#hand dryer !!! he has arms now

[cellclothism]

is this anything . theyre silly as helldbnejsk

[ragingbookdragon]

Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”

“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”

He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”

“Seriously?”

“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.

She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”

“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”

Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”

“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”

“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”

As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”

“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”

“You know you’ll get sick from this.”

“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”

“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.

He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.

“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”

“You moved the other towels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”

“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”

She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.

He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”

“You left me.”

“I know.”

“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.

“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”

Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”

“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”

“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”

“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”

Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”

She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”

He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”

“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”

Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”

“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”

He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”

“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”

“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.

She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”

Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.

“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”

Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”

She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”

“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.

“Couch, Riley.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.

“Goodnight, Simon.”

He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.

It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”

Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”

“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.

“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.

“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.

He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.

“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”

Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”

“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”

“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”

His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”

“Yeah?”

His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”

She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”

“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”

“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

[buckys-wintersoldier]

Distance isn’t the solution | Bucky Barnes

// Pairing // College!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x College!Virgin!Omega!Fem!Reader

// Summary // Your heat isn’t only causing pain in your stomach, it also causes pain in your chest when you can be so close to your mate but at the same time so far away when he is the fuckboy he always is.

// Wordcount // 9.383 Words

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, A/B/O Dynamics, Bucky being a dick, true mates, losing virginity, choking, kind of dirty talk, praises, nipple play, fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), protected p in v, angst, fluff

// Authors Note // Thank you to @bucks-babe for encouraging me as well as for proofreading. This was in my drafts since April because I wasn’t motivated to write the smut but now here we are.

// Events // Hot Bucky Summer | Week Two | “What should I call you?” Master, Alpha, Pet | @buckybarnesevents | Kinky Things Happen Bingo | G2 | A/B/O Dynamics | @kinky-things-happen

// Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist //

When he walked into the room like the biggest idiot you were already annoyed because of him. James Buchanan Barnes, everyone immediately loved him and all the omegas were trying to jump in his arms so he could mark them.

But you? A confident but also shy Omega — you were the one in class who didn’t pay attention to his beautiful scent, to his ocean blue eyes and his rough laugh which caused goosebumps when you first heard it. But as much as the omega in you tried to get you closer to the handsome Alpha, you stayed away from him — not wanting to end up like another omega fucked and pushed away from him.

James looks like he is waiting for the omegas to get into their heat to fuck them. It wasn’t just for his pleasure since he helped them to handle the pain of their heat but on the other hand you don’t even know if he just fucked until he comes or until they do too. However, none of the Omegas ever mentioned that James claimed one of them, so he is only looking for a great round of fun to go to the next girl and have a new hole for his dick.

“Hi, pretty girl!” A rough voice says next to you and you roll your eyes. Since you’re using blockers — so you won’t have your heat and your scent isn’t there then as well — no Alpha is talking to you like that, except James.

“What do you want? I’m not in need to have something filling my hole,” you groan and his eyes widen before he smirks even wider. Wouldn’t you smell him, you would believe that he is smirking but his scent slightly changes when he is annoyed or angry — like right now. Before you can say something else he clenches his jaw and forms his hands into fists, slams them next to you on the table and leans down.

“Fucking hate ya attitude. Gonna need to show ya where ya belong to, ‘mega?” He asks, his voice low, chasing your throat to feel suddenly like a desert — dry and even dryer. He lets himself fall down next to you on the chair, your body tenses and you try to move as far as possible away from him. His hand which is still placed on the table is sliding closer to your hand. You’re pulling away, looking with widened eyes at the boy in front of you who can’t stop but laughs. “Ya know you can’t fucking resist me forever. Gonna fuck you at some point.”

“I’m not a toy for you, James,” you hiss, ready to slap him across his face but he leans back in the seat and shakes his head.

He has never had an Omega disobey or tried to resist him. And it annoys him that you do — you! He isn’t dump, he knows you’re mates but he isn’t ready for a relationship like that just yet. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting you, wanting to pound into you and make your eyes roll back while you come all over his cock. James knows that you use blockers so you won’t have your heat, but even through them he can slightly smell you and it makes him go crazy.

“Every girl wants to fuck me, so why don’t ya — ma mate — why do ya say no to me and my best friend?” James asks, looking down to his dick and you groan frustrated.

“Your best friend? Your cock is your best friend? Does he have a name? Maybe Bucky? Can you and your cock leave me alone, I don’t wanna fuck you!” You tell him, turning to face the whiteboard in front of the class.

“If ya wanna know, he doesn’t have a name. But he is pretty. I can show ya if ya want?” James asks, smirking when another frustrated groan leaves your lips.

He isn’t ugly, to be honest he is beautiful, handsome and muscular. With his soft brown hair, his steel blue eyes, the low voice and the perfect smile he is definitely the type of guy you like — but he is a fuckboy. James had probably sex with every girl in your age, probably also with almost everyone at the college.

“I don’t want to see your tiny dick, can you please fuck off and annoy another girl?” You mumble, feeling the Alpha next to you tensing even more. His hand snaps out, grasping your chin and he turns your head around so you have to face him.

“You shouldn’t talk like that with an Alpha! Especially not with your Alpha,” James says, his hand squeezing your jaw and you try to back away but his hold is too strong. You shut your eyes close, slight pain running through your jaw. A soft whimper leaves your lips, causing James to chuckle.

“You’re not my alpha,” you say through gritted teeth, making the boy in front of you even angrier with your behavior. He hates the way you talk back but at the same time he is so fucking turned on. (the cock is distracting)

“You know — just as I do — that we are mates. So shut the fuck up or I will help you after the class to do so!” He says, raising his eyebrows when you scrunch your nose. “Don’t look like that.”

“Can you please fuck off?” Your voice is calm but he can still hear a slight change in it. But it’s nothing he thought he would hear, it’s more like a slight hint of pain in your voice. Your hands find their way to your lower stomach and you press down, trying to get rid of the feeling that builds down there.

James tilts his head slightly, inhaling deeply when the reason you act like that hits him. Your heat is coming and your blocker doesn't work anymore — but you don’t act like you know it. He lets go of your chin, inhaling once more. Your scent causes his dick to grow and with every breath he smells you more and more — already addicted to you scent.

“Fuck—“ you mumble, trying to curl yourself more into a little ball. A low groan from behind you makes you turn toward James and a quiet whimper leaves your lips. Before James can say something, you take your things, getting up to storm out of the room. He looks at you, hearing you excuse yourself before you run out of the class.

The smell of you is surrounding James, causing him to groan before he leans back and inhales deeply. The bulge in his pants grows when he thinks about you, moaning underneath him, squirming and whining while he pounds his dick into your tight cunt.

You run along the floor, your hands holding your stuff tightly pressed against you. Your lower stomach sends waves of pain through you. Tears fall down your cheeks, the pain gets worse and you realize you just went into your heat — you see that especially when the Alphas around you inhale deeply and groan, their eyes are on you while you make your way to your dorm.

When you reach your dorm you throw your stuff to the side, letting yourself fall down on your bed to curl yourself together. The pain in your stomach grows and you whimper slightly, pressing your hands on your stomach to get rid of the pain but it just doesn’t want to work.

You haven’t had your heat in a long time since you used those blockers but now they don’t want to help anymore and you’re thrown in your heat. You know that sex with an Alpha would help — sex with your mate to make the pain in your belly less worse. But asking another Alpha or James to have sex with you? You don’t want to be a toy for them and you’re way too shy to just ask someone to help you with such an intimate thing.

James shifts in his seat, a feeling he never felt before appears in his body — something like pain and guilt. The teacher is just explaining something when he just gets up from the chair, causing it to crash against the table behind him. Every pair of eyes is suddenly on him but he doesn’t mind, he takes his things and walks toward the teacher. Just before he reaches him he turns to the side and walks to the door, leaving the room. With fast and heavy steps he makes his way through the floor.

You’re still curled on your bed when you hear a loud knocking. You only whimper, tears falling down your cheeks and soaking your sheets. When you manage to say a quiet ‘yes?’ the door swings open and you can hear heavy footsteps, then the closing of the door. You inhale deeply, body tensing when you recognise the smell.

“Don't you have classes or can you ask another girl to suck off your cock?” You mumble quietly. James chuckles, slightly annoyed about your attitude but he pushes it away and walks further to you.

“Think ya need some help, ‘mega,” he says, sitting down next to you on the bed. His hand reaching out to stroke over your side, your body still tensed and you tremble slightly when his warm, soft skin touches yours. “Can feel it, so let your Alpha help ya with the heat.”

You shake your head, curling further into the ball you already are. His touch is so soft and warm and you just want to give in. But James is a fuckboy and you’re a virgin and even though he is your mate you don’t want to be just another girl he fucked for him.

His hand slips under the fabric of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your lower belly and his hands feel so good, that you move a bit closer to the Alpha, his thigh pressing against your ass, while he rubs your lower stomach softly.

“Feelin’ good, doll?” He asks, his voice soft and you nod. Pressing yourself more against him.

Your pussy is throbbing and you crave more of his touches. His scent surrounding you and his warmth against you makes your mind go fuzzy and he knows it. James feels the same way, but he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable to he let you decide if you want him to fuck you or not, even if he would make love to you.

You’re looking so pretty and he wants to see more of you, James wants to hear those whimpers which are leaving your lips because his cock is stroking your walls, hearing your sweet moans while he thrusts into you. “Can I touch you a bit lower?”

Another shake of your head causes him to sigh softly. You turn your head, looking at him with heated cheeks and red eyes. “‘M a virgin. And I’m not beautiful, you will laugh about me,” you say, looking through your lashes.

A low chuckle leaves James lips, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you up until you sit in his lap, your back pressed against his chest. You can feel his growing bulge against your ass, squirming softly in his lap. His hands grabbing your waist tighter, holding you in place while he leans closer and kisses your neck softly.

“You’re beautiful, doll! Let me take care of ya,” he groans, nibbling at your skin. You throw your head slightly back, the feeling of his lips and teeth scratching over your neck makes you cunt leaking even more.

You nod your head, giving in to the pleasurable feelings he is causing. James' hand slides further down to your thighs. He moves his big hands up and down your inner thigh, his lips still touching your neck. When one of his hands reaches your covered pussy you squirm, shifting on his leg and your body tenses once again.

“Still, omega! You can relax, I’m not gonna hurt you, just help you to get through your heat,” he says, fingers circling your clit through the fabric of your pants. You squirm a bit on his lap, feeling his bulge growing in his pants. A soft moan slips past your lips, his fingers still rubbing your clit slowly.

“James, please,” you mumble, throwing your head against his shoulder. He groans, his hands grabbing your waist and he pushes you further down on his covered cock.

“That's not what you're supposed to call me,” he says, kissing your jawline and down to your neck. His lips feel way better than you expected and you lean more against James. “Come on, say it and I will make you feel good. You will never want another dick in your tight pussy.”

His hands make their way to the hem of your shirt, he grasps it, pulling at it until you move a bit away from him and let him take off your shirt. He throws it to the side, his hands find their way back to your sides, snaking over your belly and caressing your skin softly.

James lips are on your neck, he nibbles on your sensitive skin, leaving marks on your neck. You moan softly, his hands sliding up to capture your breasts with his huge hands. “Say it properly, doll.”

“A—Alpha, please,” you whine, rocking your hips slowly against him. His cock pressing painfully against his pants. James unclasps your bra, letting it fall down before his hands make their way back to your breast. His fingers pinching your nipples softly, he twirls them while he listens to your soft moans.

James grins, his lips sliding along your neck. He groans when he inhales deeply, inhaling your beautiful and intoxicating scent. “Good girl.”

You place your hands on top of his, bringing them to your belly but you wait a moment before you place them at the hem of your pants. James gently bites nto your soft skin, causing you to yelp in surprise. He slides one of his hands underneath your pants, still having the thin fabric of your panties between your pussy and his fingers.

James circles your clit through your panties, you buck your hips forward, causing more pressure on your clit. A low moan slips past your lips. He chuckles, loving the way you move against his fingers to ask for more friction. “Wanna feel my fingers in your sweet little pussy, omega?”

You nod lightly. James pulls his hand out of your pants, opening them before he places you properly on the bed and helps you out of them, throwing them somewhere in the room before he gets back in between your legs. Now there is only the thin fabric of your panties that's between your pussy and his fingers.

He crawls between your spread legs, smirking down at you. The Alpha brings his fingers back to your clit, pressing softly against your sensitive button before he pushes the fabric to the side so he can finally slide his fingers through your wet folds until he reaches your entrance. A soft whimper leaves your lips when James pushes a finger against your tight entrance. He then pushes his finger slowly into your tight pussy. Your walls are squeezing his finger already and he makes his cock even harder in anticipation.

“Fuck, look at your, doll. Taking my finger like the good omega you are, huh? So fucking tight, can't wait to fuck you probably, ‘mega,” Bucky growls, his voice lower as usually and his eyes look like the are only dark shades instead of the ocean blue you're used to see when you look at him.

“B-James, please,” you whine, arching your back to push yourself more against him. His expression changes lightly when he notices the name that almost slipped past your lips. What would he give for it — he wants, he needs to hear you calling him by his nickname, maybe not while he fucks you but in every other situation where you’re not calling him Alpha.

With a chuckle he curls his finger inside of you, your arousal making it easy for him to move inside of you. His finger massaging your sweet spot, bringing you faster to the edge than you ever thought would be possible. James feels the change of your soft moans and the way your pussy is sucking him deeper while you squeeze him violently. He pulls his finger out of you, leaving you needy and whining for more.

“Quiet, Omega. You get what you need but don't want you to come just now, doll,” he mumbles, leaning closer to kiss along your collarbone. His one hand is caressing the soft skin of your thigh, while he uses his other hand to keep him steady above you. “I'm gonna take off your panties now, and I want you to let your legs spread apart. You're beautiful and there is nothing to be ashamed of, got it, Omega?”

With a soft nod, you let your head fall backwards into the pillows but James just towers over you without doing anything. Not even your soft whimper or the bucking of your hips causes him to do nothing else but looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Alpha, please. I got it, but please, need you.”

He grins softly, pressing his lips against yours before he sits up and removes his other hand from your thigh. You want to complain when James is already grasping the hem of his shirt to take it off. He reveals his high defined chest muscles and his Pratt abs, smirking even wider when he sees the way your eyes roam over every little inch of his body.

