#guys i have a really bad feeling about this one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 2 days ago

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in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible.

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad.

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him.

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion.

Why?

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him.

But he did.

For you.

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn.

So much for not being obvious.

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least.

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him.

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you.

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says.

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.”

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?”

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.”

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.”

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said.

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!”

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?”

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!”

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him.

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.”

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns.

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown.

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it.

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own.

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with.

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly.

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.”

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—”

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this.

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.”

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”)

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean.

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you.

The thought crossed your mind more often than not.

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not.

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day.

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under.

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms.

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment.

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out.

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond.

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly.

“Can I come in?”

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?”

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says.

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.”

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper.

“And?”

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.”

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?”

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.”

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance.

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.”

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.”

“Maybe I just like silence.”

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.”

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel.

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—”

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad.

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.”

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you.

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits��he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU.

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable.

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical.

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself.

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?”

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.”

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?”

“Which one do you want?”

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.”

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill.

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.”

He shrugs. “Why not start now?”

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?”

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?”

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says.

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap.

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?”

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.”

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?”

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.”

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.”

You scoff. “I do not.”

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.”

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.”

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks.

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.”

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.”

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks.

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.”

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—”

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut.

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?”

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says.

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.”

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.”

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.”

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.”

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have.

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid.

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.”

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?”

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.”

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.”

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.”

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.”

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.”

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.”

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?”

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.”

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.”

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.”

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.”

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.”

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?”

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.”

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.”

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.”

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.”

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?”

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask.

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.”

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.”

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.”

You laugh. “Part of our truce.”

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.”

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while.

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.”

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.”

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.”

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.”

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse.

“Does our truce include this?”

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave.

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.”

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat.

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze.

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed.

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable.

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax.

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it.

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #gideon!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes #anyone that knows anything about george mason knows how upsetting it is that she went there instead of columbia LMAO #literally the most soul sucking commuter school

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shanefuckingscott · 13 hours ago

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Sevika Headcanons 🦾

🚫Men and Minors DNI🚫

What I think Sevika would be like generally. a little bit of switch Sevika. 🦾

SFW:

She can cook well. She just doesn't cook OFTEN. I think that's something people don't get, but I think she's a good cook.

If you can't cook, she'll happily cook for the both of you.

If you can't, she'll probably most definitely make fun of you for not knowing how to use a knife, but she'll be happy to cook for you.

As long as you wash the dishes.

She does not have a type at all. Physical appearance? None. All she wants is someone competent, and someone that is okay with her not being home as much. But she does make it up to you.

If you have long hair, she'll braid it, and even help you oil your scalp once in awhile, like her mother taught her to.

If you have short and buzzed hair, she likes to run her hand through the freshly buzzed hair, and also like to help you oil your scalp.

Amazing with henna. You once bought her some henna, and she teared up a little bit, since it's been a long time since she's ever done henna on herself, ever since her mom died.

She decorates you with henna once in awhile, during her free time, and she likes to teach you about her culture that her mom has passed down onto her, and you help her heal her inner child by doing that.

You like to get her in touch of her culture, and she likes you even more because of that. In Zaun, there's not much of a place for sentimentality, but this, her culture, her mother is a part of her, and you like to remind her that with what happens everyday, she's still herself. That she's not just a woman fighting for the freedom of Zaun, that she's also herself.

She tends to forget that, after all.

TOUCH STARVED AS HELL.

Won't let just anyone touch her, only you, though.

She's actually really clingy. I mean, REALLY clingy. You'd be surprised. Of course, she still has a reputation to maintain, but even so, she doesn't shy away from showing you love outside the comfort of your own home.

Her love languages are definitely Acts of Service, Physical Touch, and Gift Giving.

She likes to do small things for you, like make you a cup of coffee in the morning. Charge your phone, when you're asleep. Give you a massage when you had a particularly bad day.

I lied. It's not small things, she does EVERYTHING for you. Opening doors wherever you go. Helping you change out of your clothes when you're drunk. Carrying you wherever, when your feet feel tired. Anything, you name it.

For gift giving, she likes getting you stuff that remind her of you. Like, a particular flower, or trinket, that she thinks you'll love, she'll find a way to get it. If she can't however, she'll just tell you about it. "I saw a butterfly. Reminded me of you" Anything.

Sometimes, when she goes away for long periods of time, you better expect 2 things. 1. she'll come home with alot of bruises and cuts. 2. She brought food, or a little trinket.

When Sevika is out for a work trip, she'll call you the whole way there, until she has to get off the trainz and actually do business.

Hates, hates, hates when you're the one going out, and it's her rest day. She's not stopping you from having your own life, she's just a baby that wants your undivided love and attention. And who are you to deny her of such?

Not often jealous, but extremely possessive.

I lied, she is a bit jealous, but not because she doesn't trust you. She doesn't trust other people.

One time you were out at night and a guy catcalled you. Ooh, boy, let's just say he was beyond saving at that point.

She's EXTREMELY loyal. That actually goes without saying, but just wanted to put that out there.

And you're as loyal to her as she is to you. That's what she admires so much about you, not just the love, but the loyalty, and how she knows that you're always on her side, and you'll choose her no matter what.

She loves, loves, loves it when you cut her hair. You're the only person besides a barber that can touch her hair.

She's really careful of not hitting, or crushing you with her robotic hand, and at first, she doesn't even touch you with it. But when you show her it's okay, and you're not scared of her, she loosens up a bit, and lets you hold it. With caution.

She likes it when you caress her face, and absolutely loves it when you kiss her knuckles. Even on her robotic hand.

She giggles like a little girl, when you two are alone. It's kind of cute to see her that way. That's her way of showing her vulnerability.

She loves drama. There's alot of perks of being the right hand woman. She gets to hear everything going on in Zaun. Although she is a quiet woman, she'll tell you everything that happened throughout the day, any drama that she comes across, and you guys laugh together about it. "Did you know (name) and (name) just got divorced?! Turns out (name) was a cheating prick!" She gossips to you. you of course match her energy, and be as shocked as her, "I fucking knew it!"

That was your bonding time with her. Yup, gossiping.

She sleeps with her on your chest, and you cuddle her head, and wrap your legs around her.

Her idea of a date is having you on top of her on the couch, as you both binge eat, and watch some horror together.

She is a bit of a scardey cat, when it comes to horror, so often times, her grip tightens on you, and she'll hide her face in your chest. You pause the movie, and comfort her, and change it to comedy, or something.

NSFW:

She's a bit of a switch.

She gets really turned on, when you comfort her in your chest though. Sometimes you think she just does it for the attention, but you don't seem to mind.

"You want me to change it, baby? Yeah?" You say, as you run your fingers through her hair. She nods. "mhm"

she says, and you change the channel immedietly. She flips the two of you, and now she's on top of you. You're now watching a dumb sitcom, and she's peppering your face with kisses.

You giggle at her antics, but don't try to stop her. "Oh, my baby, were you scared?" you coo at her, your legs high above the air, and you caress her face.

"Mhm, so scared." She says to you. She takes your sweater off, admiring the view. She's careful not to crush you with her bionic arm, as she goes down, and licks you nipples, and sucks them, and plays with the other tit with her other hand.

She likes making you moan, the louder the better. When you try to put a pillow over your head, or you try to use your hand to cover your mouth, she's grabbing it away from your mouth, to let you moan freely, and loudly.

"mhm, s-sev! More!" She likes it when you're needy, fucking loves it when you beg. "S-sevi, please!"

She can't say no to you that long, so she gives in almost immedietly, right after she teases the fuck out of you.

She takes your pants off, and sniffs your panties. (Yes, we got ourselves a panty sniffer, but it's okay, it's her, and we love her.)

"Y-you're such a perv!" and with that, she throws your panties somewhere on the floor, and she spreads your legs apart. You moan. She takes a good look at your wet cunt.

She takes a finger, and runs it along your silky folds, "mhmm, se-vika! s-stop teasing!" She smirks at you, and she finally goes down, not giving you a second to process that she's taking a stripe of your cunt. "A-ah, hmm, sev-ika, yo-u fe-el so g-good"

you can barely speak properly.

she eats your pussy like its her last meal on earth, she just hits all the right spots, and you pull her hair a little harder, and moaning louder.

and just like that, you were about to cum. like magic. Her tongue should be kept in bars, for how good it feels, it's unfair.

"s-sevika, I'm cl-ose!" You moan out, your take your hand, and fondle your own tits, while you moan her name "se-sevika!!"

"Cum for me, baby, I want you to come in my mouth" she tells you. It's like a magic word at this point when she tells you to cum for her, you actually do.

"o-oh yes! hmm, fuck!" You throw your head back, your grip on her hair tightening, and you push her deeper, and deeper into your pussy.

You were practically drowning her. But you know this is what she wants. This is what she loves.

After awhile, when you calm down, you pull her up, and lean in for a deep kiss. You can actually taste yourself a bit in her mouth.

When you finally gain the energy, you smirk at her, "Now it's your turn baby~" You say to her, pushing her on to the couch, and make her lay there. You position yourself between her thighs, and you pull per pants off.

You take a whiff of her sex, and she smells absolutely amazing. You take your time with her, your tongue slow, sensual, and you taste every part of her. When she moves around alot, that's when you decide to take your hand, and wrap it around her legs, and hips, to keep her from pushing. She's pulling back, little by little as she gets closer and closer.

You pull her back, practically wrestling her, "You're not going anywhere, Sevi" You say firmly, and get back to what you're eating. She huffs, and whimpers, and she grips your hair tightly, her body stiffening up, and you can feel her grind herself on your tongue, you let her dance for a bit, until she's almost close. You put 2 fingers in her pussy, and pump it fast and hard, in contrast to the slow, and sensual licking of her clit.

She's grinding more and more now, her grip ever so slightly getting harder, and harder. "F-fuck, princess, you're s-so fuck-ing good, mhm, I'm almost there!" She sobs, you smile while eating her out, and maintain eye contact with her, you pull back and slowly finger her, just teasing her a little bit. She whines even more. "Hmm, baby, I want you to look at me when I make you cum. Got that?" She looks at you flustered, and she nods.

You smirk, and you put your mouth back on her, and your fingers pump faster and faster, and there she is trying her best not to throw her head back.

"c'm fr m, bby" You say while you suck and lick her clit.

And with that, her body convulses, her head thrown back, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, and she grinds on your face more, and more. You close your eyes, enjoying the tastes of her juices coming out, your fingers still fast, and your face getting soaked from her squirting cunt.

You pull back, and take your fingers out of her. You lick her clean, not missing a spot, and you make her suck on your fingers, as she pants, she opens her mouth, and suck it clean.

You get up, and get a towel for her, she's still experiencing the aftermath of her orgasm. "Enjoy yourself, baby?" You ask her teasingly with a smile on your face.

She rolls her eyes, and it honestly looks like she's making a sex face at you right now. You chuckle, and cuddle up to her naked, and she giggles at you.

"I love you so fucking much, Sevi." You look up at her, cupping her cheeks with your hand, and you went up to kiss the top of her head.

She's still catching her breath, bit alot calmer now, and she smiles at you. "and I love you, princess. Janna, that mouth of yours, huh?"

You both giggle for the night, and fell asleep just like that.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Okay, so is it obvious I like writing switch Sevika, or not?

This was actually a bit of an emotional roller-coaster to write, but I kind of like it.

#sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika smut #arcane fluff #sevika fluff #sevika my love #sevika my wife #arcane smut #wlw smut #smut #fluff #fluff smut #arcane headcanon #sevika headcanon #big mama

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canijustfightgod · 2 days ago

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OP's story resonated with me. Growing up & presenting female was whack bc I was subjected to all that purity culture bullshit (was given a purity ring at 14). I still had sexual desire, I knew Lust was bad & that I didn't like guys having desire for me. But I also didn't really realize I had sexual desire in a way when I was thinking about girls, even when I thought about guys too.

