

“That’s dumb because I’m freezing.” Kara failed to bite back the hint of a whine seeping into her voice as she sniffled into her tissues. 

“Let me check your temperature, stay here.” Her girlfriend soothed. Kara must’ve been really out of it because Lena seemed to return just as quick as she left and before she knew it, the CEO was holding a small device to her lips, “Open please.” 

She did as told, allowed her girlfriend to slide the thermometer beneath her tongue. It was rather uncomfortable, especially considering the fact it had become very hard to breathe through her stuffed up nose. Lena’s comforting hand on her shoulder made it better though and before long, a small beep rang out. 

“There we are, good girl, let’s have a look,” It was hard to miss the concerned expression sank across her face as she read the numbers, “Oh Kara, 38.8, poor girl. That temperature can’t feel very good. What do you say to letting me take you home?” 

Lena's concerned gaze never left Kara's face as she waited for a response. The reporter's skin felt clammy under her touch, and the combination of fever and exhaustion was clearly taking its toll. Kara's head was pounding, and every movement seemed to require a monumental effort. She swallowed, wincing at the soreness in her throat, before finally nodding weakly. 

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Kara managed to rasp out, her voice sounding strained and raspy. She gave a pitiful sniffle as she clutched the tissue in her hand, “Stupid immune system.”  

Lena offered a gentle smile, relief washing over her features. "Alright, love. Let's get you out of here and back home." She offered her hand out but didn’t object when the blonde moved straight past it and instead cuddled into her side, her arm coming to sit on her waist. 

“What! Why’s she getting an early leave?” Came the annoyed grumble from a distant cubicle as the pair passed through the office, “Fucking favouritism.” 

Lena had to bite her lip to keep herself from yelling as Kara's cheeks flushed, partly from her fever and partly from embarrassment. "'m not feeling well.” She managed to mumble in response before breaking off and muffling a desperate sounding set of sneezes against her girlfriend’s sigh. 

“Ignore him baby, I’ll see that he’s reprimanded later, right now let’s just focus on getting you home.” Lena whispered, “Bless you.” She managed to bite back the anger from her voice - there was no way she was going to accept that behaviour towards her girlfriend - but the discipline could wait till later, Kara was what mattered right now. 

She kept the Kyrptonian carefully tucked into her side. Kara had forgotten her jacket that morning, so Lena made sure to pull her coat around the both of them, honestly, she looked like a little koala cuddled against her.  

As the doors to the elevator closed behind them, the pair finally relaxed under the shield of the metal box. Lena kept her arm securely wrapped around Kara's waist. The reporter leaned heavily against her, her once vibrant eyes dulled and glassy with fever.  

The journey down was quiet, only Kara’s small sniffles punctuating the silence before the bell dinged and they stepped out into the lobby, heading straight to the waiting car outside. 

Once they were outside, Lena led Kara towards her car, making sure she was steady on her feet. She opened the passenger door and helped her girlfriend get settled before closing the door gently. As Lena got into the driver's seat, she glanced over at Kara, who was bundled up in her coat, looking miserable yet somehow adorable. 

"You just focus on getting some rest love, you’ll be okay." Lena said softly, starting the car and quickly driving off towards her apartment, “We’ll get you home soon.” 

Only a short drive later and the two had pulled up to Kara’s apartment. But the blonde had long since fallen asleep and her girlfriend honestly didn’t have the heart to wake her. Instead, Lena gently slipped her arms Kara's legs and carried her inside the building. 

In her arms she could Kara's fever seem to be intensify, evident from her flushed cheeks. Despite her attempts at keeping her still, just as they approached her door, Kara began to stir. She sniffled again and let out a weak, congested sigh as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Darling, we’re home now, baby. Can you just stand up for a second for me.” Lena asked, quickly unlocked the door before carefully guided her inside and towards the bedroom. Kara's steps were slow and unsteady, and she seemed to be fading in and out of awareness, so she was quickly prompted to take a seat down on the bed. 