“Y-You look pretty, James,” you mumble, causing him to laugh softly. You have never heard him laugh that sweet, and just the little moment causes you to fall slowly for the Alpha. It’s the moment he wears a mask in front of everyone because that sweet laugh right now was real — not the way he chuckles when he is around his friends or someone else. And maybe it’s something he only reserves for you.

“Not as pretty as you, doll,” he smirks, bringing his hands back to your thighs and moves them to your covered pussy. He then grips the thin fabric of them, ripping them apart. You gasp, your eyes widen and you want to complain but he shakes his head softly. “No complaining, omega. I will buy you new panties.”

You know better than to argue with your Alpha, so you let your head just fall backwards into the pillows again, sighing softly when you feel his soft touch moving slowly to your pussy. James immediately pushes one of his digits into your tight entrance, followed by another. Your walls are tightening around him, making it almost impossible for him to move his fingers inside of you.

“Alpha, you won’t fit,” you whine, already struggling to take his fingers. But luckily your Alpha knows better and when it doesn't fit he will make it fit. He pushes his fingers deeper into you, curling them before he pulls them slowly out of you. James always hits your sweet spot with his digits, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

“We will make it fit, look how well you take my fingers. Doing so well for me, doll. Taking them like the good, pretty omega you are for your Alpha,” he says, leaning down to press his lips against your clit, then sucking softly.

Your eyes widen, the pleasure immense and you aren't sure if you ever felt something like that before. But you’re almost sure you never felt so good before, his fingers hitting all the right spots inside of you, while he sucks at your clit, turning you into nothing but a whining and moaning mess underneath him.

Pussy clenching and throbbing, while he brings you closer to the edge. You feel the knot in your stomach growing, and before you can say anything to warn James he speeds his fingers inside of you up, his lips never leaving your clit while he enjoys your soft moans, the way your pussy squeezes him and especially the way you press your legs together but get stopped by his broad shoulders.

With a loud moan you come over his fingers, moaning loudly while he never stops moving his fingers, thrusting them in a steady yet fast pace into your tight pussy. James fucks you through your oragsm, his mouth dropping to your entrance, his tongue working into you next to his fingers.

"Alpha, too sensitive,” you whine but still pushing your hips forward to meet his tongue and movements of his fingers. He chuckles against your skin, continuing to eat you out for a moment longer before he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. Then he sits up, his beard slightly glistening because of your arousal, and it makes him only hotter, especially when his tongue darts out to take everything of your cum that's still covering his pink, plump lips.

“Mhm, you taste delicious, could stay between your legs all day so I could have your sweet taste all day, and you moan, you sound so good when you moan for me like that.” With one movement your Alpha gets off the bed, he opens his belt and pushes his pants down, followed by his boxer briefs.

James rock hard cock springs free, his red time leaking with pre-cum and James isn't just long, he is also thick. A vein running along the underside of his thick shaft and you have the urge to slide a finger or your tongue along it. You want to taste him too, want to have all of his cum down your throat but even more you need him deep in your pussy.

“Like what you see, ‘mega?” He asks, walking closer to the bed again, in his hand he has a condom you didn't even realize he had in his pocket. James gets in between your legs again, sitting on his knees, his dick resting against his stomach. Your eyes on his length, while he opens the package of the condom and pulls it out, rolling it down his cock.

James looks at you with an intense stare, smirking when you wiggle lightly underneath him. He spreads your legs further apart, placing himself perfectly in between them before he grasps the base of his length and moves it over your clit and through your folds to your entrance.

You’re moaning loudly, arching your back to get more of him but he slides his cock up to your clit again. He loves the soft, desperate whines you make when he teases you. When you’re all needy and almost cock drunk but he doesn’t give you his dick just yet.

“A—Alpha, please,” you whine, your hands looking for something to ground yourself which ends up being his arm and the bed sheets. You’re so in need of his cock, of him. You don’t mind that you sound like a desperate slut because right now, you only want him to fuck you already, make you feel so good.

“Love when you beg, sounding so sweet and so fucking desperate. Go on, beg for my cock, omega,” James growls, his chest rising and falling and his eyes widened, filled with lust while he looks at you. He wants you to beg for his cock, he needs it — even though it’s hard to resist you he wants to hear your soft whines and whimpers.

“Alpha, please. Please, need you so bad, need to feel you. Your cock, please,” you cry out when he slaps the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.

With a chuckle he brings his cock to your entrance once again. The leaking tip pressing against your entrance and you suck in a deep breath when he pushes into you. You moan, your pussy is being stretched in a way it never was and you feel some tears falling down your cheeks when he pushes further into you.

Your Alpha looks the whole time into your eyes, his one hand reaching up to wipe the tears away. His lips trailing along your jaw before he reaches your lips and kisses you desperately but still soft. “Shh, it’s fine. I will make you feel so good once I’m inside of you completely.”

He pushes his cock slowly into you, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He would love to take away all the pain but the only thing he can do is fucking you slow and soft so he won’t hurt you more. You nod your head, fingers digging into his soft skin.

“Doin’ so well. Yeah, almost inside, ‘mega. You feel so good, such a good girl,” James praises, earning a soft smile between moans and whines. He eventually pushes completely into you, his balls resting against your ass.

The stretch hurts slightly but his hands stroking your sides and his cock twitching inside of you causing the pain to fade away and turn into pleasure. He kisses down your neck, waiting for you to adjust to his cock and giving him permission to move.

“I—I think you can move, Alpha,” you say quietly, blushing softly. He grins at you and moves his hips back, his thick length sliding almost out of you. When it’s only his tip that’s still inside your pussy he thrust forward once again.

James’ thick, veiny cock is moving in and out of you, causing a feeling in your stomach you never had before — at not as intense as it is now. The alpha groans against your neck, he tries his best to not just grasp your hips and fuck into your like a wild animal.

Your pussy is squeezing him so much, he feels like he is going to come in just a few seconds when your walls grip him as tightly as they do. Your alpha is already addicted to the feeling, loving your sweet sounds and the feelings of your fingers digging into his skin to ground yourself.

“Good girl, take my cock like the good omega you are,” he says, throwing his head back the moment your walls clench around his cock, sucking him deeper into you. “Look at you, being all greedy and desperate for my cock, huh?”

The smirk on his lips is adorable and wouldn’t you feel so embarrassed about the fact that you want him to rail you until the bed breaks you would have smiled back. But your thoughts of him slamming into you, running you wander through your mind and you can’t help but moan when you look at him.

“Please, move. Need you, need it so bad, please, Alpha,” you whine, eyes rolling back when he pulls out of you once again.

You don’t have to ask him twice. James pushes forward with more force this time, earning another moan. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix and your eyes widen. The Alpha feels better than a toy or your fingers could make you feel.

His thrusts speed up, he fucks you with such force that even the bed is starting to move and hits the wall with every movement forward. James’ fingers are interlaced with yours, pressing your hands down next to your head. While your fingers dig into the back of his hand, he digs his fingers into the bedsheets.

Your pussy is literally grappling his cock and holding him inside of you. The base of his cock swells with every thrust, every moan and every whimper. The moment he feels his knot growing more he pounds into you harder.

“Fuck, doing so good. Giving you all my cum, omega. Fuck, fuck—“ he groans, looking deep into your eyes. He doesn’t want to come before you do or at least with you, but he is so close and he can’t hold back anymore.

With a smooth movement he brings his hand down your front, reaching your clit and pressing against it before he smirks and rubs it. It’s all too much for you, his cock hitting your sweet spot every time he pushes into you and his talented fingers rubbing your clit bringing you over the edge.

“Please, come with me. Please, need you to come inside of me, need your cum. Please, Alpha,” you beg, coming all over his cock with a loud moan. Your pussy is squeezing James dick harder than before, holding him in place while he comes into you, his knot holding his cock buried deep inside of you while he still moves his dick as much as possible inside of you.

With a low groan he comes inside of you, his seeds shooting out and into the condom. He pants but smirks at you, admiring your sweaty skin, glistening but still looking so soft.

“Good girl, you were so good for me,” he mumbles, kissing your neck. You just lie there, your fingers running through his soft hair while he kisses your soft skin. When you both come down from your highs he slowly removes his cock to throw the condom away.

Back next to you he lies on the bed and pulls you on top of him, smirking when you squeak in surprise. He chuckles softly and earns a soft giggle from you too.

James' arms are wrapped around you, your head placed on his chest, while you listen to his heartbeat. His fingers draw small circles on your back while you both still calm down from your orgasm and the intense but good sex.

“Feelin’ better, ‘mega?” He asks, looking at you with his perfect steel-blue eyes. The wide smirk on his face and the slight blush on his cheeks causes a tingling in your stomach.

You nod, kissing his chest. Your eyes meet his and you get lost for a moment. James leans closer, his lips capturing yours and you sigh softly into the kiss. And he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, groaning about your taste.

He smirks, leaning back and pulling you closer. Your scent is intoxicating and he just can’t get enough of it. But the feelings and thoughts he has when he is around you scare him — he never wanted to be closer with someone, and even though you’re his mate he is still unsure how to feel about that.

“Have you ever thought about being with an Alpha, being his?” He asks, turning to face you. Your chin is placed on his chest when you look at him, narrowing your eyebrows while you think about it.

Have you ever thought about being close to someone? Being marked, claimed by an omega which would mean you belong with him forever. You nod your head slightly and Bucky's eyes widen. “I’ve thought about being claimed by someone who isn’t my true mate.”

“Do you want it? To me claimed by another Alpha who isn’t your mate?” He asks, his eyes glistening with curiosity when those words slip over his lips.

“I would because you can be a dick. And you don’t want to be with someone more than a night. So I kind of regret that I lost my virginity to you — but you helped me with the pain of my heat so I’m grateful, though,” you say, earning a low growl from the Alpha.

No Omega has ever talked to him like that, calling him a dick. He has one — a huge, pretty cock — but being a dick? He just doesn’t want to be with an Omega just yet, right? This with you was also only because he wouldn’t like you to suffer with your heat but it was one time, wasn’t it?

“Have you ever thought about it? Claiming an Omega?” You ask, curious about his answer. But he only shrugs, smirking at you. You turn your head, getting some rest from the exhausting sex the two of you just had.

Bucky sighs softly, his fingers still sliding over your skin while he thinks about your question. He has never really thought about it, too young to think about claiming an omega. He wants to have fun with whoever he wants to have. But seeing you so peacefully sleeping in his chest, the way you moaned and looked when he fucked you and when you came — when you screamed his name — seeing you every time after school when he goes to his dorm, being cuddled up with his Omega?

The next day Bucky goes back to the way he was before the two of you had sex. A dick and flirting with every Omega he likes. He isn’t even looking at you, only avoiding you.

For a moment you thought he had changed, that the two of you could be more than just classmates but now he shows you again that he is just an Alpha who doesn’t manage to leave his dick in his pants.

You walk into the classroom, Bucky's standing next to the door with an Omega who almost drops on her knees to suck his cock in front of the whole class. “Like being called a slut, huh?”

The girl nods, and looks up at Bucky, earning a low chuckle when he turns around and makes his way to his seat. You’re lowering your head when he passes you, not wanting to see those beautiful blue eyes or those soft, plump and kissable lips of his.

The girl is giggling when she takes a seat next to her friend, talking to her while they both look every now and then at Bucky. You feel a harsh pain flowing through your body and this time it's not your heat. This time it’s to see your Alpha flirting with someone else and acting like he doesn’t even know you, like the two of you haven’t had sex.

“Good! Then we talked about the difference yesterday,” your teacher interrupts your thoughts. You don’t know what they talked about yesterday and your heart is aching so bad that you don’t even want to listen to it now.

You turn your face to the window, looking out, while you try to ignore every noise around you. Actually you would listen to the teacher, would write down some notes but with the heavy feeling in your chest you just want to go into your bed and cry. Cry about Bucky and being nothing but a toy for him. You should have known but he was so cute that there was the tiny thought he could be more than just a dick. Why does your mate has to be such a dick, he could be like other ones and be nicer but he has to fuck every omega he can reach and who is filling to let him fuck them.

“Y/N? You look really distracted today? Are you feeling oke or do you want to go out for a bit?” Your teacher asks but you only shake your head. You suddenly feel every pair of eyes on you and you just want to make yourself as small as possible to escape all those gazes while your cheeks heat up.

A low groan behind you causes everyone to look immediately away from you and back to the teacher who nods with a smile on his lips.

Bucky groans frustrated, not used to feelings like he has right now. Everyone looking at you like you could be their prey makes him go crazy. No one is allowed to look at you like that, right? But why is it bothering him? He doesn’t even feel something for you, he helped you out with your pain caused by your heat and now he can fuck whoever he wants. But there is that part in him — the Alpha — that tries to stop him from hurting you more, the pain in your chest mixed in your scent and he can smell it.

He can smell the changed scent, he feels guilty for hurting you like that. For causing so much pain in your chest but Bucky just can’t be with someone just yet. He wants to go to parties and hook up with whoever crosses his way during the party, he wants that, doesn’t he?

The whole lesson you’re quiet, not even looking at the paper in front of you. Blue eyes piercing in your back and Bucky’s jaw is clenched when he sees a classmate moving closer toward you. His hand rests next to yours and when he talks to you you look at him, smiling softly. Another low groan leaves his lips, how can he dare to get close to you — to Bucky’s omega..

“Want a drink after school?” The Alpha next to you asks and smirks at you. You shake your head, maybe you should just move on with another Alpha or just pay attention to get good marks but since the sex with Bucky you can’t push the feelings away. “Who hurt you, pretty girl?”

“No one, just not in a mood to get a drink,” you grumble, placing your hand on his arm. He nods, placing his hand on yours and you shiver slightly when his soft skin touches yours.

The loud sound of a chair crashing against a table and a fist punching hard on the surface of a table causes you all to turn around. Your eyes widen when you see Bucky standing there, fixing the Alpha who has his hand on yours, narrowing while he inhales deeply.

“Take your hands off of my Omega!” He growls, surrounding his table to get closer to the other Alpha who’s hand is still on yours.

“I’m not your Omega, Barnes,” you hiss, freeing your hand anyway and get up from the chair. Every pair of eyes is on the two of you. Not even the teacher interrupts you, while you step closer to Bucky and lift your hand to poke a finger against his broad chest. “Don't call me that! You haven’t claimed me and you have shown me damn well that you just want one fuck.”