I always had weird feelings around sex, it being bad & finding it hard to accept that desire was ok, plus not feeling comfortable having sex as a woman. Then I transitioned, and suddenly my sex drive was at an all time high. It forced me to confront those beliefs I had and start reflecting. I was so scared to want sex, and to be dominant/ take 'control'. I realized that doesn't make me bad. Seeing people be freaky on here helped tbh, bc it helped me realize I'm not the only one and its ok to have those thoughts.

I cannot express how jarring it was after being raised by a "Porn Addiction Coach" to get into a relationship with a woman and come face to face with the fact that she did actually want me to sexually desire her.

Like, in Evangelical Purity Culture, male desire was basically poison. It was a threat. It was this constant temptation that would destroy everything. And even after leaving, in the sort of queer, feminist spaces i spend most of my time in that wasn't something that pretty much anyone was spending time actively dissuading me from feeling.

But my desire is good. It's not something that I'm being accepted in spite of. It's a positive thing. It's a bonus. Not even just vanilla stuff, all the stuff I'd convinced myself were these weird terrible desires that were shameful to have.

It honestly took me over a decade to fully accept that. To stop dissociating during sex and confront that I was, in fact, being a massive perv and that was fantastic and preferable and that I could accept that into my self-image without shame or self hatred.

But it's important to do. It's important to leave relationships that don't welcome that part of you. To know that your sexuality is valuable and valid and worth owning and celebrating. Because the alternative is just...not being. Either existing as yourself and repressing the part of your identity that is sexual or allowing that sexuality to exist but turning off your self while it does.

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rebelfell · 24 hours ago

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for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 1

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

all my pornstar!eddie blurbs together at last b/c I hated how I published them originally. the og posts are still here, but they have been edited/expanded somewhat, and I’ve included a “finale” of sorts that is new! index for this story is here.

cw: pornstar!au, so…porn. but it’s also a kind of fantasy porn company/industry, so not really at all based in reality or fact. sex work, oral sex (f & m rec), public-ish sex, piv sex.

18+, MDNI┃8.7k

special thanks to @urhoneycombwitch for helping come up with like 90% of this via mutual flailing in my inbox 🥰 ilyaaf

After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from his first job.

Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.

So, so, so bad. Like, he’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. We’re talking fully and wholly submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.

And that’s great for her, but terrible for camera.

They keep stopping him, telling him he has to pull it back, that they have to see her pussy and they can’t with his big head and bigger hair blocking their view. But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer and moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be—and they’re yelling “CUT” and scolding him all over again.

And the girl is getting frustrated because, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director with this look of pure desperation and ‘just do me this solid—please?’ in her eyes.

So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so it’s really obvious how real it really is.

And so they can move the fuck on already.

Then they’re filming the fucking, and once again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.

He’s not just slamming into her without any care; he’s not using her to get off; he’s trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her.

Like so good, she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.

Her boyfriend of six years be damned.

And once they wrap, Eddie’s not exactly “fired” but he’s pretty sure he’s not getting called back.

Except then the movie comes out and BLOWS UP. People are obsessed. Women are buying it in droves (who knew women even watched porn??) and the VHS is back-ordered to shit.

So the production company is like, “We gotta lock this kid into a contract. Now.”

And just so we’re clear, he gets that contract.

But he (rightfully) feels like he has a bit of juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again. And they agree to his terms, but that first guy is hardly an anomaly and Eddie is still butting heads with these other ass hats who keep trying to force him to do it their way.

“My buddy, my guy, my man, you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s not gonna sell. It may have worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.”

So Eddie walks. And he’s ready to call it quits entirely…until you approach him.

Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. So you went to the heads of production and told them even if all they gave you was a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson, you can spin some gold. Spoiler alert—you do.

You come to Eddie with your vision of porn for women: story-based, more realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. Some of the same tropes, but done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless. Something new.

Something different. Something special.

And, oh. He is so on board with that.

Meanwhile, back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling. Because how in the hell did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become a sex symbol overnight? It has to be a deal with the devil—that’s the only possible explanation, right? He clearly sold his soul for a magic cock and a porn career.

And Steve Harrington is LIVID.

He would have bet his entire college tuition Eddie was a virgin, but now every babe who comes into Family Video is renting that damn tape.

They’re literally pouring in looking for it, marching straight to the back, going behind that red curtain where normally only the creepers go. And they don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.

Robin teases him about it mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some new moves. And, like, Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know? People must just be caught up in the novelty of it being someone that they kind-of sort-of know. It will wear off, it has to.

Then he watches it.

And, oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.

For one, he wasn’t going down on girls. He just wasn’t. He’s not like…against it, or anything. But he sort of didn’t realize that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fuck’s sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines? And that was all the same, so wasn’t that what girls wanted? (Oh, you sweet summer dingus, Robin would shake her head and lament later.)

Secondly…the girls he was with never sounded like that. And he never realized just how fake all those other “orgasms” in porn sounded until he heard the real deal. Now he can’t un-hear it.

From that day forward, for almost two months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it home in his bag one night after closing. For research purposes only.

No, seriously.

Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.

The second you and he get together, (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like a long-laid plan plotted from a distant corner of the vast universe has finally come to fruition.

Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a hit.

The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza, and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for a poker game her boyfriend is hosting. He canceled date night for it and she’s been sitting out here all alone while they play in the other room.

Not on Eddie’s watch.

He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the countertop. You push the camera in close on both of them, really trying to give the sense of Eddie as a person. So he’s not just another disembodied guy with a nice dick.

Although his is very, very nice.

His personality shines through when he does things like hike her leg up to fuck into her pussy deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own; and when he grins down at her all devilishly as she tries to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear; or when Eddie mocks her, making her own little whines and huffs and squeals right back at her in a way that is so infuriatingly hot.

He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans, until at last she can’t hold it back any longer and explodes.

And you have the sound guy stand off to the side and call out, “Everything okay in there, babe?” after she’s done. Nothing but a shuddering, trembling mess on a black leather sofa.

Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.

Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.

It’s alarming, almost. To be seen so clearly.

Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.

The one thing you’re never short on is actresses. Ever since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) has spread. Rapidly. And since you know most of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create. So Eddie trusts your judgment, completely.

He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.

The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s so charming and funny and considerate practically to a fault. He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to when you wrap for the day. And afterwards, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay because he’ll be happy to.

It’s…completely and utterly disarming.

He has every right to be a full blown asshole. This entire venture hinges on him and his magic dick, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon. But he doesn’t ever stray from that unflagging decency that’s so rare in this industry.

And you pray he never will.

It’s Eddie who pitches your next film.

He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time and goes looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.

(One guess who’s playing him.)

Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself in the heart and flailing around like a clown, throwing himself off the picnic bench you and he dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.

All part of the vision, he assured you.

They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything in direct contrast to her sweet, round face and bright pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry’s off the charts, as usual. She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.

Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread out on this table in the middle of the forest.

It’s oddly lush and romantic with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that filters in through the branches—a foil to the lewdness of their acts and their wanton sounds.

And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on gray weathered wood, they look almost like forest nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.

Especially with the leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he fell off the table.

Not for the first time, you feel a certain twinge of something that squirms low in the pit of your stomach while you watch them.

Except you’re not watching them…because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

After you wrap, he hangs back. Asks what you thought of the shoot while he helps break down the equipment. Blushes when you tell him you loved it and how good he looked. Explains how it was inspired by these daydreams he used to have about this one girl he knew in high-school.

And you almost, almost, ask him about her—but you’re cut off by a PA who runs up in a panic.

The studio is calling, and they’re pissed.

They’ve just gotten a look at the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner, unlimited use of their distribution channels. Full creative control and intellectual property rights to anything and everything.

Plus exclusive use of Eddie.

(Effectively nullifying that horseshit deal they originally gave him for a much, much better one.)

You know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of it—you swung big so you’d have plenty of room to negotiate—but it will all be worth it when they fold. Because you and Eddie have big plans.

You both know you’re onto something special and you’re in it together, to the end of the line.

Apparently, Eddie is also interested in editing.

He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and an egg sandwich like a literal angel on earth.

An angel dressed like the devil, maybe. Because he’s got on this tank top with arm holes that’ve been stretched way, way beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos and the tops of his obliques. And you aren’t entirely sure why you’re getting all hot and bothered over a tank top when there’s not a single intimate inch of his body you haven’t already seen up close and personal through your viewfinder.

In fact, it’s the same body you’re watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago. And he’s wearing a whole lot less than a tank top.

You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is flickering on three screens while you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward, more like you’re mutually tickled by the fact that it’s not? There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two.

In a way, it’s like there never was.

He asks if you want any help, or if you mind him sitting in. He’s interested in the process, thinks it might help him on set too. There’s such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him, a real thirst to be better and to learn. It’s ridiculous it took him three tries to graduate.

You think it’s a great idea…at first.

But then you’re watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded grunts and groans of pleasure in your ears coming through your headphones that are starting to slicken with the sweat.

It’s all wildly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because (not for the first time) you can’t help but wonder how he makes all these women come the way they do.

“So, uh, what…what exactly are you doing here?”

You clear your throat, trying to cover the tremor in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose pushes firmly on her clit. Pretending not to notice your chest heaving with his every word.

“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.

“I find my moments,” he says.

Smirks back. Winks.

And uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to rub his thumb over your bare skin through the hole in your jeans? When did his long, ringed fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did he start to lean further into your space? When did you get so wet?

He’s close now. It wouldn’t take anything for you to bridge the gap and let your lips meet his. You can’t, though. You don’t. Because it would be so…stupid. It would be wrong and bad, and it could jeopardize both of your careers. Everything you’re working towards, totally gone.

You’re starting the porn for women movement, here. You can’t fuck your first star!

And you don’t. You keep it professional. You tell him you’re going to call it a day and head home so he’ll do the same. But later that night, when he calls with some new ideas for a script, asking if he can run a few lines by you (just to know how it sounds out loud, you know?), and you wind up having the most insane, mind-blowing phone sex of your entire life…Well, that’s different.

That’s totally and completely different.

The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.

You knew it would be. You two are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this endeavor. Neither of you would dare let your goals be derailed by a silly little crush.

And it is just a crush. It has to be.

Just the natural result of working so closely with him; of seeing him so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.

Not to mention the fact that you are consistently watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life. But that’s unrelated.

The next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this massive mansion that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by the pool that looks like something straight out of a resort. Eddie is playing a masseur who offers a lonely, neglected housewife consolation in the form of his cock after her husband chooses work over their couples massage.

After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best you lean hard into the “Eddie fucks it better” sort of storylines.

Because why not play to your strengths?

Except that the call time of your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. You know Trina, this isn’t like her, she’s never late. But you called and got no answer. Twice.

The light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but there’s no one for Eddie to fuck.

Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get out here and that was being generous. By then, the shoot would be way behind and you’ve literally only got today in this stupid model home before some fucking billionaire moves in tomorrow.

It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something. Like, right now.

Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but you both are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.

You could do it.

You’re here, for one. And you’ve done this plenty of times. It just makes good business sense.

It’s been a while, and you’re not quite “camera-ready” after not having to be for the past couple of months, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies; bodies that jiggled and had hair where it grew naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.

The camera guys know what sort of shots you want and you’ve got a bigger crew now—people who know your vision and can help bring it forth.

Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.

The shoot is…interesting.

From the outside, it goes great. Perfect, even. Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck, a few loose tendrils framing his face.

And you somehow forgot until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school for real.

Before you even get to the sex stuff, you’re putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over your muscles in a dizzying pattern en route to your thighs.

You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher… arousal promptly pooling between your legs.

He starts going through his lines, striking that perfect balance between his casual, trying-to-be professional voice, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive.

As if he’s constantly fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.