"Alright, love, let's get you ready for bed," Lena murmured soothingly. She moved to help Kara out of her coat, taking extra care as she noticed how chilly and feverish Kara felt against her touch. Lena set the coat aside and then knelt down to unlace Kara's shoes, carefully slipping them off her feet. 

She let Kara take off her own skirt whilst she went aside to take some of her blue silk pyjamas before gently helping her pull them on.  

It was no surprise that the exhausted fell asleep quickly, Lena had barely pulled up the covers around her before the small, congested snores could be heard coming from her. With Kara asleep it gave her some time to prepare her food. 

Rest, fluids and food. Those were the key things someone needed. Soup should be easy enough, something light but hearty. Just enough to soothe the soul. 

She wasn’t the best cook by any means, 

Alex was the go-to chef in the group. But how hard could soup be? Very hard, Lena came to discover not even an hour later. Somehow, she’d managed to burn a liquid, the stock had turned an unappealing brown colour - definitely not the light liquid displayed on the packaging. Just great, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d managed to burn the pan too in the process. 

Lena had just finished discarding the remnants of failed attempt number 2 when she heard the soft shuffling of slow footsteps approaching behind her. 

“Oh baby, you’re supposed to be in bed.” She sighed softly as Kara’s arms came to wrap around the front her waist. 

"I couldn't sleep," Kara admitted with a soft sniffle, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, “And I needed more tissues.” 

“I tried making you some soup, but it didn’t really work, if you go and clamber back into bed, I can fetch some tissues for you.” Lena smiled turning around to coo at the cute sight of her sniffly girlfriend. 

Kara's lips curled into a tired smile under Lena’s gaze, she moved forwards a little, her warm forehead pressing gently against Lena's shoulder. "You're sweet for trying, Lena. I appreciate it. Thank you for trying.” 

Lena sighed, her arms sliding around Kara's waist to pull her close. "You're welcome. But I think we might need to order some takeout soup instead, maybe from that place that does the potsickers you like.” 

The Kyrptonian nodded, “That sounds nice.” She tried to sound enthusiastic, but fatigue was quickly creeping back into her voice. 

Before she knew it, Kara felt Lena’s arms come to pick her up again, taking the blonde into her arms, “I’ll get that ordered for us then, but first let’s get you back into bed sniffles.” 

Kara rested her head on Lena's shoulder as she was carried back to bed, her arms loosely wrapped around Lena's neck. She let out a soft sigh, feeling grateful for Lena's care and comfort. As she was gently lowered onto the bed, Kara snuggled into the covers, already feeling warmer and more comfortable. 

"Thank you," Kara mumbled sleepily, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. 

“It's okay my love. Don’t worry about it.” Lena smiled, gently running her hair through her blonde hair, “Do you need anything else?” 

“Just you” Maybe the statement would’ve kept its cheesiness if the Kyrptonian hadn’t had to duck into her blankets with a particularly loud sneeze only seconds later, “...and tissues.” 

Lena chuckled softly at Kara's sneeze, shaking her head in amusement. "Alright, love. Tissues it is." She walked over to the bedside table and grabbed a box of tissues, placing it within Kara's reach. Then she climbed into bed beside Kara, pulling the covers over both of them. Kara immediately cuddled up to Lena, seeking her warmth and comfort. 

"I must ask though; how did you even manage to get sick this fast?" Lena asked with a small, teasing smile, her tone light as her girlfriend nuzzled into her, “I mean I know your non-super immune system is downright awful but I recon this has to be a record.” 

Kara managed a small sleepy, chuckle, “I don’t think getting soaked last night did me any good.” 

“I don’t think so either,” Lena smiled sympathetically, placing a gentle kiss on Kara's forehead. "Well, next time, let's try to avoid getting caught in the rain next time."  

Kara nodded, a little sniffle escaping her. "Yeah. I’ll try.” 

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