He groans, grasping your hand and pulling you against his chest. You smell his beautiful scent and you just want to lean more into him, but he was hurting you and now he acts like you’re his omega, and no other Alpha could be with you.

“Don’t talk to me like that, ‘mega!” He demands, his grip tightens and you hiss. You try to wiggle out of his grasp but he only tightens it and pulls you even closer.

“You’re a dick, Barnes,” you growl, lifting your other hand to slap him across his face. His eyes widen and he suddenly lets go of you. You immediately turn around and take your stuff, pushing him to the side and walking out of the room.

Everyone is looking at Bucky, his cheek red and he is sure your handprint is visible. He looks at you while you walk out of the room he then gets back to his seat and lets himself fall down. The teacher clears his throat, getting the attention of the students and continues the lesson.

You’re rushing through the hallway, not sure where to go. The feelings inside of you boil, almost ready to burst out. You can still feel Bucky’s hand around your arm, his scent in your nose while you groan quietly.

When you finally find a little corner where no one is immediately seeing you you sit down, pulling your legs closer and wrap your arms around them. Then you place your head on your knees, looking through the floor — at least the part of it you can see.

Tears building in the corner of your eyes, slowly falling down your cheeks and you sob quietly. Why is your mate such a dick? Fucking you, being all sweet and then being such a dick. You can’t even talk to other Alphas because he is jealous but he is flirting with Omegas like he would fuck them immediately.

The rest of the lesson the brown-haired Alpha is staring at the other Alpha. Still annoyed that he dared to touch Bucky’s omega. He really doesn't know what happens with his feelings and his thoughts but he knows that the Alpha in him has to take care of his Omega. And the thought of some other Alpha seeing you whimpering and moaning while they push their dicks into your tight cunt makes him go crazy.

When the lesson ends he immediately pushes his stuff into his bag, throwing it over his shoulder and walks out of the room. He doesn’t walk much before a fist hits his face and his head is thrown to the side while someone is pressing him against the wall behind him. His back aches as well as his cheek and nose when he grasps the shirt of the person in front of him.

“You fucking idiot. Gonna punch you so hard that you can’t even remember your own name,” the Alpha in front of Bucky says. “Think you can play with her, huh? Gonna cut off your cock!”

Bucky’s hands are still fisting the shirt of Brock Rumlow while he tries to turn them both around so the other Alpha is pressed against the wall. “You don’t fucking know anything. She is my Omega so take your hands off of her!”

“And you treat your Omega like that? You’re a pathetic Alpha, Barnes,” Rumlow growls, freeing himself and walking away from Bucky.

The brown haired boy is panting, his eyes slightly widened when reality hits him once again. Rumlow wasn’t wrong, Bucky acts like an idiot but he just can’t handle the feelings he has for you — scared of being a shit Alpha for you, scared of being with someone.

He inhales deeply even though there are so many different smells but he can still smell you — intense and he can say you’re not feeling too good. Since he doesn’t want someone to listen to the two of you, he waits until the next lesson starts before he makes his way to you, knowing that you’re sitting in the corner, hiding yourself.

When you smell him your body tenses and your sobs stop for a moment. Hoping that he just walks past you but when his heavy footsteps stop just around the corner you shift further into the corner. Bucky bends down looking at you with his pretty ocean blue eyes and you whimper when he reaches his hand out to touch you.

“Come out there, ‘mega.” He says, softly but still demanding. You shake your head, ready to bite him when he comes further toward you but he doesn’t. He only groans frustrated, then he stands straight again and walks a few steps forward. “Come out there. NOW! Don’t like to repeat myself, Omega!”

The sudden change in his voice makes you whimper. Bucky sounds not as soft and patient anymore, his tone is rough and demanding. But you really don’t feel like you want to follow his orders, he isn’t you’re Alpha and he hurt you, so why should you be a good Omega for him now — especially when you’re not even his omega.

“Leave me alone, idiot!” You hiss. Your body tenses even more when a lower groan as you have ever heard before is leaving his lips. But you still don’t want to get out of the corner. You want to be alone or— “I would prefer any other Alpha instead of letting you touch me once again!”

“Shut the fuck up and come here! I’m your Alpha and you’re going to listen to me,” he says, trying to calm himself down. He actually just wants to talk nicely to you but your attitude and the knowing he hurt you causes impatient in him. He just wants me to be there for you, take care of you like an Alpha should do that for their Omega.

“Fuck off, Alpha. You’re an fucking idiot and I don’t wanna talk to you!” You almost shout. It’s not true, you want to talk to him, you want him to hold you, to kiss you, to love you — to make you his Omega.

“Doll, please. I’m sorry, can you please come out there. I just wanna talk with you,” he tries again, this time his voice so soft and caring that more tears fall down your cheeks. Why can’t Bucky always be like that? Sweet and lovingly.

“But stay away and we’re not going to talk in the hallway,” you say, grasping your bag and getting out of the corner. Bucky looks at you and a soft smile forms on his lips when he sees you but it immediately fades away when he sees your red eyes and the wet trails down your cheeks.

He just wants to hold you tight, wiping your tears away but he knows when he walks further to you without you allowing him you won’t talk to him. His heart is aching but he tries to push it to the side, waiting for you to walk into the direction you want to go to talk.

You turn around, walking toward the dorms and Bucky follows you like a lost puppy. When you stand in front of the door of your dorm you turn around. “Or do you want to talk in your dorm?”

Bucky shakes his head, he doesn’t mind where you’re going to talk as long as you let him explain why he acted so shitty. With a nod you open the door to your dorm and let him walk into it as well.

“What do you want?” You ask, voice cold and Bucky’s eyes widen slightly. A cold shiver running along his spine when you talk to him like that. You’re letting yourself fall down on your bed, moving to the headboard while he takes a seat on the other side of the bed.

“I love you, and I can’t stand the way those other Alphas look or touch you. That smile, the joy I saw in your eyes yesterday,” he mumbles, looking at his hands while he sighs deeply.

“Shut up and leave those words for one of your other bitches! You used me like a fucking toy,” you say, narrowing your eyebrows. “You can fuck any omega you want to fuck but don’t play with me!”

“I’m not playing with you—“ he tries to say but interrupts himself when you raise your eyebrow and turn your hand into fists, jaw clenching. “Omega! Calm down!”

Even though you don’t want it, the Omega in you immediately reacts to his order and a soft whimper leaves your lips. He hums when you pull your legs up and wrap your arms around them, placing your chin on your knees and looking at Bucky, but avoiding his eyes.

“I would never play with you. But my feelings— I never had those feelings before and it scares me,” he admits, running his fingers through his soft hair. His eyes are looking for yours but you just don’t want to look into his eyes — don’t want to get lost in those beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“James, please. Can you keep all those words for someone you really mean it? I won’t stop you from fucking whoever you want. I will get my shit together and try to find someone who takes care of me during the heat,” you mumble. Tears suddenly build up in the corner of your eyes before they fall down your cheeks. Fuck! Why do you have to cry just yet? When he is there and tries to get closer to you — to play with you again?

Bucky sighs, he moves closer, ignoring that you told him to stay away from you. His hand captures your chin and he moves your head until you have to face him. He is so close, his breath hitting your lips and you want to lean into his touch, you want to feel those pink lips on yours. You want to feel the warmth of him, his sweet touches but you don’t want him to use you as a toy.

“I know you think I played with you but I didn’t. I just never thought I could feel the way I feel for you now. The only thing I did was fucking but then there was you. You had your heat and the Alpha in me — the one that belongs to you — wanted nothing more to comfort you, so I did. I took care of you but then there were suddenly so many feelings, so much I actually always pushed to the side,” he says, inhaling deeply. He didn’t know he could say that much about his feelings and still hasn’t said nothing at all.

“It was nice that you—“ you start to say but he interrupts you with a low groan. One that causes your pussy to clench and your feelings to go even crazier. Bucky smirks, smelling your arousal but as fast as his smirk appears it disappears, it’s not the right moment to just smirk at the person he loves but hurt so much.

“I wasn’t finished yet, ‘mega.” His voice is rough and kind of demanding that you stay quiet until he finishes talking. But at the same time it sounds so soft like he doesn’t want to scare you. “College was for me a good place to still my needs but I love you. I really do and for the first time since college I don’t want to fuck someone. And yes, the omega I talked to earlier wanted me, but even though I can be good in dirty talk with anyone, I wouldn't have fucked her. I just wanted to forget those feelings but I just want to comfort you — comfort my Omega. You belong to me, even though I never showed you before. But please let me do it now.”

Bucky didn’t expect you to shake your head but when you do his eyes suddenly darken and he growls. He tightens his grip around your chin, causing you to whimper quietly. He is so dominant that you just want to give into him but what he doesn’t know you haven’t shook your head because you meant no, you just wanted him to let go of your chin so you could talk properly — without muffled sounds or squeezed cheeks.

When you shove Bucky by his broad chest away you almost moan. His scent is intoxicating and his broad chest, high defined muscles underneath the fabric of his shirts lets the Omega in you show more of itself than you actually want it right now. He looks at you with a confused gaze but lets go of your chin.

“Let me talk before you growl at me, boy!” You say, earning a warning look from him which causes you to swallow harshly. “Sorry, Alpha. If you wanna prove that you can be different show me but that doesn’t mean I will be doing what you tell me! I’m not one of these omegas you fucked and then thanked you.”

“You will thank me for it too,” he says, darkly with a smirk on his face. When you just raise your eyebrow he immediately nods and moves closer toward you. “Sorry, ‘mega.”

Your eyes widen and you blink, unsure if you heard him right. Did he just apologize? James Bucky Barnes apologized by an Omega? His hands slide to your back and he caresses your skin softly but your muscles tensing and Bucky sighs. His blue eyes are piercing in yours and you feel a shiver along your spine when his hand doesn’t stop moving up and down your sides and back.

“Want it to make up to you, show you that you mean more to me than all those other girls,” he says, his hands letting go of you but find their place a moment later on your cheeks. He pulls you closer and just before your lips meet he waits for you to break the distance. His tongue slips across his lips, causing them to glisten slightly. “So shy, ‘mega, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s teasing makes you giggle softly. You didn't want to give in to him just yet but his scent, his touches and the way he looks at you are just too adorable to push him away. “Not shy, James!”

He groans about the name, wanting you to address him properly or at least with his nickname. “Doll,” he warns, raising an eyebrow and causing you to giggle even more. “Don’t tease me just yet.”

“You said you wanna make it up to me, so it’s part of it, James,” you say, lifting one of your hands to poke two of your fingers into his broad chest. He groans frustrated, nodding his head and lowering it just a moment later for you to kiss him. You chuckle, fingers sliding to his neck and you scratch softly over his soft skin, causing him to shiver underneath your touch.

“Can I kiss you now, ‘mega?” He asks, tilting his head slightly to the side. Bucky captures your cheeks with his hands, smiling softly. You suddenly smirk mischievous, a thought just plopped up in your mind and a way he could make things a bit up to you, when he does that.

“Choke me, Alpha,” you mumble, exactly knowing what kind of effect your words have on him. A low growl leaves his lips and he raises an eyebrow at you, then he smirks.

“You think you can demand things, omega?” His voice is low and sounds rougher as usual, causing you to shiver lightly. You nod your head though, the smirk never leaving your lips while your Alpha shakes his head in amusement. One of his hands sliding to your neck, his fingers slowly curling around it and digging softly into your sensitive skin.

“Harder, or are you just a little sub?” You tease, causing him to groan once more. His grip tightens and he pushes you back until you hit the headboard of the bed, swallowing harshly.

“That's what you like? Choking with my hand around your throat, why not choking by my cock in your pretty mouth?” He asks, chuckling softly when you whimper and press your tight together. “Yeah, that's what you like, having your Alphas cock deep down your throat.”

“B—But as much as I love it, I want you to make things up to me first. And we could start with a date,” you say, trying to push the thoughts you have away. Deep down you hope that the two of you end up in bed, he is on top of you, very soon because his cock feels just too good.

“Oke, how about we make a movie night, I bring all the snacks? And maybe I will claim you,” your Alpha says, smirking at you, still only inches away while he waits until you allow him to kiss you. He never lets an Omega decide that much but he has a crush on you for so long and the night with you, the Alpha in him — Bucky needs you, he loves you and he doesn't want to mess things up once again.

You nod, leaning even closer. Bucky's tongue pokes out, wetting his lips before he tilts his head further to the side. His eyes light up and the smile across his lips widens when you nod your head softly. Bucky breaks the distance between your lips, pressing his soft, plump once against yours. His one hand is still tightly wrapped around your throat, while the other slides down to your waist. You run your fingers through his soft hair, making him sigh softly about your soft touches.

He is addicted to you, and he will prove that he can be the one you deserve, who loves you more than everything. He wants you to show you that he loves you, showing you that his words, his feelings are real — that he really means when he confessed his feelings, knowing that you feel the exact same way he does.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @loki-laufeyson68 @winterschildren8 @bxtchboy69 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @nervouseden @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel @mrs-katelyn-barnes @sasha-writing @blackhawkfanatic @fanfictionreaderfan @multiversefanfics @angelbabyyy99 @looking1016 @aphrodite-xoxo

[realcube]

UNCONVENTIONAL PLACES

unconventional locations you have sex with the hq men (aka anywhere but bed)

characters ♡ (all aged up) oikawa, daichi, sakusa and ushijima

tws ♡ fem! reader, oral (receiving), vaginal, degradation if you squint — minors dni!

OIKAWA doesn't think there is a point of owning a hot tub if you're not going to use it to the fullest extent. you say you'd be lot more comfortable if he bought one for inside the house, but here you are, happily bouncing away on his cock in your outdoor hot tub without a care in the world for who might hear. he's sat with one arm relaxed around the edge of the tub and the other placed on your hip, guiding you up and down, a smile playing on his lips as he watches the ripples and bubbles foam up against your waist. putting in so much effort just to get him off, so selfless — he can tell it's taxing by your breathless moans and your juddering shoulders — you're so good to him. he wants to reward you, but a part of him thinks that allowing you to use his dick to split yourself in two is reward enough. but hearing your shamelessly lewd moans and watching your perky ass bounce against him, he just can't resist — your his dream girl, after all; you deserve everything he has to give. his other hand suddenly moves to claim a steel grip on your waist, holding you in place while he shoots his load inside you. it's messy but he'll ask someone to clean it later. this wasn't the first time he's creampied you in a tub and it definitely won't be the last.