Telling you how awful it is your husband chose work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…

His hands reach your ass and he grips one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see how you glisten, the sunlight reflecting like it does off the water in the pool.

You wait for his next line—when he offers you a very ‘special’ massage with a ‘special’ technique he ‘doesn’t use on just anyone.’

But Eddie goes off script.

He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops out of the little headrest at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, his tongue still swirling in between the words muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”

“It’s okay,” you moan, voice nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your hips back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue. From there, it’s back to regularly scheduled fucking. He stays on script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows from experience get a good reaction every time—

That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me.

Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.

This pussy is all mine now, you understand?

And, yeah, that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quieter, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.

It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—

It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good.

And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing again for that initial snafu. It makes you all…fluttery.

But it’s not until after you wrap for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home and start to wash off the massage oil spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.

Not once.

When Eddie calls later that week, it’s to ask you out. Not on a date, though.

Which is good. Really, it is. A relief, even. Because contrary to the way your heart leapt into your throat when he asked if you were busy this weekend, you absolutely cannot date him.

It doesn’t matter that you’re attracted to him. Or that you came out of your eyeballs multiple times with him the other day. Or that you haven’t been able to think about anything besides him since.

You. Can’t. Date.

You’re pretty much his boss, don’t forget. Maybe not technically, maybe not on paper—but if you start something up with him, it will be messy and complicated and it could put everything you and he have worked for in jeopardy. More than that, you don’t want anyone thinking he got where he is by any other means besides his hard work (pun intended). He’s earned everything he’s gotten.

And now that includes an award.

That’s what he’s calling about. He’s been nominated for what is essentially the porn equivalent of an Oscar for that first tape he made. And now he has to go to this ceremony, except he’s sort of freaking out because he’s never done anything like this before and he’s really nervous and he kind of needs you there because ‘you’re the only one I’m always comfortable with.’

So he asks if you’ll go with him. As friends.

And you say you will. And it’s fine. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this—FUCK.

Why does he have to be so hot? Showing up in a black Prada suit with a sheer shirt underneath? Almost as bad as wearing nothing under it at all. Worse, maybe.

It’s unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his torso, layered chains dangling low, hanging around that tree trunk of a neck you can’t stop wishing you could sink your teeth into, wrap a hand around—

Nope. Nope. You’re not going there. The only place you’re going tonight is these awards.

Except when you get there, the organizers don’t want you photographed with Eddie. At least not arriving together. People still aren’t familiar with you as a director, and you haven’t starred in a project in months. That’s practically a century in porn time.

Plus, the tape Eddie is nominated for you didn’t even work on. It wouldn’t make any sense.

Eddie is immediately poised to protest, but neither of you is given much of an opportunity. While you’re shuffled into the long line of people already being photographed in front of the venue, he’s being whisked away so he can walk with the girl he starred in that very first film with.

You know her, sort of. You did a group scene once upon a time. She’s a biter.

They even sneak him into her limo so it looks like they came together. He gets out first and then holds out a hand to help her, a storm of flash bulbs going off, making her jumpsuit sparkle.

And you tell yourself not to watch. You try to smile pretty for your own pictures and look like you are having a good time. Or at least not look like you’re chewing on glass. But it’s…difficult.

Especially when you look up at the worst possible time—the exact moment she places a dainty hand on his chest and he turns his face toward hers, their lips meeting for a long kiss.

Long enough for every camera there to capture it.And the very last shot they get of you that night is one of your back as you head inside to get a drink. Or ten. Trying not to think about this sour, putrid, inconvenient feeling in your chest.

Eddie should have walked with you.

He should have done a lot of things, actually.

He should have told those uppity event coordinators to fuck off. He should have ignored that girl from his first film when she whispered under her breath for him to look at her. He should have dodged that sticky, tacky kiss she planted on his lips without any kind of warning.

He should have asked you out for real instead of hiding behind this ‘as friends’ bullshit.

Maybe if he had, he’d be tasting your lipgloss instead of the glittery mess he was wiping off his chin. Maybe it would be your hand in his as you walked the carpet. And maybe it would be him getting you a drink and clinking his glass with yours instead of the guy you’re with right now.

Eddie knows him. Well, he doesn’t know him, he recognizes him from a tape with some absurd name like Sex Kittens 4 that featured a surprising amount of doggy style, considering the title.

Plus you in a never-ending stream of animal-print bikinis.

(He definitely did NOT go looking for every movie you’d ever made. No, that would be ridiculous. He just sort of…happened across one. Or five.)

And it’s not that he’s jealous—because there’s nothing to be jealous of. You met him doing a job. A job very much like the one you did with Eddie. You’re just catching up with an old coworker.

It’s fine. Totally fine. Did he mention it’s fine?

But then Tom Wanks put his hand on your hip, and before Eddie can take even a second to think, or to rationalize his actions, he’s striding up to you and taking your hand to drag you away.

The beaded fringe on your dress swishes noisily as he brings you with him behind a curtain that was set up as a backdrop for more photos. In the shadows behind it, your eyes glint a little meanly and your voice is barbed when you ask what the hell is the matter with him.

And he’s really not sure.

Because much like you, he’s not used to this; he’s not used to not saying exactly what is on his mind at any given time; he’s not used to holding anything back—not when it comes to you.

“I should have stayed with you,” he blurted out at last. “That was messed up, I—”

Your face falls and you dodge his gaze. “It’s fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it,” he shot back. “I could have said something, I could have told them—”

“What for?” you mutter, arms crossing in front of your chest. You look at the floor, hurt. Not just hurt, disappointed. “I mean, what…what would be the point? It’s not like we’re…or that you’re…”

He watches the words stall behind your lips, all of them trying to fight their way out like people on a crowded bus. But in their efforts, they only wind up clogging the exit so nothing gets through.

“God, listen to me!” you laugh bitterly. “I sound like some crazy, jealous…something, and I don’t know why I’m getting this upset when you don’t even like me—”

“Wait, what? Who the fuck said that?”

He can tell you’re shocked by the panic that rises in his voice, staring back at him wide-eyed.

“Wh-when we were filming, you never kissed me. So I thought…”

You fell silent as Eddie’s hands covered the sides of your face. Softly cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, he stares straight into your eyes and determinedly holds your gaze.

Your breath stuttered, so lost in those deep brown pools you could hardly recall your own name. And even if you could speak, you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.

Luckily, Eddie gave you something better to do with your mouth.

His lips meet yours in a gentle brush. His hold on your face never tightens, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to grip you harder. There’s a tenacity in his kiss, as if he’s trying to savor the taste of you, but struggling not to devour you whole.

You break apart too soon for his liking. He easily would have stayed there forever. And he braces himself for whatever might be coming—a slap across his face, a knee straight to his balls.

He might deserve both, but receives neither.

You don’t pull back so much as an inch, happy to let him keep your face close to his. He inhales shakily, still breathing you in, “I didn’t want the first time I did that to be on camera.”

You chuckle at him, dazed and grinning, trying to decide if this is a dream or not. If it is, you don’t ever want to wake up. You want to live in it. Your own hands creep up his stomach, tugging on his silky shirt, feeling the way he shivers in it when he feels the caress of your fingertips.

“What about the second?” you whisper.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Deeper. Hungrier. Messier.

He’s not kissing you like it’s his job; like he’s just doing what was written for him in a script—he’s doing it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, desired, chosen to do. Like it’s all he needs.

Your bare back meets the cool wall as he pushes you up against it, sliding his hand inside the slit of your dress, hooking it under your knee to hitch your leg over his hip. He presses every single inch of himself against your seam, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life.

The closest second being when you and he filmed just a few days ago.

You claw at him, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders, pulling open more buttons on his shirt until the gossamer fabric tears and unravels.

“More,” he begs, kisses trailing down your neck. “Fucking please, sweetheart, I need more—”

Your hand takes on a life of its own, sliding down to cup his length through the luxurious suiting. It causes him to release a deep, desperate moan you can feel his lips spreading apart to let out. The sound of it ripples through your body like an electric shock in every extremity.

The dull roar of the crowd right on the other side of that curtain is only barely enough to cover the sound of you and Eddie’s passions. His touch is so enthralling, so engrossing, you are this close to letting him fuck you right there.

Room full of people be damned.

Eddie seems to have the same idea, his mouth blazing a trail down the middle of your chest and stomach as he drops to one knee, his other foot planted to support himself as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. A rush of excitement floods your body as you realize his intentions, fingers sliding into his unruly curls to grip them at the crown of his head.

But the very second his fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue finds its home in your folds, a commotion breaks through your bliss.

There’s a loud crash as a cater waiter stumbles into the curtain obscuring your entangled bodies and drags it down with them as they fall.

Light floods the darkened space and a sound of collective amusement ripples through the crowd. No one is exactly surprised to see people hooking up—but it’s usually not until the afterparty.

Cocktail hour isn’t even over, for crying out loud.

Then they realize who it is.

The shutters of opportunistic photographers snap as you give Eddie’s hair a sharp tug. But he just moans loudly—too absorbed in what he’s doing to even realize what’s happened.

Finally, you pull him off your clit and he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the room.

Another round of snaps and flashes go off and his eyes return to yours, brightening when he sees the way you’re covering your mouth, fighting back laughter. His own lips, still shiny with your arousal, spread into a wide grin. His gaze lands on an emergency exit and he jumps to his feet, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards it tucked securely under his arm.

Flipping off the room behind him as you leave.

Together.

The trip back to your apartment is the longest cab ride of your life.

Whereas on the way to the convention center, you’d ridden mashed against your door trying to leave a respectable distance across the middle seat, Eddie practically has you in his lap on the way back. It’s like he thinks he’ll die if he stops touching you for even a second—lips on your neck, his hands roaming hungrily, whispering filth in your ear under the cover of the radio.

You do your best to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview, trying to shoot him an apologetic look or at least mouth a wholly insincere ‘sorry’ for the display. But he seems unphased.

Still, you stuff a wad of extra bills in his hand as you scramble out of his car. Unceremoniously crashing through the front door, you’re lucky not to break it down in your haste to get Eddie inside.

Of your apartment, that is.

Lips locked for every step across your cramped studio, you tumble to the bed and let out a soft grunt when a plastic hanger digs into your back. Hearing you yelp, Eddie pulls back and can see you’re lying on top of the ten or so discarded outfits you went through trying to decide on what to wear tonight. Sequins rustle under your bodies as the bed shakes with your gentle laughter, and Eddie drops a kiss to the tip of your nose before he climbs off you. Reluctantly.

He watches while you gather the dresses strewn across the bed, smiling when you try and stuff them back in your closet, fumbling with only the amber street light filtering through your blinds to see by. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s still smiling. Head tilted at you, eyes slowly raking over your form, heart rate picking up in his chest when yours do the same to him.

The pause is nice. It gives you both a minute to catch your breaths, for your brains to catch up with your bodies. Your steps turn careful and slow as you move towards him. With trembling fingers, he pulls open the last remaining buttons of his sheer shirt and lets it fall to his feet.

Remembering only just now that his jacket is still on the floor of that hotel ballroom.

You come to a stop in front of him and he closes the distance left. He reaches around you and pulls down the zipper of your dress, fingertips dragging lightly along your spine as he reveals it.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to feeling like a gift someone is unwrapping.

With your dress pooled around your ankles, Eddie’s hands are free to wander. He runs them up and down your arms, sweeping them along the inside of your wrists to twine your fingers with his. He brings them to his lips to kiss and the sight of plush pink brushing your knuckles is bordering on being too much to handle—more erotic than anything you’ve ever filmed.

He’s going slow because it’s slowly dawning on him what you’re about to do.

And how this time it’s not going to be for work or for a camera. It’s going to be real.

Except…is it going to be real?

Should he do something different than what he did when you filmed? How can he, when he used all his best moves during the shoot? Shit…

He doesn’t want you thinking he’s just doing with you the same thing he does with everyone else; that this—that you—aren’t special to him.