DAICHI can't quite put his finger on it but there's just something about seeing you so sweet and domestic, innocently putting the laundry in the dryer with your hair lasily throw into an updo and an angelic smile plastered on your face (you were thinking about what he was going to do you tonight). you'd both got the day off work so you planned to spend the whole evening together but he just couldn't wait, he needed you now. he couldn't even hold himself back long enough to rush you to the bedroom or the living room first, he had to take you right then there. he had you bend over the rumbling dryer, his large hand tangled in your hair, utilising his strong grip to push your face against the cold plastic surface. the whole machine shook, and so did your body, as he pounded into your from behind repeatedly, all while your throbbing clit was pressed against the vibrating machine. naturally it didn't take long before you came. unfortunately daichi didn't have the extra stimulation provided by the dryer but that was alright, as he knows he has you; such a good wife who will let him rail her in any hole he wants until he's dry.

SAKUSA knows there is nothing better than his sweetheart when she's all soapy and bubbly. now, don't be fooled: he will lead you to believe it's a hygiene thing and he prefers you when you're clean but he's so whipped, he'd fuck you after you ran a half marathon then jumped in a murky river. no, he likes you in the shower for purely aesthetic reasons; there's nothing hotter than you with wet hair clinging to your cheeks, while soap and rippling water cascades over your perfect figure. such an ethereal delight you are. he expresses that by trailing fleeting kisses down your torso but of course he doesn't stop when he gets to low. instead, he's on his knees on the rough tiles of the wet room with his face buried between your legs. water runs down your body, and with his mouth connected to your cunt, it spills over his face, mixing with the beads of sweat forming on his skin and your slick that drips off his chin. his tongue thrusting movements and nose pressuring your clit doesn't cease until your legs have given out and you're moaning uncontrollably, sinking to the ground against the wetroom wall.

USHIJIMA has been stressed about upcoming international volleyball championships. it all training, training, training with him and it has been that way for the last couple weeks. you can hardly get him in bed with you, he's always on the court — so like the problem-solver you are, you decided to bring bed to the court. ushijima had a wing built on to the side of your house which was one big volleyball court, he was practising spikes and serves on his own while he waited for his teammates to come round. he wore that intense look on his face that never seems to dissipate recently. you saunter up to the other side of the net, a volleyball tucked under your arm, wearing a swedish adlers kit that you had cropped to all hell, "may i join you?" you tease in a sing-songy voice and that's all it takes. before you know it you're bend over on the floor, volleyball tucked between your thighs and stomach while ushijima rams into you from behind. usually he's a gentle giant but not today; if you're going to come onto the court while he's practising and act like a whore then he's going to treat you like one. he's rough and grabs you by the ass and tits and thighs to manhandle you into whatever position he likes; front, back, upside down if he really wants. this total control and recent sexual frustration contributed to his climax before your own, and as soon as he has shot his load inside you, he pulls out, a mixture of your fluids spilling out of your hole in the process. glancing down at your dishevelled state, he grunts, "clean this up. they're going to be here soon."

[h0neylevi]

“Shit shit shit shit shit—“

The sound of your hurried footsteps follow the string of curses as they travel like an echo down the hall, but Levi doesn’t so much as look up from the kitchen sink.

He had tried to get you up earlier, tempting you with the promise of freshly brewed coffee and a hot breakfast, but you insisted on five more minutes. Then inevitably, five more turned into ten which turned into fifteen, and now you’re rushing to get ready and out the door on time for work.

Now he’s had to improvise–turning your breakfast into something portable you can eat on the drive. It’s a skill he’s had to perfect over the years of living with you. To say that time management wasn’t your strong suit would be an understatement. So, Levi moves on to packing your lunch, listening with a small grin at the sound of the tap of your toothbrush against the bathroom sink, followed by clothes hangers being slid back and forth in the closet as you rush to find something suitable to wear to work.

“Have you seen my black turtleneck?”

“In the dryer.”

He schools his expression into something more mild when you finally round the corner a few minutes later, knowing that you’re already stressed about being late. Smiling at you in an I told you so kind of way would only sour your mood further.

“I slept right through my alarm,” you say.

All five of them, plus his gentle prodding to get you out of bed. He doubts you were even conscious enough to remember him trying.

Your eyes flit to the coffee pot to find a travel mug already filled and waiting for you, right next to a neatly assembled wrap that you can only guess is your breakfast. Your expression visibly softens at the sweet gesture.

“Your lunch is packed too,” Levi says, motioning to the insulated lunch bag sitting on the opposite counter.

Even though you’re pressed for time, you step forward to embrace him.

“Thank you, Levi,” you say into his shirt. “You’re a lifesaver.”

His arms wrap easily around you, but there’s lighthearted reproach in his words when he says, “You say that like I don’t have to do this every other day.”

“Well, if you hadn’t kept me up so late last night, I wouldn’t be rushing.”

He shoves you away then, not forceful enough to indicate you’ve said anything to upset him, but you can tell that the mention of the night before has provoked him by the subtle shade of pink that spreads across his cheeks.

He clicks his tongue. “Pervert.”

You lean back a little, still lightly clinging to his waist with a grin. “You’re weren’t saying that last night when my lips were wrapped around your—“

Levi’s palm claps over your mouth before you can finish your sentence, but it does very little to muffle the sound of your laughter that follows.

He leans into you a little, his other hand anchored to your waist to keep you close. “You’re going to be late.”

Deciding he’s endured enough for one morning, you pull away and go to gather your breakfast. “Yeah, yeah.”

You carry it into the next room and Levi quietly follows, your lunch bag in one hand and travel mug in the other.

“I’ll stop by the store tonight,” you say as you gather your coat by the door. “I saw this really good recipe last night that I’d like to try for dinner.”

Levi simply nods. Dinners are usually your preferred meal to cook, so he’s not surprised you already have something planned. “Sure.”

When you get your coat on, he hands you your things, then finishes off with a quick kiss.

After years spent co-existing together in your apartment—sharing everything from body wash to toothpaste and clothes—you would think that having his lips on yours wouldn’t still elicit such a strong feeling, but it does. It’s a wild and frenzied sensation, forming in the pit of your stomach before it swoops like a flurry up into your ribcage.

You linger by the door, starting to regret not getting up earlier so you could see him a little longer. “Thank you for getting my things ready.”

Levi nods again. “You’re welcome.”

When he leans against the doorframe, you take the moment to press another kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

A mixture of minty toothpaste and the familiar scent of your perfume swirls in the few inches between your bodies, and Levi has to take considerable effort to not lean in again.

“You’re going to be late,” he reminds you for what feels like the nth time.

But despite that, your feet stay planted in the doorway. “Say it back and I’ll go.”

“I love you too.” He rolls his eyes, but relents just the slightest bit and kisses you again. “Now, go.”

[moonstruckme]

Love love love the roommate james series! Thank you <3

Me too lovely! Thank YOU <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Lightning strikes outside the window just before your laughter reaches James. He perks up, an electric current skittering down into his fingertips. He’s glad no one’s around to witness the way he swivels around on the couch to look out the window, searching for the source of the sound. 

Your key is in the lock a moment later. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run up and grab my umbrella?” you ask someone outside as you walk in. 

“No, thanks,” a male voice, sounding just as jovial as you do, responds. Without thinking, James stands up. “What’d be the point? I’m already soaked through.” 

“Seems like it’s really coming down out there,” James says, stepping into the doorway. You look over as though you hadn’t realized he was there. You’re sopping wet, hair dripping onto the floor and work clothes clinging to your body in ways James takes care not to notice. The man outside is similarly drenched, looking cold but remarkably happy as he takes shelter under the small awning outside your door. “You alright, mate?” 

“Good,” he replies, looking at James like he’s not sure if this is someone he’s supposed to be able to place. “And yourself?” 

“This is James,” you say, “my roommate. And this is Art, we work together.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” Art sticks out a hand, shaking James’ firmly before retracting back out onto your doorstep. “I’d better get home,” he says to you. “See you Friday?” 

“Yeah.” You nod briskly, giving him a small smile as he turns around and goes. James shuts the door after him with a definitive thud. 

“Christ, love, aren’t you cold?” He fights the urge to set his hands on your arms and rub warmth into them. His friends are so touchy, it’s a bit difficult to adjust for someone who isn’t. 

“Yeah,” you admit with another little smile (James likes this one better, though he’s unsure why). Now that you’re standing still, you’re beginning to shiver. “Could you maybe grab me a towel from upstairs? Sorry to ask, I just don’t want to track water in.” 

James is already moving. “Don’t be sorry,” he chides as he climbs the stairs. 

As he looks for where you keep your towels, he can’t stop thinking about the thrilled way you and Art had looked at each other. Your ringing laughter outside the door. He’s happy you feel comfortable enough at your job to laugh and have fun with your coworkers, but he’s a bit hurt that you don’t seem to feel the same sort of ease around him. James has managed to coax a few smiles from you since he moved in, and a decent amount of laughter, too, but more often than not it comes with some resistance. He’ll catch you trying to conceal a grin, cutting your laugh off before it’s really begun. Then you’ll look at him like you’re embarrassed for being caught in a joyous moment. As if they’re something to be bashful about, and not something that lightens James’ heart until it threatens to float off and take him with it. 

He ends up grabbing both the towel and that giant sweatshirt you like, tossing the latter in the dryer on his way back to you. 

“Thanks.” You reach for the towel, but James wraps it around your shoulders himself. 

“Don’t mention it.” He breaks, giving the tops of your arms a couple of good rubs before stepping back and letting you take over. “Do you want something warm to drink?” 

Your eyes light up, but then you purse your lips. “I’m fine, thanks.” 

James gives you a look. 

You must really be in a good mood, because you crack easily. “Fine, a hot cocoa would be night-making,” you admit, grinning at him again. He wouldn’t be surprised if his chest was actually, visibly glowing. “Thanks, James.” 

“So,” he asks, hating himself just a little bit, “why did Art walk you back if neither of you had an umbrella?” He flicks on the kettle. 

“He lives nearby,” you reply. “We actually walk home together fairly often, whenever we’re both working at night.” 

James feels a stab of guilt. Of course, it makes perfect sense that you’d need someone to walk with you when you’re leaving work after dark. He feels stupid and inconsiderate for not thinking of it. 

“That’s nice of him,” he concedes. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of walking you home before. I could always come and get you.” 

A pause. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to. And please don’t be sorry, it’s not your issue to think about.” 

It feels like his issue. He wants to think about it. “Still. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, but for Art it’s on his way home. You’d have to go both ways.” 

James doesn’t care. For reasons he doesn’t understand and refuses to reflect upon, he wants to be the one who makes sure you get home safely. That’s got to be a typical roommate responsibility, right? 

“You forget, I have a car,” he says, pouring the hot water into two mugs. He stirs in the cocoa mix. “I could drive both you and Art, if you’d like. Could have saved you a lot of trouble on a night like tonight.” 

“I actually really love the rain.” Your voice sounds clearer, and James turns around to find that evidently you’ve dubbed yourself dry enough to walk around. You’ve squeezed most of the moisture out of your hair, but your lashes are still clumped damply. Your face shines. “We ran because we were worried about our phones, but it was fun.” 

“Well, glad your impending hypothermia was worth it.” He starts to push your mug towards you, then pauses. “Oh, wait just a second.” 

He quickly goes back to the dryer, getting out your warmed sweatshirt and bringing it to you. Your face when you see it makes James wish he had a camera, your eyebrows hooking upward and lips actually parting like he’s brought you a kitten rather than a sweatshirt. You’re truly in rare form tonight. 

“Oh my god, thank you.” You start to position the hole over your head, then hesitate. “Actually, would you—” Your bottom lip goes briefly between your teeth, a flash of that shy girl he’s been seeing less and less of lately. You wrap your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I should probably take my wet clothes off. Would you mind turning around for a minute?” 

“Oh—yeah, of course.” James does. He covers his eyes for good measure, smiling to himself when he hears your amused little huff from behind him. Then there’s the wet sound of some item of clothing hitting the floor, and his smile fades. He can hear your skin shushing against fabric, your quiet breaths, the tiny sound you make when your clothes stick obstinately to your skin just for a moment before you peel them off. James feels somewhat warmer than he did a minute ago. 

“Okay, you’re good.” 

He turns around, and you’ve already got your hot cocoa in hand. Your sweatshirt hits at mid-thigh, sleeves covering the better parts of your hands that aren’t wrapped covetously around your mug. It takes a great deal of willpower not to look at the clothes piled on the floor and see if your underwear are among them. 

“This is really good,” you say, somewhat awkwardly. You’re looking at James bemusedly, used to him being the one who talks. 

He jumps back into his role. “I don’t know why you sound surprised. It always is, when I make it.” 

James leads the both of you into the living room, plopping down on the couch. You, of course, have the option of going upstairs to your room, but he knows you’ll follow. You sit down carefully, tucking your knees under the hem of your sweatshirt and resting your mug atop them. 

“So,” he says, reaching forward and unsticking a piece of hair from your eyebrow. You fluster but let him, and he smooths it behind your ear, “are you the type of person who likes to stay in and watch films when it’s storming, or do you only enjoy running about in them?” 

You hum into your hot cocoa. “I like a film.” 

“Perfect, then it’s your pick this time.” You start to protest, but James holds firm. “No, you’ve bullied me into picking the last three. It’s time to start pulling your weight around here.” 

It takes you a bit longer to relent, but finally he gets you to admit to a preferred film. As the intro credits are playing, thunder cracks outside, and an excited little shiver has you bringing up your shoulders. A smile, seemingly unconscious, ghosts over your lips. James grins in response. Cute. 

[luveline]

Hiiiiii!!!!!!! I recently got back into criminal minds and devoured all ur hotch fics like a MANIAC (you write. So unbelievably well. Im also in love w ur tasm peter stuff, you are just such a good writer thru and thru) and that one request where Jack calls reader mom for the first time really stuck w me so I was wondering if maybe I could request smth of the opposite? Like not-so-single mom!reader and hotch have been dating for a while and her lil girl calls him dad for the first time :3 🖤🖤

thank you for requesting! 💌 —your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time. fem, 2k

“Come in, come in!” Hotch says, the door held ajar by his arm, forcing you to squeeze in and save the heat. “Quickly, honey, please, get out of the rain.” 