Then suddenly, he’s not going slow anymore.

He’s stopped completely.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Y-yeah,” he chokes out, like the word is made of sawdust. “I just, ahhh…I don’t know, I think I’m psyching myself out? Thinking too hard.”

“Thinking about what?” you whisper, your teeth tugging back your bottom lip.

His head just shakes, eyes still scanning your face while his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, until he lets out a sigh that’s heavy with fondness and whispers, “How I don’t want to mess this up.”

He takes another deep breath, letting his forehead rest against your own as his chest shudders. Confounded as to how something he’s done in front of a whole-ass camera crew could make him feel so self-conscious when it’s just you here with him. A few seconds of silence pass until his lips part in a smirk and his gaze cuts to the side, right to where a camera would be.

“Is it just me…or does it feel like something is missing?”

It takes a few minutes of digging to find your old camcorder buried in the depths of your closet.

Eddie chuckles when you emerge, brandishing it with a flourish and a little ta-da! before you set it on top of your dresser pointed at the bed, angling it slightly to properly frame the shot.

The red light blinks as you hit ‘record,’ barely taking a second to check if there’s a tape inside. You let it run, capturing your figures half in shadows as he sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap. He helps you settle on his thighs, runs his hands up the backs of yours, slips his long fingers under the elastic band of your panties to rest on your hip. He pulls them back and snaps them softly on your skin, earning a hum of approval from behind your pressed lips.

You wriggle on top of him and delight in how it makes his chest reverberate with a low groan.

“That better?” you whisper, the answer to your question immediately stiffening underneath you. He nods fervently, his voice tight and strained as he struggles to keep his cool.

“Wanna taste you,” he grunts out roughly.

He moves his hands to grip your waist so he can flip you underneath him, but your hands find his shoulders and stop him before he can.

Big, doleful eyes look up at yours, his face etched with concern as you shake your head. His bottom lip wobbles as he searches your face for why.

In a reassuring press, you mash your lips to his and lace your fingers behind his neck. You kiss all the air out of his lungs, until his fingertips are digging into your flesh hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. You kiss him like you’re trying to take the weight of the world off his shoulders, like you’re going to accept his every burden as your own so he doesn’t have to carry them alone.

There’s a quiet pop as your mouths separate and you press your chest flush with his, wrapping your arms around his neck so your lips find his ear as your nose nudges through his curls.

“Tell me you want me,” you whisper. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I don’t want it,” he groans back, “I need it. I’ve needed it since I fucking met you.”

The heat in his voice, the rumble of it in your ear, causes a wave of arousal to rush through your body. You unwind your arms from around his neck and slip slowly, painfully slowly, from his lap to stand between his legs. You place a finger under his chin and tip his face up for him to look at you, your thumb settling in the tiny dip at its center. Too small to see, it could only be felt.

“Everyone always uses you,” you tell him softly, almost mournfully.

His eyes stay wide and hopeful, never leaving yours as you sink down to your knees. His long, dark lashes flutter as your hands run up his muscled thighs, the edges of your thumbs grazing the outline of his cock. He hisses through his teeth and you grin devilishly at the sound.

“I want you to use me,” you instruct him. “Take whatever you need, as much as you want.”

And you can literally see how your words affect him, his eyes bugging wide as the wheels in his head are turning behind them. He reaches out to touch your face and you turn it to kiss his palm.

“Sweetheart, I—oh, fuck,” he gasps, cut off with your sudden squeeze of his clothed cock.

“I’ll stop you if I need a break,” you reply firmly.

The muscles in his neck pull taught as he nods. He leans back on one elbow, reluctant to let his other hand leave your face. You kiss his bare stomach along the top of his waistband and he curls his hand around the back of your head, gripping it tighter when you tug down his fly.

And you knew Eddie’s dick well by now. You knew it inside of you as well as out. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for the sight of it tonight. Thick, and veiny, and weeping with pre that dribbles down its sides. He’s almost ashamed of it, almost embarrassed by how hard he is for you; by how close he is to blowing his load when you’ve not even gotten started.

It was practically a miracle he didn’t soil the inside of his suit when you pulled his hair earlier.

His pupils are blown out when your eyes meet his, your lips hovering so close to his cock he can feel your breath on it. Saliva pools under your tongue so rapidly, you almost feel like you’re at risk of it spilling out of your mouth and running down your chin when you speak.

“Fuck my throat, Eddie. Please.”

And he does. He lets you set the pace at first, still holding fast on the back of your head he watches your lips surround his tip. His chest heaves with deep, gasping breaths as you take him fully into your mouth and start to bob on his perfect cock. It’s almost too much, too perfect, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth and your soft tongue and, fuck, your hand—

He pants wildly as you cradle his sack, your fingertips stroking them and spreading the spit from your mouth that’s dribbling down his shaft to his balls. They tense in your palm and his stomach tightens the faster your mouth moves, the more your throat relaxes to take him in deep.

The man who gives the best head imaginable finally having the favor returned.

“Jesus Christ…”

Eddie's words are whispered like a prayer and you look up to take in the sight of him.

Eyes pinched shut, his brows drawn like he’s in pain even though the sounds he’s releasing are nothing short of euphoric. You tease all the most sensitive nooks and crannies of his cock, all the places that make his eyes roll back and his head loll on his shoulders and his chest heave. Every ridge, every vein, every muscle that twitches under the attention of your tongue.

“Oh, pl…p-please,” he gasps, tightening his hold on your hair to still your movements as his hips start to move in an instinctive and primal thrust.

He hits the back of your throat and you swallow more of him down, taking him deeper, deeper until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base.

You groan around his length, enthralled by the exquisite ache of him hitting your soft palate, and the sound is Eddie’s undoing. He lets out a long, low moan and spills hot and thick down your throat. His arm trembles as he fights his own iron grip on the back of your head, forbidding himself from pulling your hair. You can feel the tremors of his fingers against your scalp.

His abdomen spasms as you stroke him through the aftershocks, flirting with overstimulation. Fucked-out eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but nothing short of reverent, find yours and they’re wet—shiny, shimmering with tears that crowd their rims and threaten to spill down his cheeks.

Quick as you can, you’re on your feet cradling his jaw to ask if he’s okay. And Eddie can’t answer, can only nod as he kisses, kisses, kisses your palm, the heel of your hand, your wrist, down the inside of your arm all the way to your elbow.

He can’t kiss you enough, it seems.

You giggle softly as you sit beside him and reach out to ruffle his bangs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear and letting your touch linger on his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you brush a tear that has leaked out of the corner of his eye. He looks back at you with a smile and swipes the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth to wipe away a drop of his spend.

And you know there’s still a lot left to figure out—damage control that will have to be done, difficult conversations that will have to be had. There will be whispers and rumors and sidelong glances.

Not to mention the firestorm those pictures of you two at the ceremony will undoubtedly stir up.

But none of that matters right now. Nothing does, beyond this bed and this night. Nothing else even exists outside the confines of this room.

All that matters is you and him.

You lay there for a while, just…being. Your fingers tracing his tattoos and the soft planes of his chest and stomach; his, the slope of your shoulders and the lines of your body he’s always wanted to know better. Quiet words pass back and forth, teasing jokes and soft confessions. Admissions of fears that held you both back and don’t seem so daunting anymore. Don’t seem so scary.

When he’s hard again, you pick up the camera and point it at him as you guide him to lay on his back. You push in close on his face when you sink down fully onto his length and start to ride him at an egregiously slow pace just so your shot holds steady. And because he looks so pretty taking it.

“Something wrong, Ed?” you goad him a smidge, toying with him in more ways than one when your pussy squeezes so tight around his cock it makes him lose his breath and pant out of control.

“F-fu…fuuuuuck meeee…” he whines and writhes, throwing his head back into the mattress.

“Oh,” you chuckle at him, speeding up just a hair, “I’m sorry, is that not what I was doing?”

His head jerks up, eyes ablaze as he stares you down through the camera lens. You peer at him over the top of the viewfinder and shiver despite the thin layer of sweat building on your skin.

Okay, yeah, that might have been a little too far. Or just far enough, you think, almost giddy.

“Nah,” he growls, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”

A loud squeal bursts out of you as he rolls your bodies to the side and pins you underneath him, somehow managing to keep himself seated inside you the whole time. Breathless, you watch as he takes the camera from you and practically tosses it away so he can hold your arms over your head. For a while, all it captures is a blurry close-up of your duvet cover, the frame shaking in time with every deep, solid thrust of Eddie’s hips that rattles the entire bed and you in it when he gets going.

Your moans and his grunts mix in a symphony that will surely earn you some side-eyeing from your neighbors tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to give a single ounce of a shit.

The song that you make together swells to a crescendo as you topple over the precipice you’ve been dangling off the edge of practically from the moment you met him. Eddie fumbles like mad for the camera and picks it up, recording your blissful expression before he swoops in to press his lips back to yours. Kissing you like he’s trying to eat you, like he’s trying to fuse your faces.

You’re certainly not complaining.

And now that he’s the one with the camera, he’s eager to keep going. He pans it up and down your whole body, guiding you into every filthy position he’s been imagining all those long nights alone in his bed. Through his eyes behind the lens, there’s not a single angle on you that isn’t pristine.

He gets you up on all fours, films tight on your ass as he squeezes it and cracks his palm down on it when he lets go. The sting makes you keen, your back arching as your hips thrust back—seeking more, more. His hand then smooths over your buzzing flesh, soothes the ache he’s made.

And even as you’re making it, you can tell this is not just another sex tape.

It’s a love tape.

thank you for reading — love you, mean it! 🏝️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things eddie #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #stranger things

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softestqueeen · 2 days ago

Text

passenger princess

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!tech analyst!reader

summary: After what happened and Aaron being unable to drive, you have the honor of driving him home. Too bad the little motel has only one room left - with one bed.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, unprotected p in v, no real foreplay, aftercare, kissing, making out, fluff, the beatles ig, love confession, kinda aprupt ending (sorry guys, i'm tired)

wordcount: 3603 words

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @pastelpinkflowerlife! i loved the idea and hope I could do it justice! i peppered in some of my favourite tropes and smut ofc. (i'm just a girl) for the plot they are also not in NYC but a bit farther away, so i could make it a bit more realistic. enjoy <3

“He’s yours,” Derek told you with a shit eating grin while your smile dropped.

“What?”

“You get to drive Mr Grouchy over there home. He’s not cleared to fly yet because he almost busted his ear drum, so someone has to drive him. And that’s where you come in, sunshine. The rest of the team is already on their way to the airport. Here’s your car key.” His smile never faltered once as he flung the key at you.

“Oh, and by the way, Garcia has all your tech stuff, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Derek, we both know that that’s not what I’m worried about, but whatever, I’m not getting out of this, am I?” the whining in your voice was impossible to ignore.

“Nope, drive safe, princess,” and with that Derek turned around, got into another car, which was almost identical to the one you would have to drive and drove away.

You didn’t get any time to sulk, Aaron already walking up to where you were standing, a slight frown on his face that turned apologetic once he looked into your eyes. He felt genuinely bad for you.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me now. I bet that’s not how you anticipated to spend your weekend.”

“Oh, no it’s all right Hotch. I’m not really a fan of flying anyways, I’ve always preferred to be in the lair at Quantico.”

So, it was not actually that all right, because you had teeny tiny problem.

You had a huge crush on your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

From the moment you first laid eyes on his tall frame, his piercing eyes and oh those hands, you knew you were a goner. Since then, you were incredibly attracted to him, and you knew you would inevitably catch feelings for him. Which weren’t very promising conditions for driving in a small car with him. Especially when said person was one of the best profilers ever.

But you really don’t have a choice and if you were being completely honest you were glad that in some way or another could take care of him. You knew with how stubborn he could be it wouldn’t be easy, but you hoped he could at least relax a little bit.

A moment of silence passed between the both of you before you decided to take a step towards the car.

Aaron was already on his way to the driver’s side, but that would not happen, not under your watch.

“I’m driving today. We both know you shouldn’t right now, and it won’t hurt you to sit back and relax a little bit. For once, let someone take care of you, please” the smile you sent him, made him begrudgingly agree. He’s always had a soft spot for you and your smile, especially because it always made everything seem a little lighter. No matter if it were a case, a profile, or any other conversation, you could turn his whole mood with just a simple smile. Oh, and don’t get him started about how he feels every time you beam at him.

Aaron still didn’t step away from the car, rather opening the door and holding it open for you.

Thanking him with a shy thanks you get into the car. Hotch closing the door behind you, walked in front of the car to get in himself.

Once you were both buckled in, you couldn’t hold the comment back that was burning on the tip of your tongue. It was a bold comment, especially from you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’re like my passenger princess now for once,” and while that made you giggle, Aaron only shot you a slightly amused but still grumpy glare. You referred to the one time he called you that (also as a joke) when there was a local case about a year ago and he drove you back towards the head quarters. After you got hurt, he desperately needed to see you smile again and he definitely succeeded.

You started the car, put on the radio and now your little road trip could officially start.

Aaron could now properly look at you; the way your hair fell down your shoulders, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the blush on your cheeks, the way your lashes touched your cheeks every time you blinked. You were truly mesmerising.

The truth was – Aaron had feelings for you, the first time he saw you was like a slap in the face, your beauty taking his breath away. It was the first time he ever felt something akin to butterflies since he first met Haley back in high school and definitely the first time he considered romance again after her death. If he were being honest, he would have hired you even if you weren’t as good at your job, for completely selfish reasons. Fortunately, though, you were an outstanding agent and fit right in with Garcia, who would be your closest colleague. That day he couldn’t get you out of his head, and till this day he couldn’t.

But as long as he wasn’t 100% that you felt the same, he wouldn’t act on his feelings. As you were his employee it also wouldn’t sit right with him to possibly put you in an uncomfortable position or force you to do something you may didn’t want to do.

So, for now he would just keep on watching from afar, or as of now, rather from up close. He wasn’t too mad about you driving, that way you couldn’t pay him too much mind while he could fully concentrate on studying your face and committing it his mind.

A Beatles song coming on the radio, interrupted his train of thought. Before he could do it though, your hand reached out and increased the volume, the song now filling every inch of the car. And to Aarons absolute delight, he could hear your gentle voice singing along. Now he suddenly wished the music weren’t quite as loud, so he could hear you better, but he would take what he could get.

Once the Beatles have passed, the station played a lot of other stuff Aaron thought you wouldn’t really like or would be too young to know, but you knew the lyrics to all of the songs. Hotch assumed that you didn’t even realise that you were singing, which made the moment strangely more intimate. After about one and a half hours of driving, there was suddenly a loud metallic sounding noise, which made you both freeze.

You pulled over and got out of the car, Aaron immediately following suit. Once you’ve walked around the car, you saw exactly what caused the noise – you had a flat tire. Upon taking a closer look you could see that you must have driven over a nail, which was now stuck in said tire.

Aaron saw the issue as well. “Do we have a spare tire?”

“I have no idea, how about you check the trunk?”

“Good idea,” Aaron said, already on his way to the back of the car.

“Wait- Aaron, do you know how to change a tire?” you only now realised that you definitely did not know how to change one and you just prayed that he knew, because calling someone because of that would be a bit embarrassing. It would also prolong your stay at the side of the road, which also wouldn’t be ideal.

You probably didn’t realise what you said, but hearing his first name falling from your lips almost made Aaron blush like a schoolgirl. Usually, both of you kept a professional face, never using your frost names unless you were meeting after a case with the others.

Once Aaron had calmed down a bit, he came back with a spare tire and answered you, “Of course I know how to change one, don’t you?”

“Uhm- well, I never had to do it, and it also never happened to me before. I’m glad you know how to do it though,” the smile returned to your face, while Aaron got to work.

He encouraged you to watch and explained everything to you, even letting you fasten a few of the screws and rewarding you with a rare smile once the new tire was installed.

Finally, you went back to the car and resumed your journey. It all went well, but of course, it couldn’t stay like that for long.

From one moment to the other, it suddenly started raining like crazy, the roads slick from the rain. The journey would have taken a few hours that you planned to drive without any overnight breaks, but the rain made that almost impossible.

“Maybe we should stay the night somewhere and wait for the rain to stop,” Aarons gentle voice cut through your inner turmoil. It always scared you a bit that he could tell exactly what you were thinking without you saying a single word.

“That’s a good idea; I’ll stop at the next motel.”

Finally, the next exit neared, the storm only getting worse and worse by the minute. You were glad you finally got off the street, all of Reid’s statistics about car accidents in extreme weather conditions plaguing your mind.

You took the exit, the dingy motel not looking like the most comfortable, but it was the only shelter you could get at the moment.

After parking the car, the two of you grabbed your go-bags and hurried inside. From the inside the motel had the same shabby charme as on the outside. A bored looking teenager looked up as you approached the information desk. Hotch took over the talking, asking for two rooms.

“We only have one room available at the moment, we should have more tomorrow, though,” came from the boy, his voice unwaveringly monotone.

The two of you made short eye contact, your smile reassuring him that it was all right.

“It’s fine, we’ll take it.”

He handed over the key, Aaron leading the way to your room. After opening the door, he held it open for you, letting you take the first look at your little oasis. You froze in the middle of the doorway, the single queen-sized bed in the middle of the small room almost glaring at you. The flowery sheets that matched the dusty curtains just added to your horror.

“Are you alright?” came his voice through your brain fog, your legs immediately starting to move again.

“Oh, yea I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Expect what?” he asked before stepping inside himself “Oh.”

You turned around, the mild shock evident in his voice.

“If you’d like I can sleep on the floor, if this arrangement makes you uncomfortable,” he immediately offered once you had fully turned around.

“There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on the floor with a damaged ear and bruised body. We’re both grown ups, if you don’t mind, we can share the bed,” you’d do anything to get that poor man off the floor, even if the thought of sharing a bed made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He gives you a curt nod before offering you the bathroom first, claiming he still wanted to call Jack. You told him to send the little boy lots of kisses from you before taking your go bag and disappearing into the bathroom.

After taking a shower, brushing your teeth, and doing your short skin care routine, you step outside again. Aaron had taken off his jacket and tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked up once he heard the door open, his eyes wandering over your pyjama which only consisted of shorts and a baggy t-shirt, that barely covered you, your legs on fully display.

He realised he may have stared at you when you started moving again, taking a seat at the other side – your side – of the bed. Grabbing his own bag, Aaron disappeared wordlessly into the bathroom.

You prayed that you didn’t make him uncomfortable with your outfit, you didn’t think you had to share a room with anyone, especially not with him. Slipping under the covers, you take your book and start reading, quickly losing yourself in the pace of the book.

When Aaron had taken his shower and joined you in bed again, you tried your best to stay neutral. You put away your book, leaning over to your bed side table to turn off the light. He did the same, both of you covering yourselves with the blanket before wishing each other a good night.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, both exhausted from the intense case and long car ride. But you woke up not soon after, having slept for about two hours.

The first thing you noticed was a steady warmth against you and something heavy on your stomach. You opened around and turned your head, jut to see Aaron’s head in the crook of your neck, silently snoring while the creases absent from his usually frowny face. He was hugging your body and had apparently pulled you closer to him in his sleep. The contempt expression on his face kept you from waking him, though your eyes seemed to have disrupted his sleep.

Aaron opened his eyes, immediately feeling groggy. What was unusual though, was the warm body that he apparently had hugged to himself. The comfort of the position almost lulled him back to sleep when he felt eyes on him and remembered who he had pulled closer to him.

He raised his gaze, meeting your curious eyes, but not once did his grip on you falter.

“Didn’t take you for a cuddly guy, Hotchner,” your sleepy voice broke the silence, filling the space between you. Your faces were so close together, that Aaron could feel your breath fanning on his face, just how he was sure you felt him breathing against your neck just moments before.

After a quick laugh escape him, he pleaded with you. “Please, we are literally cuddling right now, please call me Aaron.” You calling him by his first name, would make the situation so much more intimate. It wouldn’t just be Hotch being a bit lonely and cuddling up to you while unconscious, it would mean so much more.

His comment made both of you laugh and after silence settled again neither of you could deny the tension now. Your eyes moved from his, to his lips before returning, a new hunger suddenly visible in your eyes.

Aaron got the cue and took the first step, leaning forward and connecting your lips. Your face was already so close to his that it didn’t take much to kiss you, only a small tilt of his face and a slight change of position on your part and you finally got what you dreamed of for years.

But it was so much better than you could ever imagine, his lips unbelievable soft and steady against yours, his lashes fluttering and hands wandering to your waist, holding you steadily against him. One of your hands finds it’s way to his chest, the other one gliding into the hairs on the back of his neck, holding him close to you.

Even though you started out slow, it didn’t take long to get a tad more heated. Hands started to wander, to explore and you could feel Aaron’s tongue running over your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

Instinctively you part your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues didn’t fight for dominance, they moved together, finding a rhythm in each other. Unfortunately, you had to breathe, so you reluctantly pulled away, Aaron’s lips chasing after yours.

You opened your eyes, immediately finding his, pupils blown wide, his breathing heavy.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice still groggy with sleep, though not at all uncertain.

“You, Aaron.” His name from your lips made something in him snap. He connected your lips again, before flipping you, so he was completely on top of you, covering your frame with his body.

Aarons lips parted from yours, now making their way over your face to your neck and slightly under the hem of your shirt, the feeling of his lips against your hot skin driving you insane. Before he could go any further though, you stopped him by fisting his sleep shirt and pulling him up to you again.

Now, you could also feel his arousal, his prominent bulge pressing against your thigh, making you whimper.

The man above you gave you a slightly puzzled look.

“I need you now, I don’t think I can wait any longer, Aaron,” your voice was breathy, but you made clear what you wanted, because you knew Aaron would give it to you. The thought made your heart rate increase even more, if possible.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” the nickname made you swoon, though his lips on yours served a quick distraction.

His hands started to wander again, halting at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Before he could even pull away you were already nodding your hand and burying your hands in his hair. Aaron let his hand slide under the waistband, finally making contact with your heat.

You let out a moan once he let his middle finger slide through your folds, the sensation almost too much. He withdrew his hand to pull the shorts down and you were quick to kick them off.

Now, Aaron pulled down the waistband of his own pants, freeing his impressive length. He wasn’t just long, but also just the right kind of girthy and veiny. You couldn’t help yourself, one hand reaching down and wrapping around him. Slowly, you started to apply pressure moving your hand up and down, letting the palm of your hand glide over his tip, not once breaking the kiss.

He let out a low groan into your mouth and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling your hand away. Taking his length in his own hand he finally moved himself towards your entrance. His tip made contact with you and Aaron didn’t waste any time and started to press inside of you.

Because of the lack of foreplay, he made sure to give you enough time to get used to the intrusion, you hand now gripping his biceps for leverage. Once fully inside of you he let out a sigh, the hand not holding him up wandered to your face cupping your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, making contact with his. Giving him a nod to signal him to start moving, he pulled out almost completely, before completely bottoming out again, the front of his pubic bone touching your clit in this position.

He pressed his chest against yours before finding a comfortable rhythm, slow but sure, adding so much more intimacy to the situation. The only noise that could be heard in the room where your joined moans and groans and the careful sound of skin hitting skin. It didn’t take long for you to get closed, his chest rubbing against your nipples, his pubic bone against our clit and his thick cock inside of you, an almost overwhelming experience.

By the way Aaron was panting and the way his cock twitched inside of you, you knew he was close.