Sarah bursts in through the door and away from the rain, her vinyl coat covered in raindrops, her boots wet with mud. “Aaron!” she says, pulling it into something softened and excited at once, though her ‘r’s are weak, closer to ‘w’s. “I missed you.” She jumps from one foot to the other. 

He makes sure you’re safely inside before he abandons you. It’s not very kind to you, but he can’t help himself. “Sarah,” he says, without your daughter’s sweetness but heavily fond, “I missed you more, honey. How many days has it been?” 

“Four!” she says, holding up four fingers as Hotch grabs her by the waist. 

He doesn’t mind her wet coat, working an arm around and beneath her to shuck off her muddy shoes. They topple to the ground to unveil damp socks. 

“Oh, no, your socks are wet. I did all the laundry while we were waiting, I have some warm ones for you in the dryer. Should we get you out of this coat?” 

“Where’s Jack?” you ask. 

“Eating. He was starving, couldn’t wait.” 

You kick your shoes off and gather them with Sarah’s to line up by the door. Hotch takes off Sarah’s coat with some one-armed manoeuvring, aware of her smiley gaze following his every move. 

“I,” you say, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, cold lips to his rough skin, “am gonna go to the toilet really quickly. Hi, handsome.” 

He savours your kiss and watches you go. He owes you a better greeting, he missed you just as much as he missed your girl. For now, he wipes the cold from Sarah’s cheeks and stations her comfortably on his navel. 

He loves her like his own. He’s privileged to get the opportunity, and it’s hard not to feel that low level of awe whenever she’s around, because she loves him the same way. Sarah waits for him to smile before she wraps her arms around his neck, long enough to twine her fingers in the short hair she finds there. 

It’s funny to love someone you had no hand in bringing into the world, but no less real. He’d do anything for Sarah. I miss you doesn’t cover it, but it’s a start. “I missed you,” he murmurs, not well-versed in baby talk but always willing to try for his kids. “It’s so nice to see you. Jack missed you too, should we go see him? I can change your socks.” 

He ushers her back enough to see her. She has such loving eyes, not shy at all as she nods her head. “Can you make crackers?” 

He beams. “Oooh, yes. Crackers and cheese and apple slices, I know what you want, honey. It’s ready for you in the kitchen.” 

Things weren’t easy at first for either you nor Hotch. He works too much, and you both have priorities that can’t be shifted, but the connection between you was easy. Love, undoubtedly, pretty much the moment you met, even if it scared him. He never thought he’d get a second chance and he’s not sure you thought you’d find yours either, and yet loving you has been as helpless as loving your daughter. He doesn’t have a choice and he doesn’t want one. 

In this time, you’ve found routine. He’s introduced the idea of moving in together and you’re excited for it, though concrete plans haven’t been laid. There’s a lot of questions and no need to rush into answering them yet. He has no intentions of letting you go now —Hotch will do anything it takes to keep his small family. 

Today, right now, that’s crackers. 

“Sarah!” Jack says when he sees them, jumping off of his chair to climb on top of it. He holds his hands out and Hotch leans down with a loving laugh to let his son hug her. “You’re back!” 

“I’m back,” she agrees. 

“Do you want some of my sandwiches? Daddy made me two.” 

“Yes!” she says, wiggling to be put down and given what he’s promising. 

Hotch fights to take her to the sink and wash her little hands, to her horror and whining. He says, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wash your hands before you eat.” 

He puts her in her own chair, and it is Sarah’s chair, outfitted with a big pillow so she can see the table and marked by a pink star sticker, putting a placemat in front of her. Jack quickly pushes one of his sandwiches towards her. “There you go.” 

“Thank you, Jackers,” she says. 

Hotch smiles. Despite their different interests and ages, they’re quick to get along. 

He shouldn’t pry while you’re in the bathroom, but he worries about you. “Honey?” he calls up the stairs. 

“I’m just changing!” 

“Yeah? Can you bring some socks for Sarah, please?” 

You shout back something incomprehensible. He returns to the kitchen, where Sarah looks over the chair with pleading eyes and asks, “Crackers?” a piece of lettuce stuck to her chin. 

“Ah,” he says showfully, turning to the fridge to grab the plate of crackers, sliced cheese, and apples he’d Saran wrapped an hour ago. He peels off the wrapping and places it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. Do you want anything else? Maybe some chips?” 

She laughs and grabs a piece of apple without answering him. 

“What about you, sweetheart? Drink?” he asks Jack. 

“Yes please, daddy.” 

Hotch makes Jack a cup of orange juice and Sarah a sippy cup, hers diluted some with water. He places them down in front of the kids, crouching between their chairs, intending to stay and chat. “How’s that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to listen for your light footsteps on the stairs.  

“Thanks, daddy,” Jack says. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Sarah echoes, reaching for him. Hotch offers his hand, startled, not quick enough to hide it. She doesn’t pay any mind to his expression, pleased to have her hand held and her big plastic plate of crackers to munch on. 

“Why’d you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you ask, passing him Sarah’s socks, and rounding the table to stand by Jack's other side. “Hi,” you add, ruffling Jack’s hair, “look at you, gorgeous, you got your hair cut.” 

Hotch rubs Sarah’s knuckles, trying to phrase it, not sure how to tell you with the kids still there. Will Sarah feel embarrassed if he brings it up so swiftly? Will she feel like she’s done something wrong? Will you? 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He decides to present you with the situation. He’s not manipulative, but clever. “Mommy got your socks, too. Can we take these cold ones off, is that okay?” 

“Yes, please,” Sarah says.

You watch in confusion. Hotch gives you a quick look. Trust me for a second. 

He eases the socks off of her feet, laughs when she laughs at his tickling, even if he’s not quite sure how to feel. Happy, he gives her toes a squeeze and bunches a sock up to pull it over her heel and up to her ankle. “One,” he says, repeating the process with the same tenderness. “Two. There we go, all warm again, Sarah.” 

“Thanks, daddy.” 

You breathe in. 

Sarah puts some cheese on a cracker and offers it to Hotch, who eats it while you summon him away with silent parent talk. He kisses her forehead and wipes it clean as he goes. 

“Did she do that when I was upstairs?” you ask quietly. 

Hotch knows you. Loves you, but knows you intrinsically. He knows just by looking at you that you’re happy, but you’re worried about something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is: he might not want Sarah to call him daddy, and telling her not to might break her heart, and yours too. 

“She did.” 

“She’s never… expressed that interest to me.” 

“Sometimes they think about things more than we know.” Jack still surprises him as he did when he was a toddler.

“She just loves you,” you say. 

“I love her. She can call me whatever she wants to.” 

You hold his wrist, taking a step closer to him. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure.” He murmurs now you’re close, ducking his head to yours, two halves of the same heart looking at one another’s hands. “I love her more than anything in the world. I want to make her crackers for the rest of my life.” Hotch puts his index finger to the soft skin under your chin. “Maybe by tomorrow she’ll forget she called me daddy and she’ll never say it again, but… I want her to. Is that okay?” he asks. 

You lean up to kiss him and you nod into his lips, which makes it hard but not impossible to kiss back. “She loves you so much,” you say quietly. You’d only wanted a quick peck. 

He might’ve said he loves her more than anything, but there’s a level on which he holds her and Jack where you sit too. He loves you. You made Sarah who she is all by yourself, and you’re so lovable standing in his reach. You’re perfect. 

Maybe he’s feeling sweet because Sarah called him daddy. 

“I think Jack confused her,” he says. 

“Maybe. You are, you know, her dad. You do everything a dad would.” 

Hotch slots his leg between yours and leans back to force you into his favourite kind of hug. You laugh slowly, hug the same, your arms sliding up over his shoulders to wrap behind his head, your hand cupping his hair. 

He closes his eyes and feels your waist. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he says. 

“I don’t worry about you and Sarah, I know you love her. I guess I just worry about us. Not that you don’t love me, Aaron.” 

“Big changes,” he guesses in a whisper. 

“Big changes.” 

He encourages you away to hold your face. He hopes that waiting with you in quiet for a while can explain it better than words. 

Your shoulders finally relax. 

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader

Amends, Simon learns, are harder to make than he thought. 

At first, he tries to catch you in the hallway, or in the lobby of the building. It’s started to get cold, and you’re not out on your balcony much, so he resorts to sulking around like building like a ghost, miserable and downright creepy, waiting. Watching. 

He begins to memorize your routine. It's not intentional, just a hazard of his profession, but he can't help but work everything you do into a schedule that looms at the back of his mind. What time Emma wakes up, what time you usually take her somewhere with you on your lunch, what time the sound of your dryer buzzes to signal it's cycle complete, what time you turn the TV off and the lights go out for bed. Knowing your schedule so well relaxes him, makes him feel reassured, and he waits for every part of it with bated breath, ensuring you're home and safe with each mental check in.

He tries to sync with you, run into you in the hall or outside the building somewhere, but you're elusive, and at night, before he falls asleep, he resorts to daydreaming about a future where he didn't screw everything up, and you already lived with him. Where you shared a bed with him, where Emmaline slept in her room down the hall. Where he has his girls under one roof with him, his roof, safe and tucked away from the rest of world. He can't fall asleep without it now, this daydream, and sometimes, if he's lucky, it stays, gracing his subconscious with beautiful false memories, the kind that linger a little, in the morning when he opens his eyes.

Still, he can't have any of it, dreams or reality, without making amends.

His first real try, after the initial failure, is when he manages to catch you in the lobby. It's right before your lunch is usually over, and he strategically positions himself to enter the building around the same time as you would. Emmaline is in your arms, and when she catches sight of him, she squeaks, swinging a chubby little fist in his direction. You look over your shoulder at whatever has caught her eye, and when you see him, your face twists, smile shifting into something full of apprehension and worry.

“Hi.” You say, when he gets close, inching towards you like you might run off. Emmaline coos, arms stretched out towards his body, and he lets his hand drift, pointer finger finding the grasp of all five hers, wrapped around him.

“Hey.” I miss you, he’s desperate to say, I’m so sorry. But nothing comes out, and something sad stretches across your face when Emma smiles so big at him.

His phone rings, loudly. Johnny. When he looks back up from the screen, you’re gone.

The next time he tries, is in the supermarket.

You’re pushing Emmaline in the buggy, leaning forward to talk to her in the soft little baby voice that you make, and he stops himself at the end of the aisle, just out of sight. You look exhausted, eyes tired, moving slowly, and his heart aches.

“What about some yogurt?” She bobs in the stroller, and you smile. “Yeah! Yogurt! It’s good huh?” You're not paying attention at all, not cognizant of your surroundings, or his proximity to you. If he was someone else, someone who wanted to hurt you, take you... it'd be a non issue. The back door less than ten meters from where your back is turned, someone could have you incapacitated and vanished before you even knew what was happening. His stomach flips uncomfortably just imagining it, anxiety tossing his breakfast around, everything in him screaming at him to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again.

You turn the corner to his position, still focused on the baby, half paying attention to where you're walking. You manage to glance up once, right before you nearly run into him, and you jerk backwards in confusion, surprise. "Hey."

"Hey, sorry. I uh... wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"That's alright." He scrounges around in his empty fucking head for something else to say, before landing on: "How are you?"

"Oh, good. Alright, yeah. We're... we're alright."

"That's good." There's a beat of awkward silence, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine." Just do it, he screams at himself. Just say it. "I've been thinkin' about you." Your eyebrows raise.

"You have?" What? Of course I have, sweetheart. You're all I ever think about now.

"Yeah. A lot, actually." He says softly, like you're not standing in the middle of a grocery store, in between the hustle and bustle of everyone else. "I ah... I know this really isn't the place but I wanted to talk to you. It's... I have something I need to tell you. Are you... free tonight? Can I make you dinner?" He practically rushes it out, like water from a spigot, flooding free, too fast and without aim. It's a cautious request, more of a hopeful thing than anything else, and when you take so, so long to respond, he prepares himself for the disappointment.

"Okay." You whisper, with a nod. "Yes. We... we're around tonight."

[fairyysoup]

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?” 

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 

Cocky bastard.  

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 

“Yeah, not too flashy.” 

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 

“Good girl.” 

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.” 

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

[evieolo]

Panty Thief

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Contains: SMUT!!/ Male masturbation / Handjobs / Male!Receiving

“Chris, can you check if my laundry’s done for me?” You call from behind your door, catching his footsteps in the hall. Chris sighs dramatically, his voice loud enough for you to hear, and stops at your door, pushing it open. “Why can’t you do it?” He proclaims, shooting a playful glare your way. He’s dressed in low-cut gray sweats and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a mix of shirts and hoodies, folded messily in his hand.

You stretch your arms out, feigning tiredness. “I don’t want to get up.” You yawn, draping your comforter more over your torso and immersing yourself further in your social media. Chris sighs, realizing since he has to do his laundry he has to get yours out of the washing machine. Begrudgingly, he heads to the laundry room, as if he wasn’t already on his way there.

The smell of fresh laundry fans Chris’ nose as he walks into the dull room, a boring room contradicting the rest of the house, with white walls—no decor, only a window with a drapy shade over it that, on sunny days, beams light into the room, the only exception of furniture being the washer-dryer.

Chris inhales, shamelessly breathing in the fumes of your coconut-scented detergent, a scent he’d grown happily accustomed to after your many years of friendship. In Chris’ mind, you had an excessive amount of clothes. You’re not a messy person if you subtract clothes from the mix; your room is always littered with your latest clothing hauls, mixed but in separate piles from your dirty laundry. When he’d gone down to the laundry room an hour ago your clothes were cycling through the wash; still now you now had one snug load to the side in a circular hamper. The hamper adjoined the running dryer which had a second batch of clothes in it.

He approaches the shaking dryer slowly—there are two minutes left in the cycle—he might as well stay in the room while he waits for yours to finish.

Chris absentmindedly picks up the detergent you use and out of boredom reads the many labels on the bottle, giving up when he reads too many ingredient words with over twenty letters in them; the bottle’s sticky at the top where Chris holds it, he doesn’t realize this until it's slipping out of his fingers. The detergent bottle falls from his hand and spills into the hamper of your clean clothing.