“Please, come inside of me, Aaron. I’m so close," you whispered into his good ear on purpose. Your warm tight walls, your voice and that final little detail made him unravel, his cock spurting his cum into you, painting your walls white.

Aaron groaning into your ear and the sensation of his cum filling you, made the tight coil in you finally snap and you threw back your head with a moan of his name. He slowly came to a halt inside of you before peppering countless little kisses onto your face, helping you calm down.

Once the two of you had your breathing under control, Aaron placed a final kiss on your lips before pulling out of you, making you whine and him hiss at the loss of contact.

He unravelled from your arms and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. Joining you again he held a warm washcloth, which he used to clean you up with a gentle hand, running his free hand over your hip and soothing you. He threw it onto the bedside table before laying down with you again, opening his arm for you. Not hesitating for even a moment you scoot closer and lay your head onto his chest, your arm wrapping around his torso. His hand softly stroked your hair while the other one went to your hip, drawing small shapes onto your skin.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “Aaron, I have to tell you something,” his heart started beating faster, your ear still pressed to his chest, though he only answers with a hum and thoughtful eyes, “I wasn’t really honest with you in the past. I have feelings for you, Aaron, and I have for quite a while now. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with this, especially if you thought that this was only a one time thin-“ Aaron cut your rambling off with a kiss.

“Don’t worry, honey. I love you too.”

Content and also very relieved you place another quick peck on his lips before laying down on his chest again and closing your eyes.

It is to say that the rest of your road trip went without any further interruptions and the silence in the car was now anything but awkward.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok people interested in the initial post: @lmg-stilinski24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @htchnr @casualkryptonitekitten @their-love @itsfelicity-emma @fanficrseblogged

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revelboo · 3 days ago

Note

I just wanted to tell you that I really love reading your writing. It’s really amazing. I’m always in awe of how quickly you write for SO MANY DIFFERENT CHARACTERS! AND YOU MAKE THEM ALL SO UNIQUE!!! It’s so cool, and I really love how you describe things too. I wasn’t really a Transformers fan before I found your blog, but you have completely converted me. I think “Everything Is Alright” was the first thing I read of yours, and I am just so invested in the Megatron Trojan Horse Pregnancy Arc. You’re brilliant, I hope that you have a wonderful day, and that you’re always happy, healthy, and loved.

Awww! Thank you so much! 💕 I’m just glad you guys like the weird way my brain works

Everything Is Alright Pt 120

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Giving up and laying your head against Star’s hand, the anger is a hollow pit inside you. And you’re not sure you can do this anymore. That you want to do this. Part of you just wants to go home. To pretend this whole mess away like a bad dream. You love Star and Soundwave. Are beginning to like Megatron even if he’s awful sometimes. But you’re just so tired of all of it. “I wish you hadn’t come back,” you whisper hating yourself for saying it and Star’s servos flex around you. Wishing that he’d just let you go that night. Hadn’t returned to your house and slept outside for you to find him. You’d have gotten over him, moved on. Eventually.

• Spark constricting, Starscream mass shifts and gathers you to him. Doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable right now, that his worst enemy is right there, staring at him. Doesn’t care about anything beyond fixing this. Because those bitter, hurt words lay him open, wound him deeper than Megatron ever has. “Everything I do has been for you,” he says, catching your chin and tipping it up. Lying like he always does and despising himself for it. “I can, I will, do better.” Even if he’s not entirely sure that he can. Maybe he’s too broken to change at this point, too far gone to trust anyone. Even you, but he can’t let you go either. As horrible as he is, you love him. And he wants to be worthy of that. Hoping that he’s not already damaged that love too much to repair.

• Hearing your broken ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ Soundwave can’t stop himself from reaching to press a servo against your spine. From mass shifting and settling at your back so you’re pinned between him and the Seeker. Feeling the warmth of you, the too quick beat of your heart. Knows Starscream is lying to you, trying to coax your forgiveness and he can feel your hurt. How had he not realized how unhappy you really were? Knows he’d been too focused on the Seeker, on protecting secrets and trying to arrange the pieces on the board so you’ll be safest, but not really paying enough attention to you. And he’s still horrified at how short your lifespan is. But he’ll figure this out. “Little one,” he croons, rubbing his masked face against you.

• Primus, what a mess. Watching both mechs whisper and murmur reassurances to you, he feels like an outsider. Like this is something not meant for him. Even if he’s fully bonded to you and carrying yours and Starscream’s sparkling, something that still leaves him irrationally furious. And you’re crying again, shoving at Starscream when he bumps his helm against your cheek. Watches you smack him, little fists lashing out as the Seeker just allows it and refuses to let go until you press your face against his neck. Everything so complicated because of you. Their mess spilling over to become his mess, but he can’t despise you for taking what he’d offered freely never imagining you’d accept. And that’s starting to really sink in. That you’re his now. His to protect and care for, that he’s fully bonded, mated. Something he’d never dared even imagine was possible.

• Neither of them will let go, both just holding on to you. Refusing to give you space. Holding on as the anger fizzles out into exhaustion. Wanting to hurt them because you’re hurting and it’s their fault. And it’s your fault, too. You know that all too well. Wanting things that you shouldn’t have. Not resisting when Starscream just tucks your head under his chin, Soundwave’s head on your shoulder. Caged by them, feeling their servos on you, clinging too tight. Looking up, you see Megatron just staring at you, his expression utterly blank. Maybe. Maybe you can all just start over? Maybe it’s not all so ruined there’s no way to fix it.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #starscream #soundwave #megatron

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lupinqs · 1 day ago

Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #wlw #wcbb x reader #nobody gets me

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monster-effer · 1 day ago

Note

Could I request head canon where the LADS guys find out reader/mc smokes? It’s a bad habit but she’s trying to stop 🙈🙈

Absolutely! Here you go <3

Sylus

You are taking a smoke break on your balcony after a very stressful mission. And Mephisto is doing his daily surveillance of you and your apartment building. When he gets enough footage of your new smoking habit, he reports back to Sylus.

After he’s informed, Sylus gives you a call “You know, smoking is a very unhealthy habit kitten.”

“How do you know that I smoke?”

“A little birdie told me.”

From then on, when you buy a carton of cigarettes they mysteriously go missing from your balcony, living room table and even from your purse?!?

Sylus arranges the periodic delivery of nicotine gum to your apartment for 2 months straight.

He also makes more of an effort to reach out to you. Both you and Sylus have busy schedules, but he always will make room in his schedule for you.

After a few months of these shenanigans you realize that you haven’t smoked in a while. Your craving for cigarettes has diminished to almost nothing. And even when you do feel that urge, you don’t hesitate to call Sylus. Because you know he will always be there for you.

Caleb

After the explosion where you assumed both Caleb and granny passed away you were emotionally in shambles. But you are a hunter now and it is your responsibility to protect the public from wanderers and wrong doers alike. In effort to suppress your emotions you picked up a bad habit, which happened to be smoking. It began with you trying out a cigarette one day, then it evolved into you going through one carton per week.

You don’t think you’ll ever get over losing Caleb and your grandma in one fell swoop. But when he makes his way back into your life you are shook to say the least. You really want to kick your smoking habit mainly because you don’t want Caleb to find out about it. But it has a hold on you now.

Since you’ve been spending time at Caleb’s Skyhaven apartment you tend to leave things behind. One time, you leave behind a lone cigarette which leads to Caleb discovering your new habit.

Caleb does not hesitate to confront you about it “Princess is this really a habit conducive to being a hunter? And…what if something happens to you? I don’t know what I’d do if you developed cancer from this.”

Once you two have a heart to heart about why you started smoking, Caleb starts to take advantage of the amount of leave afforded to him from the from the DAA. He is spending more quality time with you after work and on the weekends to make sure you don’t have to resort to smoking when you’re feeling down.

He purchases out an old gaming system so you two can play co-op games together like you did in your childhood. He cooks you whatever meal you request to keep you happy and well fed.

You start to spend more time at his Skyhaven apartment than your own. One day while you lounge in the living room and Caleb cooks in the kitchen, the sudden realization that you haven’t even thought about smoking in weeks pops into your mind. You don’t know how to thank Caleb for helping you break this habit. But what you do know is from today forward, you no longer need to fill the void in your heart with cigarettes because you have him.

Zayne

He majorly disapproves of your smoking habit. He goes straight into doctor mode and lectures you on the multiple risks that come with smoking including:

Slowed wound healing Cancer risk Increased risks of heart disease and stroke Osteoporosis COPD

He gives you tips on quitting like sucking on hard candy, chewing gum or eating fruit when you feel that urge. He frequently goes on walks with you to reduce your stress because you started smoking due to your heavy work schedule as a hunter.

He helps keep you accountable by checking the ash tray at your home for any evidence of smoking and offering to test you for smoking when you come in for annual doctor visits.

Although his approach may seem strict, your health and wellbeing means the world to him. You are the love of his life and he wants you to be healthy.

Xavier

Since he lives a floor above you he is on his balcony one evening and looks down to see you smoking a cigarette. Xavier is surprised because he’s never noticed this habit of yours.

To confirm that this wasn’t his tired mind playing tricks on him he decides to spy on you some more. Over the next 3 weeks Xavier makes it a habit to peak down towards your balcony. And so far he’s seen witnessed you smoking 3 times a week, at minimum.

He softly brings it up to you as you two laze around on your couch after a session of stuffing your faces together.

“So…when did you become a smoker?”

You feel a bit ashamed because you’ve been trying hard to break this habit. But you won’t lie to him.

“Honestly, I picked up the habit one day after a stressful mission. And I’ve been smoking ever since.”

Xavier tilts his head to the side as he listens to your explanation. “If I can help you relieve stress in a different way, will you give up cigarettes?”

You look towards Xavier in confusion. His beautiful cerulean eyes have darkened like they do when he is feeling lustful. Your breath hitches in your throat at what he’s suggesting.

“Hmm I’m not sure. Why don’t we try it out a few times to see if it helps,” you reply cheekily.

By the time Xavier is done with you, you are worn out and noticeably less stressed. This just may work, and if it doesn’t, you’re going to enjoy trying.

Rafayel

When Rafayel finds out that you smoke cigarettes he is surprised about it. But that surprise morphs into concerns for your health. He broaches the topic by saying “Ms. Bodyguard, how can I expect you to protect me if you start wheezing during cardio because you smoke cigarettes?”

When that teasing remark doesn’t seem to get through to you, he brings out the big guns. He begins to pout and gives you puppy dog eyes. “What would Reddie think?”

After you two talked about why you started smoking and what it does for you, Rafayel makes it his mission to pester you (with love) more than usual.

text: [pic] Here’s a pic of Reddie, he says he hopes you’ve been smoke free today.

“Hey, I was in the neighborhood and I decided to drop off some nicotine gum.”

“Why am I here? You texted me about how stressed you are. So I will be your personal masseuse for the evening.”

text: EMERGENCY, COME ASAP. You arrive at his home just to find out that Rafayel wanted your opinion on his most recent painting and wanted to get seafood together.

You’re enjoying the increased quality time with Rafayel and although it pains you to admit it, it has been helping. You have not had the time nor energy to think of let alone go out to buy cigarettes since you confided in him about your smoking habit. Both him and Reddie are your little family and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #caleb x reader #zayne x reader #headcannons #anonies #asks #monster-effer

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y0ur-lovrr · 2 days ago

Note

this doesn't really give you a idea but maybe a angst with chishiya?

—Forgotten Memories.

A/n; I didn’t rlly have an idea for this one, so if it’s bad i apologize, but ty for leaving a request!! <3

Pairing; Chishiya Shuntaro x Reader <3

—The only sounds around you are the sounds of the light breeze and the light and ragged breaths of Chishiya underneath you, biting back small grunt as you keep your hands forced against his gunshot wound.

Your own breaths are ragged and pained, you having your own gunshot wound on your side, though you refused to care for it right now considering that Chishiya is bleeding out in front of you.

“Stop it-you’re also bleeding out, you know?” Chishiya grunt, trying to put pressure against your own wound, though not having much energy to do so.

“I’m fine…We’re gonna be okay-Arisu and then are finishing the last few games..and we’re gonna go…home.” You mutter through slightly gritted teeth, pausing to let out shaky breaths, trying to keep yourself awake and grounded despite your body starting to feel weaker.

He lets out a small grunt as your knees suddenly buckle beneath you, making you almost crash down against him, his arms instantly grabbing you by your shoulders and pushing you to sit down beside him as he leans back against the abandoned car.

For once, he doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t either. Instead sitting in silence as one of your hands leave his wound to press onto yours, putting as much pressure as you can in order to attempt to slow the bleeding. You can feel the warm and thick liquid coat your hands, staining your shirt and bottoms, your eyes trained on the sky above you.

But after a few moments suddenly fireworks start to light up the sky, making his eyes also drift upwards, his eyebrows slightly raising.

“All surviving players will be presented with two choices.” The robotic voice of the game plays out from the sky, and you huff slightly in reply, Chishiya letting out a quiet hum.

“Players must now all decide whether to accept permanent residence in this country, or decline it.”

And then it’s silent, besides the sounds of the fireworks in the sky and your own breathing and heartbeat that plays in your ears.

Chishiya waits for a second to catch his breath, before he breathes out, “I decline.”

And without missing a beat you reply too. The words “I decline, I decline the offer” leave your mouth in a quiet mutter, not having much breath or strength left in you.

One of your hands reach over and grab onto one of his, gently gripping his fingers against yours, but chishiya doesn’t decline it and instead gives yours a gentle squeeze.

But what worries him is when he hears your breathing start to get quieter, making his head turn towards you, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he sees how your eyes flutter closed.

He mutters your name, concern etching its way into his normally casual tone, giving your hand a tug as he calls your name again, but then, he suddenly feels his eyes close, his own consciousness leaving him, but he spends the last bit of his consciousness trying to shake you awake-not wanting you to go to sleep forever.

—You’re walking down the hospital hallway-more like stumbling, having a small crutch to help you walk. You’ve been awake for a day now, having been told about how a meteor had hit Shibuya-and you were in its space when it happened, along with others. You were dead for a minute, but you were brought back with cpr, but being left injured from the blow.

“Apologies, but do we know eachother?” A voice rings out from behind you as you walk towards a vending machine, your fingers pausing just before you’re about to put your money in.

“Uhm…” you mumble as you turn your head to look at the voice, and then you see him. A guy around your age, bleached hair and also using a crutch. But you can’t remember if you do know him, but you can feel a small sense of familiarity-but you don’t know him, you would’ve remembered him if you did.

“I have no idea who you are, sorry.” You mumble with a small sigh, staring at him for a second more before you turn back towards the vending machine and put your money in, selecting your item and waiting for it to fall down.

“Oh. I just get the feeling we know eachother, that’s all.” He says with a small huff, shifting on his feet slightly, watching as you struggle to bend down and grab your item.

“Well I don’t know you, so..” you mutter with a huff, glancing at him for a second before you walk past him with your crutch, wanting to go back to your room, feeling his eyes watch as you leave.

As you walk away, Chishiya’s eyes don’t leave you. He can’t name it, but something about you is so familiar-but he can’t remember who you are, but something about your eyes and the way you carry yourself has a sense of familiarity. He’s unaware of what happened in the borderlands, how close you two got, and how you basically died next to eachother.

But now, you’re both back to being strangers.

#aib chishiya #alice in boderland x reader #aib x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya alice in borderland #arisu ryohei #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #angst #fanfic #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya

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jadebat7 · 2 days ago

Text

a man, a man, a man!!!

frat!bokuto x chubby!reader

summary: who cares if she has a little bit of tummy and big thighs, just more to love!

(lightly inspired by this reel)

You didn't exactly hate parties. In fact, you loved going out with your friends, getting ready before, coming home after and taking off your uncomfortable heels.

College was the time to party, obviously. You were going to party. There's something so cathartic about screaming the lyrics to some 2000s trash pop song.

But this party was not your cup of tea. You always refused to go to frat parties with your friends, doubting you'd even be let in. The frat guys on campus were... to put it simply, assholes.

You saw their sideways stares and snickers with their friends. They never tried to hide it. And really at this point, you were used to it. Too long have you been the punching bag.

It was a miracle that you got in, although it was likely because of your friends. They were both super gorgeous, like, model pretty. You weren't jealous, of course.

That's the thing, you knew you were chubby, you knew you weren't skinny but you didn't care. People can judge you all they want, you think your hot and that's what matters, right?

You followed your friends through the large house, the music reverberating against the walls and banging against your ear drums. The ground shook under your feet, your sneakers were weirdly... sticky? Ew.

Either way, you and your friends found the drinks and made yourselves a random mixture of alcohol in shitty red solo cups.

Your friends had on short skirts and tank tops. They looked amazing, as always. You opted for a pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. Simple, and easy. Right?

Wrong.

As you were following your friends through the crowd, you heard laughing and soon someone "accidentally" bumped into you, spilling their drink on you. It was red, of course.

The guy laughed, "Shit- My drink, watch where you're going, hippo"

You rolled your eyes, about to go find a bathroom before,

"Apologize right now," A loud voice spoke, standing in front of you. You looked at him, you could barely see him. All you could see in the darkness was his silhouette and his booming voice.

From what you could see, he was... well, he wasn't too bad to look at.

"What? You seriously asking me to apologize? Maybe if she didn't take up half the room, I wouldn't have ran into her"

You almost laughed, it was a good insult, honestly. A little dramatic, but still.

The man in front of you didn't seem to feel the same. He shook his head, "Fuckin' asshole-"

Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist and was dragging you away from the small crowd that had formed.

Were you about to get murdered? Possibly. But, like, yolo? His grip on your wrist was firm, but still gentle enough to not hurt you.

As you were dragged away, you heard the same voice shout,

"You wanna fuck that fat bitch so bad"

The man stopped, turning back to look at him.

"And so what if I do? Makes me 10x the man you are."

Eventually, you were upstairs. In a room, which was surprisingly clean. Nice job, mystery man.

Once the door was closed, he looked at you

"Hey! Sorry- Hey, uh, sorry about that."

He was somehow more shy now that the two of you were alone. And now that you got a good look at him, he was actually really fucking attractive, and was pretty muscular.

"My names Bokuto, by the way. Or Kou, maybe Kou is better- I'm not a fan of formalities anyway"

His back was turned to you, searching around in the closet.

"I'm y/n, and, why did you drag me up here? And why did you defend me- I've never met you before"

He looked back at you, "Well, I dragged you up here to get you a change of clothes. And I defended you because no one should talk to a person like that,"

He turned back to look in the closet

"Specially when its a pretty girl"

Did you hear that last part right?

No you were probably hearing things.

You stood awkwardly for a few more seconds before he pulled out a hoodie. It was black with a school crest on the back and some writing on the front.

"This good?"

You looked at the hoodie, sighing.

"Its fine, I'm just gonna go back to my dorm. I don't fit in guys clothes."

He smiled, "You'll fit in mine."

You raised a brow, a small smile forming on your face.

"Really?"

"Really."

You shrugged, taking the hoodie. He turned around and you took off your ruined shirt and put on the hoodie and..

It was actually kind of, big on you?

You looked at it, fighting the smile on your face. "Huh, what do you know"

He turned around, "Told ya"

You rolled your eyes, "I won't admit your right,"

You paused for a few seconds, looking around the room before looking back at him.

"Unless, you go on a date with me?"

He grinned, "You have yourself a deal, pretty girl"

a/n: lowkey also wrote this bc I was SICK of seeing hq x chubby readers where the reader is super shy or not confident, so yeah! The outcome might be a little more cringe than I wanted but whatever!

Reblogs always appreciated!

btw my requests are wide open...

#haikyuu #haikyu #jadebat7 #fanfic #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #anime #hq #bokuto x reader #haikyu x chubby reader #bokuto x chubby reader #hq x chubby #chubby reader #frat bokuto #frat haikyuu

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miwiheroes · 3 days ago

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okay time for my rant

i feel kind of upset that i know that a lot of people will be disappointed with season 5 byler because they have this one view: past byler moments need to be referenced.

assuming that it is endgame (bc yeah ofc it is), i don't think that will be enough for everyone, which i totally get <3 like if they do it in a poorly written way (i.e. no depth into mike's queerness or a cheating plot on el) i would totally get not being happy with it. but i know that some people will think that it's not that good because they may not reference past byler moments??

like some things that i've seen people hope for are understandable. for example, wanting a kiss with heroes in the bg, or wanting a mention of the painting. those make total sense because the writers set those things up in a way that implies it'll be referenced later on.

some things i just don't stand by. for example, wanting them to show ANY reference to them meeting each other for the first time, any reference to the crazy together scene. those are already canon moments. it's almost as if people needing these scenes to be referenced is a kind of insecurity in the existence of those scenes in the first place? like we need to them to be rehashed in order to make them like- double canon in a way?

now, i totally get wanting this to happen. for the reasons i have just expressed and the fact it would be really cool. but what i don't get is: saying that the new season's byler would be poorly written without a reference to a past moment.

i can almost see it now, post byler endgame, people getting mad there was no reference to their first meeting, people getting mad they didn't reference 'lets start a new party'. them saying it was poor writing. me going:

honestly......... i think it would be better written if they didn't reference these. More specifically, if the miwi flashback isn't them meeting each other for the first time, i would be equally as excited, because it means a NEW THING for us to reference, a new thing for me to explore in analysis.

the writers will hopefully give us some new lines. new soundtrack songs. new things to analyse and make memes about. i don't neeeed them to say they're crazy together for the third time*.

so if i catch anyone calling writers who have made an effort to create new, romantic, beautiful scenes that deepen the complexity of byler's relationship bad writing just because they didn't reference old moments, i am going to have an aneurysm <3 and then giggle in heaven, because why ur working urself up over literally nothing, i'll be sat, positive and happy, looking at fresh and new things to obsess over.

if you feel attacked by the post, im sorry, i just want to get you guys excited because no matter what we are getting new byler content, new lines and new complexities. sorry for making u feel bad in the future for criticising writers for taking the hard way out, and writing new lines LMAO

and in the possibility that they do reference these old moments, i'll also be happy, i just hate the idea that some people won't be happy if they don't do it, if that makes sense

*if you're wondering what the second time is, it's when mike gives will that post it note with the line on it.

#thanks for listening to my ted talk LMAO #does anyone agree with me i swear im not going insane #byler #byler nation #byler endgame #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 hours ago

Text

Look, Don't Touch 1

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, stalking, breaking and entering, possible blood and violence, and femcel energy. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get bored of watching and that makes you careless. (dark!reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: Well, well, well, if it isn't another bad decision.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

The spectrum of city lights gleam through the window casting a soft glow over the lofty condo. Spacious and pristine, everything in exactly its place, even the shadows seem to assemble in orderly fashion along the pale wall. A fine contrast to your chaotic existence on the peripheral.

You sit, staring down the treacherous drop. A single pane between you and the end. Your phone dims as it rests against the thumb grip, wires still woven from the port into the palm sized box. You can find anything on the dark web if you go deep enough.

The alarm was easy enough to override with the device, you still feel a sliver of adrenaline. How your heart beats thunderously as you watch the screen race through columns of numbers. You expect a blaring siren, instead the door clicks and a low beep grants your entry.

It's nothing bad. Not really. You’re tired of watching, of waiting, for what? You're not sure. It’s not as if you want him to notice you, you do your best to make sure he doesn't. Maybe one day when you're ready. Whatever that means.

You shut the lights off once you get the photos, each room from every angle. So you have a reference to make sure everything's where it belongs when you go. Unlike you.