Chris curses silently and snatches the bottle off the haphazard mix of clothes. He sets the bottle atop the drier and inspects the pile, pulling the soiled short on top of the pile off, wincing at the damp stain. He presses a palm to the next shirt down, realizing detergent did seep past the first top. He lets out a dramatic sigh of frustration and pulls the shirt off the top of the pile—discarding it into his basket of dirty laundry, deciding he’ll wash it with his own clothes and return it to you afterward.

He peeks to the pile of your laundry now without your baggy T housing the rest of the apparel. An orange piece catches his attention. It’s his favorite color, plus, he’d never seen you wear this specific shade before. He’s curious.

Chris saunters back to your hamper and pulls the orange bottoms out of the basket. He flushes when he realizes the bottoms are not shorts. They’re panties, peachy orange with a navy frill along the hems.

The man practically freezes in place, the panties were innocently simple—nothing relatively showy but they were his favorite color. There had to be some meaning to that. Right?

Chris runs his wrist along the hem of your bottoms, meshing the fabric of them between his thumbs. The fabric is light and delicate, almost weightless to touch, running his fingers over the hem he feels the jagged texture, so thin it's almost translucent.

He imagines how they’d sit on your hips; flaunt the curve of your ass. The thought of this—of you, shifts the looseness of his pants and he feels a recognizable stiffness arise against the fabric of his boxers.

“Chris?”

You enter the room tauntingly and Chris mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He realized he’d look like a pervert in any situation so he quickly bunches your panties in his fist and pockets them.

Your eyes narrow as you realize he neglected your request and didn’t tell you that your laundry was done, “What have you been doing down here for the past ten minutes?” You ask skeptically.

Chris’ features flush red and he sucks his teeth, his mind blank of any witty remarks. He pauses for a second before speaking, “Wishing your laundry would disappear…Okay, but seriously, why do you have so many clothes?” He whines, alleviating the tension he’d created in his mind.

You laugh, opening the dryer that’d just finished its cycle with a ‘click’

“You’re just mad that I have style.” You rebuttal, a wide smile on your face.

“Mhm”

Chris swallows harshly, standing stiffly as he watches you bend down to spoon your clothes out of the dryer. His eyes focus on the curve of your ass, the way you teeter on your knees to reach the clothes in the very back. It’s not soon before he feels harsher tightening in his abdomen.

He mentally curses himself. Asking himself if he seriously got a boner from watching his best friend do laundry.

Chris makes a light grunting noise—his begrudging goodbye—before he leaves the room. You turn your head at the diminishing sound of footsteps. “Chris, I thought you were doing your laundry?” You press, curious as to why he’s leaving so soon.

Chris continues out of the room, only turning his head slightly to respond to you, “I-I’ll do it later.” He stammers, making his way up the stairs making a beeline to his bedroom.

When he reaches his room he’s flustered, his cheeks are red and you’re running through his mind. There are only two things he can think of: your ass and your panties.

Your panties that are in his pocket.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds your undergarments again. The sight of the frill only turns him on further, making his hard-on tent his pants. Chris curses under his breath for the nth time before retreating to his bed, shooing away his self-accusations of him being a ‘pervert’ and deciding to do something about his boner.

He sits on his bed, scooting back against the headboard and shimmies his sweats down, pushing the band of his boxers down to reveal his hardened-cock.

Feathering a hand down to his base, he groans a sigh from the pressure his hand brings. He pumps his length upward, coaxing pre-cum from his angry tip, smearing the drops in liquid down his base as he pumps himself; picturing you as he does so.

He imagines you—bending down for him instead of a washing machine. How your hands would wrap around him, your small hands; small but oh so gentle. And fuck, those panties, he wished he could see them around your hips, how they would flaunt the curve of your ass perfectly. He’d push the cloth to the side and fuck you with them still on.

He palms your pocketed bottoms, pushing them against his cock and thrusting against the fabric, hips roiling into his hand as he moans your name.

“Fuck Y/N, fuck, yeah just like that.” He whimpers, rutting against his hand so desperately he doesn’t realize how his door creaks open.

“Chris, did you take…” you pause, unsure how to ask if he knows where your missing undergarments are, “Uhm - did you take something from my laundry bin?” You question shyly, too embarrassed to blatantly admit you can’t find your favorite panties. Your eyes are down, and you teeter on your heels, until you grow impatient with Chris’ lack of response and look at him.

Your eyes widen, and you yell out a loud “Fuck!”, meekly covering your eyes with your hands and turning away.

Chris then notices your presence, his jaw drops and his cheeks burn bright red. He tries to shuffle under his comforter, but it's to no avail; he’s sitting on top of it.

You continue to conceal your vision with your hands, only peeking through a small crack at his face until you realize where your panties are. Wet and bunched up in his hand. Your mouth falls slightly ajar in surprise, and you stop hindering your vision.

“Chris, were you jerking off to my underwear?” You ask wide-eyed.

Unsure of what to say, Chris simply nods out a quiet “yes.”

Chris stays silent. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows harshly. “Are you going to stand in my doorway like that for the rest of your life?”

You take this as an invitation to join him in his bed, sauntering to the bed’s foot, and kneeling yourself onto the mattress, crawling over his sprawled-out legs and leaving your hand dangerously close to his hard-on.

“Can I?” You hum, meeting his eyes. He nods eagerly, watching you intently. “If I had known you were this big I would’ve done this a long time ago,” you coo, feathering a hand down to his needy tip and running a thumb over in a circular motion. With this, Chris leans back and lets out an opened-mouth moan.

“Fuck Y/N,” He sighs, lazily running a hand through his hair as you start moving your hand down his shaft. Running your palm up and down and squeezing gently once you reach the tip.

“Wanna suck you off, baby.” You hum, pressing a kiss to his tip. Chris shivers at the contact, groaning at the sloppy peck, “Please.” He whines.

You puff your cheeks out, readying yourself for his size and kitten lick his tip before wrapping your lips around him, sinking your head down slightly to test the waters before speeding up a bit, filling the room with sounds of erotic spit and Chris’ loud groans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Chris moans, knotting his hands in your hair and pushing your head down further every time you bob down. The sound of your lewd gagging nears Chris’ orgasm.

Looking at you sets him over the edge, the way your back arches towards him, to get easier access to him, how tears prod your waterline every time his dick hits your throat, the hums you let out as he knots your hair tighter and tighter.

His dick twitches in your mouth, signaling to you his upcoming release, and before you can get a breath through your nose, he's rutting his hips into you, pushing your head down to his base, breathing heavily, as his cum sloppily trickles into your mouth.

He holds your head down sternly as he comes down from his high, pushing you down against his base. When he releases his grip on your hair, you pull back, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Holy shit.” Chris mumbles, threading his fingers through his hair. You straighten your spine, positioning yourself back in a sitting position on your knees and meet eye level with Chris.

He smirks when you meet his eyes. Your face is red, and your throat is sore from the way his tip bruised your pharynx. Chris watches intently as you wipe his dripping cum off the corners of your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Where’d you learn how to suck dick like that?” He heaves, a playful undertone to his words.

“I dabble,” You smile, shrugging off his question as you give him a crooked smile.

Chris pauses for a second, opening and closing his mouth twice before he actually speaks, “Why’d we do that?” He asks, pinching his eyes shut in embarrassment.

You sense his awkwardness and scoot closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Chris, this doesn’t have to change things between us; best friends fuck all the time.” You say, delicately pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Chris meets your eyes, pulling his boxers back on to leave him less exposed. “You can’t call me your best friend after sucking the life out of my dick.” He laughs.

Meeting his gaze you fold your arms in your lap, “If I shouldn’t call you my best friend, what should I call you?”

“How about boyfriend?” He winks, shifting off the bed and heading for the shower stopping to toss you your dampened panties. “Can you wear these for me tomorrow?”

[jmstoesblog]

Trapped

Pairing: Yan!stalker!jungkook x fem!reader

released: 11.08.24

Warnings: kidnapping, chasing, hunting, possesive behavior, obsessive behavior, unprotected sex, sex in the woods, blindfolded, eating out from behind, kissing, hickeys, pet names, degrading, praise, hair pulling, slapping, reader gives in, edging, spitting, whipping (one time), the story takes a dark turn at the end, meanie Jk, lmk if I missed any!

Note: I kinda rushed it at the end but I still hope you liked it <3 keep in mind that this a one shot

————

“Oh baby,” he laughs, “come out. If you come out now, I won’t go that hard on you, sweetheart.” He coos, trying to convince you to leave your hiding spot.

Your heart is pounding so fast, you’re so scared, you feel like passing out. Currently you’re hiding from your stalker— Jungkook.

It started with sweet notes and flowers, delivered to your doorstep to expensive gifts to him texting you and telling you to keep your distance from a guy, you’ve gotten close with. To him forcing you to wear a necklace, which had a tracker in it, but you didn’t know that.

To him stalking you and not trying to hide it. He would follow you everywhere you went. Wether you went out shopping with your friends or visiting your parents.

You haven’t told anyone ‘bout him. Not your friends, parents or co- workers. Mainly because he threatened you.

On your way home from a late convenience food run, he pulled you into an alley, clasping his hand over your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

He dragged you to his car and shoved you in it. Once he got inside, he fastened your seatbelt and wore a mask, “what the hell, you motherfucker! Leave me this instant—“

You couldn’t yell at him anymore once gas filled your lungs and you passed out.

“You scream too much,” Jungkook mutters and caresses your hair.

He takes off his mask and starts driving towards his destination.

————

You groan as the pain hits you, your head is paining so hard and your muscles feel limb, “where am I?”

You stand up from the bed and immediately fall down, “why can’t I feel my legs?” You mumble, panic taking over you.

You struggle to get up but once you do, you start taking a look at the room you’re in. It’s a big room, with no windows unfortunately but it has a king sized bed with silky black covers, a mirror above the bed. The wall behind the bed is painted black, the rest of the walls are white. A walk in closet and you notice a door. You walk towards the door but stop in your track when you hear water. It’s a bathroom.

Somebody is in it.

Somebody is taking a shower.

The humming comes to a halt and the faucet gets turned off, that’s when you start breathing heavily and start backing away from the door.

You run to the main door and try opening it but to your luck, it’s locked. You bite your lip and start thinking, “I should pretend like I’m still passed out.” You mumble and run to the bed and lay in the exact position you where in when you woke up. Hopefully he will leave the room and leave it unlocked so you can escape.

After a few minutes you hear the bathroom door open. You can hear your heart pounding so fast. Footsteps are heard, you assume he walks to the walk- in closet to put on his clothes.

Once he gets dressed he leaves the room.

“That is my chance.”

You run to the door eagerly but stop abruptly when you hear footsteps, “shit!” you think to yourself and run to the bed again.

You hear a light chuckle before the bathroom door closes again.

You hear the blow dryer go off, “now it is my chance.”

You quietly run out and down the stairs, the house is so big, it’s complicated. You try finding the door to freedom but can’t, “fuck him and this house….” You mumble and finally find the door.

You sigh in relief and your eyes lit up seeing the door.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” an arm wraps itself around your waist from behind, and you’re pulled back, bumping into a buff chest.

A strong cologne fills your nostrils, looking down at your waist, you see a big, tattooed hand wrapped around you. You feel his breath hitting your nape, your hair standing up.

You gulp and slowly turn your head around, to look at your kidnapper.

Your eyes almost fall out of their sockets upon looking at his breathtaking face.

Cute big round eyes, pillowy soft lips, a cute mole under his lower lip, cute cheeks, a scar on the right one.

Magnificent.

A chuckle brings you out of your trance.

That’s when your realize. You’re in your kidnappers arms. No matter how handsome he is, this is wrong. He kidnapped you.

“Who are you?” You try freeing yourself from his arms, “what do you want from me? Why—“ he places his forefinger on your lips, silencing you.

“You talk too much.” He draws his face closer, “I will answer all of your questions once you eat, alright?”

If you want answers, you have to….. eat? Your kidnapper is offering you food?

“Come.” He whispers softly, taking your hand in his big one. He takes you to the kitchen you saw earlier. The whole kitchen is back— which honestly gives off his vibe. You obviously don’t know him, he kidnapped you! But from what you’ve seen while searching for the door to escape. You saw his living room and kitchen, they’re black too— all the furniture and he has a few portraits hanging on the walls, which give off a dark vibe. You saw some red too (the furniture, no blood).

He makes you sit at the little table, it’s a classic glass table. It’s squared and has exactly two black chairs.

“I cooked your favorite!” He places down your favorite dish. How does he know that? Who is he?

For all you know it could be poisoned, your kidnapper sits down in front of you and lovingly smiles at you, “don’t worry, I didn’t poison it.” He take a spoon full to prove himself, slowly you start eating it.

The whole time while you’re eating, he is staring at you. You just keep looking down, you don’t dare to look at him. He might be sweet to you, but his eyes they scare you. They’re cute and big and round but they’re so dark.

They look sinister.

“I’m done eating, will you tell me now?” You carefully ask. You don’t wan to provoke him or push his buttons, you don’t know what he’s like. For all you know he could just be pretending to be ‘nice’ to hide his true self.

“So,” he begins, putting his chopsticks down, “my name is Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook, and you are here because I want you to.”

“….what?” Confusion is clearly written all over your face, “you can’t just kidnap me!” The confusion turns into rage, Jungkook just sighs and stands up, “I didn’t kidnap you, I took what’s rightfully mine, which is you. You’re mine, you belong to me and only me.”

This man is delusional.

“I’m my own person! I belong only to myself!” You also stand up. Jungkook chuckles lowly to himself before walking over to you, caging you between the wall and him, “that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on the wall, “I own you, mind, body and soul.” He devilishly smirks.

————

It’s been four days.

Four days of you being locked up.

Four days are enough to tell you, this man is mentally unstable.

After yesterday’s incident in the kitchen, he locked you up in his room, like a prisoner. He would bring you your meals and sweet talk to you but you would just ignore him.

That raged him, but he tried not to snap at you. He knows if he yells at you, you wouldn’t talk to him ever, so he tried to be patient, but you’re giving his patience a run on thin ice.

It’s been four days.

Enough is enough.

He barges in his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t see you on the bed, he knocks on the bathroom door. You don’t answer.

He grows nervous. What if you escaped? There’s no way you could’ve gotten out of the room. It doesn’t have any windows, he locked the door, he took the key with him.