You don’t belong here. Or anywhere. So you have no issue crossing those lines, because no matter where you step, you’re out of place.

If anyone knew, they might think you've done this before. You’ve dreamed of it. Maybe, a bit too often.

It's the online boards that make you so thorough, checking things you never even considered. Of course, those neckbeards are looking to scare some skinny blonde they don't have a chance with. You don't want to scare Steve, you just want to know him, if even from a distance.

You always just watch. Is that so bad? You don't get in his way, you don't try anything, you just follow.

Well, it's about time you came inside. You don't get much of a view from the outside. The reflection of the other buildings tend to make the distance further. A whole year and you don't know why you’ve waited so long. It’s not like he’ll know.

You stand up and unplug your phone, turning on the flashlight as you point it ahead if you. You stop to admire the pictures framed and hung of him and his comrades, both old and new, dead and alive. You continue down the hall, back to the bedroom and peer around.

You spread out on the bed. You can smell him, his sweat and the soap he uses. You know from his receipts. From skulking around behind him at the grocery stores you can’t afford to shop at.

You close your eyes and imagine he's there with you. Watching you too. The two of you, peaceful, comfortable, like you've never been with anyone in your life. An indolent complicity.

It’s lies. You know that’s not how it goes. If he knew about you, he’d be just as repulsed as any other guy. And you’re not the type for the sappy shit. You don’t want love, you just want a thrill.

You put the phone down, the light glowing on the other side of your eyelids as it shines on the ceiling. You feel along your dark jeans and slide your fingers under your fly. You sigh as you feel yourself getting wet.

You flick your clit and moan. You say his name and do it again, a steady motion as you wish he was there, hand down your pants as he fucks you with his fingers, reading a book as if he isn't rock hard over it. It must be extraordinary to have someone else touching you. It’s getting boring, just you.

You cum quickly, surprised as usually you need your toys. More reliable than any man, you scoff and free your hands from the denim.

You sit up slowly and wipe your cum on his pillow. Maybe he'll smell it, will he know what it is? Would he like it?

You get up and stretch. You take your phone and check the time. You should go. He'll be home soon, you know he met his pal for drinks at seven. Funny, you were under the impression beer didn't affect enhanced beings.

You go back to the living room and pack up. You plug in the cipher once more and head for the door. You re-arm the alarm and carry on down the hall.

You stop at the elevator and wait. It opens and you suppress your surprise. Well, you’re not that shocked as his timing is always precise. Not to mention, he lives here. Steve Rogers hesitates before he gets off the elevator, blanching as he sees you.

“Sorry,” he smiles at you.

It’s not a real smile. It’s just his surprise. It’s courtesy. Steve fucking Rogers is high and above you.

“It’s fine,” you say snidely as you stare at him dully.

He only thinks to get off when his companion, Bucky Barnes, does first. You wait for them to pass you, the second man meeting your eyes as he passes. You see a spark of curiosity in his eye but it quickly dies. You’re not that interesting, especially at first glance. You rely on that.

You step onto the elevator, nearly caught in the doors as you do. You turn to watch them walk down the hallway. They have no idea, you're just another faceless New Yorker.

📷

It's weird, you think. Anyone else would be jealous to see the scene. They would crumple at the burning envy in their gut but you feel something much more intense. You're fucking horny.

Your perch on the roof of the building a block from Steve's is bitter and blustery. You have the scope set up, cell phone in the holder, to align the lens. The red dot flashes to show that it's recording.

You adjust the angle and zoom in on the screen. The set-up is simple enough once it's set up, if the app isn't a bit tedious. You take another drink from your thermos and huddle beneath your hoodie.

You wish you could hear it. The slapping of flesh, the groans in his constricted throat, even the woman's airy breaths as she grips the back of the couch, teeth bared as Steve ruts from behind. America's golden boy getting his kicks from some bimbo he met down at the bar. Again.

You want to be in her place. Or even just a bit closer. If it was you, it’d be a lot less predictable. He’ll finish, slap her ass, and send her off.

You yawn as he grabs onto her shoulders, pulling her back gruffly as he rams into her hard. The aggression is what surprises. Steve Rogers is all smiles and sweet words for the cameras he knows are there, but behind closed doors, he’s brutal. The woman’s face contorts as the pain wracks her body.

She doesn’t stop, lets him use her. Just like you would. If you even had a chance in hell, you’d lick his cum off the shield. Fuck, if he wasn’t obsessed with those barbie dolls, he might actually try something new.

You don't hate her, don't feel an ounce of anger. She's doing you a favour, putting on a show just for you. An image you’ll never forget, that you’ll cherish on lonely nights.

You shiver as heat nestles in your core. Your hand falls to your jeans, lingering just beneath your heavy parka. It’s too cold to do that now. You retract your arm and sigh. When you get home you’ll have to rewatch it with your favourite toy.

Before your mind wanders too far, there’s a metal click and the loud clang of the bar across the other side of the door. Shit. You quickly grab your phone and collapse the tripod. You take down the lens and shove it all into the duffel, twisting the lid of your thermos tight and tossing it in before scooping up the unzipped bag.

Footsteps scuff across the concrete roof as you scurry behind one of the wide chimneys and lean against the cinder block. You hold your breath as a man calls out, “hello?” he paces around, “someone out here?”

Fuck! You put your head back. You won’t be coming back here again. It took you weeks to find the place and get the right angle, a good distance to keep from alerting Steve but not too far either.

A flashlight casts a yellow light back and forth but doesn’t come close to you as you stay still. The man grunts and grumbles as his soles pad away and the door slams heavily. You wonder what gave you away. You disarmed the alarm on the door before you came up and no one passed you on the stairs.

Maybe just a regular sweep by the building. You shrug and check the bag before zipping it up. You wait ten more minutes before going to the door and picking the lock. You assure yourself as you descend, you got more than enough to tide you over at least a couple weeks.

📷

The cafe is busy enough to compound your insignificance. You’re hard to notice on a good day. A hoodie, jeans, just another body in the overcrowded city. You sit with a bottle of water and cookie you won’t eat, pretending to read as others are more obvious in their observation.

Steve Rogers sits by the window, as if he wants to be seen, chatting over a steaming mug with the stalwart Bucky Barnes. Their conversation seems to frustrate the latter as several patrons interrupt them, asking for a picture or autograph to accompany their lattes and creamy frappucinos. As Steve acquiesces, Bucky leans back and crosses his arms, scowling as he refuses to engage.

You grin. You kind of get the dude. You hate people, hate the city and the pedants looking for their fifteen minutes or living the delusion that their New York adventure is destined for greatness. You glance back at the page but your eyes don’t focus on the words.

It’s why you can’t be with Steve. Why you don’t want to be. You just want to watch. You don’t like being noticed. Hate the idea of being watched. You’re not a part of the show, you like being just another faceless figure in the audience.

Your eyes flick back up. Steve is back to leaning over his cup, an Americano, how fitting. His large hand punctuates whatever point he’s making as you admire the vein in his neck, just above his collar.

You’re startled as Bucky rests his chin in his hand and you meet his gaze. You don’t react and hide behind the book again. Maybe a bit too obvious.

You pretend to read for a few minutes then reach for your phone, checking the time. You should leave first. You close the book without marking the page and take your water and cookie and put it in your bag, the patched messenger showing its years.

It rests against your hip as you stroll out, ignoring the super soldiers until you’re outside. You peek back as you pass the window and Bucky squints at you. What the fuck is his problem? You tuck your head down and continue down the sidewalk. You’ll have to be careful about him.

📷

You close your journal and tuck it under your mattress. The bed takes up much of your bachelor apartment. You don’t mind the lack of space, it’s just you. It’s preferable to your previous roommates who assured you cohabitation is little more than a form of torture.

You climb off the twin mattress and stretch as you go to the corner which constitutes your kitchen; a microwave above a compact stove, a fridge that looks straight out of the 60s, and a foot long countertop under a single cupboard. Not much but you often forget to eat as your mind overshadows any physical needs.

You tear open a package of ramen and add water, shoving it in the nuke as you turn to lean against the counter. Your tall dresser holds most of your possessions, clothes, the pictures, your equipment, and a few toys. Nothing special, just like you.

The microwave beeps and you put the bowl on the counter. You grab your phone and return, eating at the kitchenette as you slouch to keep from dribbling. You scroll through your phone, several alerts for Steve Rogers in the news.

‘Cap’s UN Mission: Can he restore America’s repute on the international stage?’ You browse the article and a smile slowly forms as you forget your food and stand, lifting the phone as you search for more.

The media really is dangerous, you muse. There are exact dates for the conference and Cap’s appearances. That means his place will be empty. It means you’ll be living it up, at least for a few days.

📷

It’s been more than a month since your first visit to Steve’s apartment. Nothing’s changed and you feel a little less restless there. You know he won’t be back anytime soon so there’s no rush to do much more than bask in the remnants of his presence.

You can still smell him on the bed sheets and his dirty clothes are still in the hamper. You sort through them, feeling them, sniffing a few shirts. You push the basket back into the corner and search the drawers of his nightstand. Lube, some porn magazines, relics really, and some random odds and ends.

You go out to the front room and lay on the couch, flicking on the television. The Smithsonian channel. Predictable. You leave it there and watch the hour-long program on clockmaking. Riveting.

You don’t pay much attention as you stare at the ceiling and think about him. It was that couch where he fucked her. On her knees, clinging to the back as he let loose his strength, not a care for her. You haven’t seen her since. She must’ve expected something different; maybe to be doted on. Pathetic.

Your hand wanders along the edge of the cushion. Your fingertips brush fabric in the crease of the cushions and you sit up as you pull out the lacy thong. You hold it up and stand, looking down as you hang them against your jeans as if you were wearing them. For him.

You scoff and bunch them up, tossing them behind the couch. Yeah right. You’re not some leggy blonde, you’re just you. You’d look stupid in something like that.

Men always looked past you, through you. It’s why you didn’t bother. High school was a farce; shoved into lockers or chased out of school dances. And college, just an extension of the crushing social norms and ridiculous expectations.

You kissed one guy in your sophomore year but he was worse off than you. You never saw him again after he came in pants just from having your tongue on his. Why would you want some dweeb like that? You’d rather settle for being alone than some freak.

You sigh as you cross your arms and flop back on the couch. You think too much. This is supposed to be fun, so why does it make you feel so… alone?

Reality splinters as your heart lurches. Shit. You hear a key in the lock and the sharp turn of the mechanism. Shit! You stand and panic as the door opens, too stunned to react as you trip over the leg of the chair as you try to hide too late. You hit your knees and look up at the figure in the entryway.

“What the fuck?” the deep voice cuts through you. “Who the fuck are you?”

Bucky comes into the room and stops short. He tilts his head as you stand, putting your palms out defensively, “look, I was just leav–”

He’s barreling towards you and you stumble back frantically. He grabs the front of your hoodie and takes you off your feet as he shakes you, like a rat in the gutter. You grasp his thick wrists as you gape at him, speechless.

“I know you,” he says as recognition wrinkles in his forehead, “I knew you were up to something.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say.

“Me? I’m watering the plants,” he spits, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Please, I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything–”

“Shut up!” he snaps and shoves you into the leather chair, looming over you as he clenches the front of your sweater.

“Let me go and I’ll never come back,” you beg and round your eyes and make your voice higher, just like you’ve seen other women do. You always looked younger than your age. “Please–”

He scoffs and shakes his head, “I said, shut up.”

His tone keeps any further plea muted. He glares at you, nostrils flaring as his thoughts swirl in his deep blue irises. He unfurls his fingers and draws his hands away rigidly as he stands straight.

“Don’t fucking move,” he warns as he combs his fingers through his hair. He watches you for a moment before he looks around and grumbles under his breath, “don’t have the fucking time for this.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #look don't touch #series #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #dark!reader #captain america #winter soldier #avengers #mcu #marvel

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