He starts breathing heavily out of anger. He already is angry. He gave you enough time to accept him and you just ignored all his efforts. You’re lucky he loves you or else he would have killed you.

“Shit,” he walks towards the door. In the corner of his eye he notices something shiny black, looking down he sees a bobby pin.

He lowly chuckles, picking it up, he keeps it in his pocket, “you’re so done, y/n.”

————

“Where do I go??” You pant as you run aimlessly in the woods.

You feel like you’re running in circles.

You suddenly stop running and stand completely still.

“I know you’re here and can hear me. Games over, come out now.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you feel like crying. Quickly but quietly you run behind a tree, crouching down and putting your hand over your mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping your mouth.

“Oh baby,” he laughs, “come out. If you come out now, I won’t go that hard on you, sweetheart.” He coos, trying to convince you to leave your hiding spot.

You hear his boots walking in the opposite direction you’re in, looking behind bushes and trees, “I’ve been very patient with you, my love. But you don’t seem to like that, huh?” He laughs, “want me to go hard on you, is that it? Baby wants to get a punishment? Wants to get handcuffed to our bed and get senselessly fucked? Or yet better, wanna get fucked here in the open, for everyone to see?” The way he is talking is disgusting but still gets you wet, “wanna get stuffed full with my cock?” He continues talking in that seductive tone.

Jungkook smirks. He knows where you’re hiding, he knew all along but decided to play a little game with you. He is giving you false hope and acting like he doesn’t know where you’re currently hiding.

Nasty images flash in your mind, him bending you over and taking you from behind. You shake your head, trying to get rid of those thoughts.

Jungkook walks around a bit more and finally decides to approach you. He walks up behind you, his left hand in his pocket and the other one a few inches away from your hair, “you know I can hear your breathing, right?” He tightly grips your hair and yanks your head back, your eyes widening at the sight of your stalker standing above you, eyes dark, filled with list and that thrill. He smirks at you, “you’re not very good at hiding, but maybe at running.” He says, head tilted to the side.

Before you can ask him what he means, you’re standing on your feet, face inches away from his.

“I’m gonna give you a chance, you deserve that for all the effort.” He snickers, voice filled with mockery.

He clearly means your poor attempt at escaping.

“You can run anywhere you want, if you get to the road without me catching you then you’re free.” He closes the distance between you two, “but if I catch you…” he doesn’t complete his sentence, “I’ll even give you a thirty second head start.” He smirks.

“One… two… three… four…”

It takes you a few seconds to process his words, “times ticking, baby.” He stops counting, “or do you want that punishment? Knew you were a thirsty little slut.” He scoffs, beginning to count again.

“…five… six…”

You ignore the wetness between your thighs.

You hastily turn around and start sprinting in the direction you were originally going to.

While running you take a look behind you, he is standing there with a shit eating grin. You scoff and focus forward. Droplets of water hit your shoulders and you look above, the clouds are gray, the sun is gone and it’s starting to rain heavily. Your hair gets wet, like the rest.

You’re sure it’s already been thirty seconds, a huge smile takes over your face as soon as you see the road with cars passing by.

“Finally made it.” You smile in victory and run faster towards the road.

“You thought you could escape?” Jungkook laughs in amusement and you cry out of pain as he yankes your hair back, “let me go!”

“A deals a deal, right baby?” He smirks, “you didn’t get to the road and I caught you, you lost.”

You gasp in surprise when he picks you up like a sack of potatoes, he grips your thighs and starts walking. Your face is right in front of his plump ass, “wow, what a great view.” You mumble and look at his long legs. I really thought I could out-run him, not only does he have long legs but also looks athletic.

Jungkook starts humming a tune.

The clouds are still gray and it’s lightly raining now, “Jungk—“ “No.”

You shut up and don’t dare to say anything again.

————

“Ow!” You groan in pain when he pins you against a tree.

“Shut up.” He unbuttons your jeans and quickly shoved his hands in your panties before you can say anything, “knew it,” he smirks, eyes looking at yours, “the chase got you wet, huh?” He chuckles before bringing up his fingers, putting them in his mouth, tasting you, he hums in satisfaction.

“Sweet, just like I thought.” He whispers, his hands traveling from your throat to the hoodie you’re wearing. In a swift motion he pulls it off, leaving you only in your unbuttoned jeans.

“No bra?” He grins, raising his pierced brow.

You don’t try to fight him anymore, you just need him.

After leaving hickeys all over your collarbone and neck he pushes down your jeans, turning you around he gets on his knees, eating you out from behind.

He softly suck on your folds and you moan, rocking your hips against his face, he places his hands on your hips, steadying you and keeping you in place.

“I’m close!” You warn him once your orgasm in nearing. He is no longer going soft but harsh.

He pulls his tongue out and stands up, “I was close… why’d you stop?” You pout turning around to find him looking at you with a stupid grin on his face, “do you think you deserve to cum after pulling that stunt?” His face switches to serious.

You do not reply him, but stare at him. The rain is getting stronger and his hair is getting wet, giving him wavy hair (190811 Jk). He pushes your jeans further down, below your knees and gives you a loud smack on your aching cunt.

You gasp, clinging to his shoulders, “you’re not allowed to cum until I say so.” He spits on your chest, his spit going between the valley of your breasts.

He licks his lips and turns you around giving each ass cheek a loud smack. You whimper and hold onto the tree tightly. Your hands hurt from gripping the tree so hard but that’s the least worry you have right now.

You hear a belt ruttling in the back and assume he is taking it of or lowering his jeans.

He pushes his jeans along with his briefs down revealing his long and thick length. He takes a step closer and slaps his cock against your aching cunt.

You moan, trying to reach behind you to touch him, “ah ah ah,” he holds your wrist in a loose but not too tight grip, “no touching.” That’s all he says before tying your hands behind your back with his belt.

You feel him drap something over you eyes, “and no looking.” You desperately whine, “but I wanna see and touch you.”

He mischievously laughs, a dark laugh filled with no empathy, “you think you deserve that? Ya think you deserve to look or touch me?” He whispers in your ear, his lips touching the shell, “no baby,” he laughs, “I’m so pissed at you for being so rude to me.” He hisses, “After showing my love to you and cook for you, you ignore me? And you even tried to escape.”

“I’m going to punish you.” He growls in your ear, pulling your hair back, he chuckles when he sees tears in your eyes, “oh baby, you’re already crying? But we haven’t even started yet.” He pouts.

He tried to be gentle and sweet with you but that didn’t work so being harsh is the only solution now.

He loosens (is that even a word?) his grip on your hair and pushes your body forward, your chest is now touching the tree, your nipples grazing past the rough texture of the tree, making them hard.

He places his hand on your throat while the other hand is playing with your folds, pulling them apart and softly massaging them. Circling his index finger around your tight hold that’s just waiting to be filled with his hot seeds.

A painful loud cry escapes your throat when he pushes his hard length in you in one go. He squeezes your throat, shortly cutting off any air.

He groans in pleasure, “fuck, so tight.” He talks to himself and doesn’t give you any time to adjust and just starts moving harshly.

“I gave you food over your head, a shelter, I gave you food— fuck, I even cooked for you, baby. I provided you with everything, most importantly my love. And this is how you thank me? You run away?” He thrusts into you, hard. His painfully deep thrusts have your legs shaking.

“Ungrateful bitch.” He slaps your cunt while keeping his pace the same, hard, deep, fast.

“Do ya feel me here?” He places his hand that was previously chocking you on your tummy, feeling himself inside you.

You’re in a haze, not hearing him.

“Dumb slut is forgetting where she is.” He mockingly chuckles, he places his hands on your hips again and slows down his thrusts, not wanting either of you to come yet.

He frees your hands and whips your ass, lightly, with the belt.

You scream at the unknown pain, “stop please!” You cry out, placing your hands on the tree to support you.

He rips your dress off you.

Jungkook picks the speed up again, “too much!” You tell him.

He pushes you against him so your back is leaning against his front. You feel his abs on your back.

You moan when he hits your g-spot.

“You’re gonna take it,” he whispers into your ear, “you’re gonna take all of it. Everything I give you, yeah?”

You moan and nod your head, you’re on cloud nine, he’s fucking you so good…. You hate to admit it.

“Could be in you forever.” He moans, biting your shoulder, softly.

He smirks when you start fucking him back, “knew you were gonna give in.” He mocks you, playing with your nipples.

You start whimpering and whining and your moans are getting high pitched, that’s when he knows you’re getting close.

He is getting close too. He leaves kisses along your neck and cums into you with a grunt. Before you can cum too, he pulls out.

He strokes his cock and more cum come spurting out and lands on your ass.

You breath heavily as a sentence crosses your mind.

“You’re not allowed to cum.”

He turns you around by your shoulders and looks at your silent form, “you’re getting it now?” He asks but your focus is somewhere else.

How did he put his pants on so fast? You didn’t even hear him.

“You’re mine.” He smirks.

He picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder, all naked. With his cum leaking out of your gaping hole and his cum on your ass.

You sigh.

You

Are

Defeated.

————

Do NOT copy or translate

Thank you for reading 💕

Masterlist

[shotmrmiller]

currently doing one of my most hated chores which is laundry and it got me thinking.

It's bloody laundry day again. You've got no extra clothes to really wear apart from a loose, grey, too thin pajama shirt and the shorts it came with.

Tragic, but not the end of the world. No one goes to wash their clothes looking like they're right off the runway. And it's also far too early for the laundromat to be packed.

You'll survive.

Slamming your trunk closed, you straighten and wipe the sweat that's beaded on your forehead. Damn muggy air. Even at this hour, the weather chooses violence.

Pulling the door open, you step inside and hiss out a breath through your teeth. In here it's not any better. And there's only one big fan on, out of the many that are in here.

God you hate laundry day.

At least it looks empty.

Tucking your hair away in a makeshift, sloppy bun, you drag your dirty clothes basket to a washer and throw them in.

Next is your detergent and when you pick up the fabric softener, it's almost empty.

God fucking damnit.

And the person that sells stuff isn't in behind the desk.

Slamming the lid closed, you kick your hamper into against the washer and walk toward the cursed fan that probably only circulates the hot ass air in here. But with the way your pathetic shirt is turning damp and sheer from the sweat, and short strands of hair that are starting to glue themselves to the back of your neck, worse is nothing.

And then you're standing in the corner of the laundromat, getting hot air weakly blown into your flushed face. "Goddamn it's hot. Useless fucking fan is just here for decor, i think."

"Ah think so too."

You choke back a scream and spin on the balls of your feet to the deep, accented voice behind you.

A muscular pretty boy with hair the color of damp soil and blue eyes that sparkle brightly, even under the dim light of the place sits with his back to a washer that's currently going.

Devastatingly handsome. And you've been throwing a hissy fit for the past half hour, only to appear in front of him resembling a drowned rat.

Flatlining right now would be great.

"Damned hot in here, alrigh'. Isnae tha' so, Simon?"

Who? Oh no.

How you missed that behemoth is beyond you, but he rises from the ground like a slumbering giant. Ash brown choppy hair and dark, sharp eyes with the rest of his face covered by a black cloth mask. 6'4 at least, and built like bloody fridge.

Someone kill you now.

"Johnny."

His piercing eyes cut to you before flicking back to the man on the floor.

"Get the detergent."

"Aye." Scottish, it sounds like.

You briskly walk away from them two, face burning with embarrassment, back to the washer you're using.

Today of all days, you come across these two. You could cry, honestly.

They're there for as long as you are, and you've long since gotten past your self-consciousness. If you have to melt in this stifling heat for one more second, you just might scream.

You grab your clothes from the dryer with haste, haphazardly throwing them in your basket and with a quick, 'Have a good day!', you're out the door.

As you're about to get in your car, the scot comes bustling out the front door of the laundromat.

"Lass! Ah think these're yers."

What he holds in his hands has tears springing into your eyes.

Undergarments. Why the hell is he-

You can see the tall brit leaning on a machine, with his arms crossed and he's looking right at you.

The walk of shame to the pretty one is almost unbearable. Your trembling hand reaches for your garment. "Thank you."

He chuckles under his breath. "Anytime. See ye around."

How mortifying.

[starvail]

top ten questions science can't answer

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

content : crack, fluff, gender neutral reader, spouse!reader, going to sleep in the same bed, narumi should have his own warning, relatively short, can be read as a standalone.

a/n : will forever grieve the lost potential of my glorious bbg in the anime, if they don't fix him in season two you'll see me on international news, trust.

an extra to 'a cheers to our youth'

With each passing moment, your consciousness becomes weak to the inviting arms of peace. It beckons for you to rest and let the whisper of dreams carry you into the boundless expanse of both nothing and everything.

Documents for the week have all been completed a day early, the traffic home was lenient, and the bed sheets are fresh from the dryer.

Truly, an optimal day.

And there is absolutely nothing that can ruin this.

“Hey, you awake?”

Your tranquillity is shattered.

Choosing to ignore him, you pray that your husband does a flip while he dives off a-

“Would you still love me if I was poorly adapted in an anime?”

Sigh...

Manoeuvring yourself to face him, you hope he can see the utter displeasure he's inflicted upon you despite the only lighting being the dim backdrop of moonlight that seeps through the curtains.

“This isn’t some teenager’s fanfiction series, Stupid. Go to sleep. We both have an early start tomorrow.”

"I'm serious! Would you still love me if I was being hyped up so hard before my first appearance but the animators made me ugly?"

You slap a hand over his mouth. "Go. To. Sleep."

He licks the hand to gross you out enough to let go, but two decades of his shit has made you very well immune.

Seconds pass, and thinking that he’ll heed your words, you let him go and wipe his saliva on his pyjama top, unfazed.

Unfortunately, he opens his mouth. "Answer my question, and i'll leave you alone. Please?"

Surprised at the sincerity of his plea, you decide after a moment that perhaps indulging him once in a while wouldn't hurt.

Taking his hands from under the covers, you pull them up so that they lay just over your chests, your synced beating hearts. Loosely interlacing your fingers with his own, you savour and take comfort in the cooling chill from the touch of his ring.

Looking at him in the eyes and with as much sincerity in your voice, you whisper back...

"You're going to be ugly in every universe, whether you like it or not, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"..."

Your husband is finally silent, so you take this opportunity to peck him on the corner of his lips and burrow yourself into his warmth whilst wishing him sweet dreams, hands still intertwined.

Though, you fail to witness the way he's now withered away. With his mouth agape and a fractured heart, Narumi Gen does not sleep that night.

[moonstruckme]

Hii

I have a knee injury right now and it's really annoying cause I'm a dancer and I can barely walk right now let alone dance and I really wanted a fic if that's okay. So reader (like me) is really annoyed about her injury and Sirius or James (I don't mind which one) help her. Could you also include something about them piggybacking her up the stairs (cause I cannot go up stairs right now without dying in pain)

Thanks in advance sweets

Thanks for requesting lovely, hope you're feeling better!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 481 words

James comes into the living room and catches you red-handed with the broom and dustpan. 

He freezes, setting his hands on his hips and releasing a breathless guffaw. “Good lord, you’re tenacious.” 

“I thought,” you wheedle, “that since you’re working so hard mopping the kitchen, I could sweep in here so it’s easier when you’re ready to do this part.” 

“And I thought,” counters James, crossing the space between you in a few long strides, “that we agreed you’d rest and let me handle it.” He makes up for the snark with a quick kiss to the tip of your nose before pushing you down onto the couch by your hips. “Turn over the broom, angel.” 

You sigh, holding it out for him. “Agreed is a bit of a stretch.” 

“Your knee and I seem to be in agreement.” He stamps another conciliatory kiss on your head, firm and ardent. “I can see on your face that it’s hurting you. Just give it a bit, stop pushing yourself so hard.” 

“As if you get to talk,” you snipe after him as he goes back to the kitchen. He’d pulled a muscle in his shoulder a few weeks ago, and he’d still insisted on carrying all your groceries himself and lifting heavy things down from tall shelves like recovery was some sort of competition. 

James pretends not to hear you. 

You sigh, big and loud and dramatic, and you hear his quiet laughter from the kitchen. 

“Sorry,” he calls. “Suck it up. I never do my fair share of the chores anyway.” 

“Will you at least bring me the laundry to fold?” 

A beat, and you hear him swing open the door to where the dryer has just finished. “Sure,” he agrees. 

A minute later, your boyfriend is pouring a basket of warm laundry over you on the couch. You smile contentedly, bathed in warmth and softness, until the warm clothes on your abdomen remind you of another concern.

“Um, James?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

James sets down the laundry basket, dark brows weaving together bemusedly. “What for?” 

“I have to pee.” 

And the toilet is upstairs.

“Oh.” His expression clears. As much as you sort of wish he would treat this part like a chore, he loves doing this for you. “No worries.” 

He turns around and squats down. Doesn’t even give you the opportunity to hop onto his back, only grabs your thighs and straightens back up with a quiet grunt. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, adjusting so you’re wrapped more securely around him. 

As James starts up the stairs, he squeezes one of your thighs teasingly in his big hand. “Hope you weren’t holding it on my account. You know you don’t need to apologize for asking for a lift, I don’t mind.” 

“No, I know,” you admit. “I think you may like it a bit too much, actually.” 

Your boyfriend only hums. “Mayhaps.” 

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I’ve been on my criminal minds rerun and it made me come up with this Spencer request if you’re taking them right now! Something along the lines of the reader and Spencer being together and she becomes pregnant but he pieces it together before she does!

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok♡ 1k

cw fem!reader has a positive attitude towards her pregnancy. vaguely adult theme

"I really don't think I can go," you say, flopping down on the bed. 

Spencer laughs and shakes out the shirt in his hands, hoping the creases from the dryer will iron themselves before dinner tonight. "You always say that."

"I really mean it this time. I miss Hotch, I do, and I'm glad he's out of WITSEC, but thinking about the restaurant is making me queasy." 

"Really? I looked it up, it's a nice place. They have their Grade A, it should be spotless in there. I'm pretty sure they almost got a Michelin star." 

You groan, turning onto your side. "I looked too. The entire menu is seafood," you whine. 

"What's wrong with that?" Spencer asks, giving you a quizzical look. 

"The smell." You rub your nose against his pillow and sigh. "I don't feel good. Didn't rough me up in my sleep, did you?" 

"I would never do that," he says, putting the last of the laundry aside to sit by your hip. His hand rests naturally against the slight curve of your side, fingertips pushing the hem of your shirt up enough to steal a glance at your back. 

He wouldn't say this aloud and it doesn't matter, but you've gained a little weight recently. Actually, it does matter in that he thinks it's adorable, but he knows that telling your partner they've gained weight is a faux pas. He likes it, anyhow. It's happy weight. 

Things are so serious now but they don't feel serious. There's no solemness in your relationship, just comfort. He's putting on weight in tandem. 

"You really don't want to go?" Spencer asks. The earlier he lets Hotch know the better. 

You wrap an arm around your stomach. "Sorry, Spence. I'm so sorry, I've felt sick all day and I think it'll just be a repeat of yesterday morning." You puked before breakfast, the smell of eggs too much to bear.

Spencer feels it click into place then and there. The weight, the puking, your changing taste. Your sore chest and lower back, your sensitivity. 

He pushes you gently, a hand on your hip to encourage you down. Careful, he lays down next to you, propping his head on the pillow as he brings hand up to hold you. He can't know for sure… but if you're pregnant as he suspects, it fits. And more than that, it's insane. He doesn't know how to handle this besides wrapping you up in his arms. He'll keep you forever, if he can. 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his voice faraway. You relax completely in his arms, sliding your leg over his to lock him in. "Does your back still hurt?" 

"My chest, Spence," you lament, "it feels like I'm winded. I think I'm coming down with something. Maybe you shouldn't be near me." 

"In that case, I'm staying right here." 

You laugh softly, the warmth of it a circle on his shoulder. "I can call Hotch myself and say sorry. I'll feel better in a few days, and we'll reschedule, and I'll pay even if he tries to." 

Spencer draws a line up your back. Now or never. 

He steels his nerves, the beginning of a hypothesis hesitating on his tongue. Your symptoms in addition to your irregular period and your regular sex lives points toward pregnancy. How does he say that? How should he say it? Should he even bring it up? Perhaps he should wait until you discover it yourself. And you aren't definitely pregnant, it's just a possibility. Maybe you're simply sick—

"Hey, earth to handsome," you whisper, cupping his cheek in your soft palm. You smile as he snaps out of his thoughts. "Hey. I lost you for a few seconds, where'd you go?" 

"Nowhere. I'm here." 

Your smile gets impossibly fond. It's not dissimilar to how you usually look at him. "Are you okay?" 

"Fine. I love you." 

"I love you," you say. 

There's something about you now, this gaussian blur to you. Sunlight seeps in lazily through the blinds thick as honey, a golden kiss to your skin where you lay face to face with him, and your I love you makes him want to cry. This is all ridiculous and amazing and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to make his mouth move into the right words. 

"What is it?" you ask. You know him better than anyone. 

"I think you're pregnant." Spencer winces, though he can't beat his smile into submission. "I mean. You could be pregnant." 

"Why do you think that?" you ask, visibly startled. 

"Your sensitivity to strong smells, your soreness, your late period, to name the more obvious. That's not factoring in your worsening low iron lately, and your headaches." You make a strange sound he doesn't like. "What?" he asks worriedly.  

"I'm late," you say into yourself, looking past him as you puzzle it over. 

"It's a good thing, if you are. I mean, it's an amazing thing if you want it to be. I'm saying everything wrong. It's only amazing if you want it to be, I want it to be. But I'm on your side no matter what." He grimaces into his hands, rubbing his face with both palms. 

You sit as he panics. He clicks his neck looking up, racing to follow you, alarmed as you shimmy down the bed toward the ensuite bathroom. 

"What are you–" 

"I'm gonna take a test." 

"Wait a second." Spencer catches your hands before you can get too far, pulling you back to the end of the bed to sit down. "Wait. Is it– is it bad? If you are?" 

You look down at your stomach briefly. Anyone else might miss it, but Spencer can't not follow your behaviour, and the way you're acting now makes him think he got it wrong. That you won't be happy. 

You grab Spencer's hand. "You know, it's not funny. All our friends are gonna ask how I found out, and I'm gonna have to admit that you noticed it first." Your eyes track up his face almost shyly, and soon your smile is as blistering as his. 

Spencer bends under your weight as you jump up, throwing your arms behind his neck, your lips smashed to his ear. "I love you," you whisper urgently, "so much. This is good, right? This is really good." 

"Are you kidding?" he asks incredulously. 

Spencer takes your face into two hands and kisses you as hard as he ever has. He realises a second in that he'd much rather be squeezing you, caging you into the circle of his arms unrepentant. 

"We have a really good excuse to miss dinner," Spencer says.

He sounds close to tears. You're worse, laughing wetly as you pull him into the bathroom to take your test. 

[mockerycrow]

ON MY MIND (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist

summary; you wear kyle’s hoodie and he’s forced to confront some suppressed emotions.

[WARNINGS; gaz is a smoker & is emotionally weary, fluff!]

“Kyle!”

His head tilts a bit from the call of his name, muffled and frustrated. His eyes focused on the glass plate in his hand, his other hand scrubbing the thing with an overly-used sponge. “Yeah?” He calls back, only turning his head by his left shoulder a tad bit so you can hear him better as he’s assuming you’re not near the kitchen.

Kyle hears you shuffling around, your shoes scuffing against the floorboards. You don’t respond for a second, but Kyle knows you’re focused on.. Whatever you were doing. He puts the soapy plate in the other side of the sink in the next tub, reaching for the next dish. However, his sleeve slips down his arm a bit, getting wet and soapy. “Ah..” He cringes out loud, his lips pulling uncomfortably as he uses two fingers to tug the now wet sleeve back into place.

Kyle hears your footsteps approach from the next room, causing him to tilt his body so he can keep his wet hands over the sink whilst also looking at you. You enter the room with a frustrated look upon your face, your eyebrows furrowed and your lip curled ever so slightly curled. Kyle chuckles, unable to help himself at how pathetic you look at the moment and he knows it’s not over anything important. “What’s wrong?” He murmurs, already amused.

You’re holding up one of Kyle’s hoodies, one the ones that has his last name sprawled across the back. He blinks for a moment before you begin to speak. “I gotta run to the corner store real quick and all of my hoodies are still damp in the dryer,” You exclaim, putting the hoodie down a bit so you can look at him. “Do you mind if I wear your hoodie to walk down there?” 

Kyle’s lips purse for a moment, a weird sensation manifesting in his chest cavity as he thinks about wearing his hoodie. “Go ahead, don’t need you getting sick, yeah?” Kyle utters as he turns back to the sink, pinching the front of his shirt and pulling it from his chest as if it’ll ease the sensation. “Sick! Thanks, Kyle. You want anything?” You ask, quickly pulling the hoodie on, adjusting the sleeves.

Kyle’s back is to you as he grabs another dish, mindlessly cleaning it. “‘Course, sweetness. Grab me some crisps, won’t you?” He says, putting the.. clean(?) dish into the other side of the sink on top of the soapy plate. “Yep, I got it. Bye, Ky!”

The door shuts.

Kyle blinks, staring at the soapy water with the tightness in his chest remaining, even after your exit. He sighs slowly, pushing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes—then he shouts, because now soap is in his eyes. “Shitshit—” He hisses, quickly turning on the faucet to wash his eyes out.

Kyle never asked for his hoodie back—a part of him expected for it to appear folded on his bed, washed and taken care of and the other part wished he never saw it again except for you wearing it. You always seemed to lose your hoodies after that, or you went through your collection much faster than you previously had. Neither of you pointed it out, especially Kyle. He was quite alright with a couple of his hoodies disappearing conveniently right at the times you were planning on leaving for a store, or just an outing in general.

Something sickly sweet twists in Kyle’s gut when he sees you wearing his hoodie. It’s something clawing at his insides, gnawing at his bones—energy that makes him want to bash his head into the wall and he isn’t completely understanding why. The second he sees you wearing one of his hoodies, especially the ones with his name on it.. It’s like a little feral squirrel in his body goes wild. 

Kyle turns in his bed, groaning softly as he rubs his hand over his face, trying to focus on the coolness of his sheets as he rolls over. He thinks about Soap and Price, thinking about the night where you embarrassed him in front of his mates. Kyle stares into the darkness of his room as he thinks about how proud you seemed to be after making them laugh—how you seemed to beam at him after sharing a reassuring look.

“Bloody hell.” Kyle mumbles, his words muffled as he turns his face against the warm of his pillow, his breathing harsh for a moment. A pleasant warmth trickles into his chest as he thinks about his missing hoodies. How he isn’t able to help the giddy smile on his face when he sees you walk through the door, coming home wearing something with his name on it. His. His. His.

Kyle lifts himself from his bed, grunting as his feet hit the cold floor. He patters across the floor, quietly exiting his bedroom. Kyle’s heart thumps harshly against his chest. He shakes his head and gently slaps his cheeks as he walks down the hall towards the living room and kitchen, trying to rid himself of these thoughts—of thinking of you like that. He pauses for a moment when he hears the television on, playing at a low volume. Kyle slows his footsteps as he makes his way past the hall, coming into the living room.

The television is gently illuminating the room and he hears you before he sees you. You’re sleeping on the couch, your favorite blanket sprawled across your lap, your back and head supported by the stupid throw pillows Kyle insisted that you two needed for the couch. Your head is tilted down in a position that looks slightly uncomfortable, your lips parted—wearing his hoodie.

Kyle stares for a minute, his eyes softening as he leans forward, his fingers gentle as he takes your head in his hands and slowly but surely, adjusts the positioning of your head. Kyle watches the way your eyebrows furrow for a moment, your lips pressing back together closed. His lips twitch into a soft smile as he watches you shift in your sleep, your face leaning more into his palm.

Kyle’s heart stops for just a second before he brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, your skin hot under his touch. So warm and full of life.

His chest tightens again and Kyle carefully pulls his hand away from you, his feet quick as he grabs his cigarettes and lighter from the counter near the backdoor, escaping out the back to forget about what his feelings truly mean.

🏷️; @kivino @mlmxreader @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @ornateorchid @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @lieutenantlashfaz @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolalolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff

this is from my overall taglist which you can find here. if you would like there to be a roommate!gaz taglist, comment below! mistakenly tagged/wrongly tagged? let me know, no hard feelings.