#he can’t leave the station for more than like one hour or the whole thing collapses card-house style

[exasperatedoctopus]

Is there a man more maligned in all of Star Trek canon than Miles O’Brien? I think not. His Intergalactic Injustice And Suffering Punch Card has more holes in it than your average fishing net

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y���know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[littlexdeaths]

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: some bullying, little sprinkle of hurt/comfort, lots more smooching, underage drinking/partying, so so so much cuteness

part three | part five

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

word count: 4k

a/n: a shoutout to both @rebelfell for gifting me eddie’s costume idea and @thepurplelovewitch for shy girls! and the biggest kudos to @undead-supernova for looking this over and always encouraging/helping me to improve. <3

“Nance, if you think I’m wearing that, you’ve lost your damn mind,” you mutter with utmost distaste. 

The brunette peeks her head around the package she’s holding to give you a small pout, the other hand resting on her hip.

“Oh come on, live a little!” She sighs, putting the sexy nurse costume back onto the rack. “There is no way I am letting you sulk on your couch again this year.”

You roll your eyes but continue browsing the costumes, each one more revealing than the last. You didn’t mind spending your Halloween night curled up on the sofa with a scary movie, you were more comfortable that way. 

Besides you weren’t normally invited to such gatherings, even if you did want to go. Tina only seemed to invite you out of obligation, not because she wanted you there. 

“Well…maybe I won’t be spending it alone,” you mumble and her brow quirks up.

“Oh, are you and Eddie doing something?” she prods. 

But your shoulders sag a little, unable to hide your disappointment when you shake your head.

“I mean, he hasn’t asked me…yet.”

You continue to flick through the costumes, now too consumed in your own thoughts. 

It has been a week since he kissed you on the football field—and it’s still the only thing you can think about.

The warm press of his mouth against yours, breathes mingling together in the chill autumn air. The way his strong hands encircled your waist, brushing up against the cool skin of your cheek. The memory sends a delightful shiver down your spine, despite the suffocating warmth of the small costume shop. 

“Okay,” Nancy says with finality, abruptly interrupting your daydream. She nods her head in satisfaction. “Okay, this is the one!” 

She thrusts a costume into your awaiting arms. Once you catch a glimpse of it, you blanch before immediately shaking your head and giving it back. 

“And you’re actually insane, Nance.”

She rolls her eyes, but shoves it back into your arms anyway.

“Oh, come on, isn’t the whole point of Halloween to dress up? Go outside your comfort zone?” 

You glance down from her encouraging gaze to the costume in your hands. A woman with flowing blonde hair is smiling back at you, a black and white corset hugging her curves in all the right places. 

But it’s the pair of bunny ears perched atop her head and the white cotton tail attached to the backside of the costume that somehow makes you feel more insecure. 

“I am not dressing up as a pornstar—”

Nancy all but slaps a hand over your mouth to stop your hysterical shriek. A mother with her young son gives you both a distasteful look as they pass, the tips of your ears warming in embarrassment as you tuck the costume behind your back. 

“It’s not a pornstar costume,” she quips with a lowered voice. “It’s a Playboy Bunny.” 

You give her a look, blowing out an exasperated breath. 

“As if they aren’t the same thing?” 

By some miracle you manage to walk out of that shop a half hour later. Nancy’s promise of burgers and milkshakes fuel your last minute costume decision. But as you both descend onto Main Street, leaves crunching beneath your boots, you can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at you. 

It’s as if they can see that damned bunny costume hidden beneath the dark plastic bag, the contents weighing you down with each step you take towards Nancy’s station wagon. 

Twenty minutes. 

It’s been twenty minutes since he’s been kept waiting, and Eddie’s patience is finally beginning to run out. But the snap of a branch catches his attention, eyes darting to the trees ahead. 

Eddie is more than confused when he realizes the regular he was supposed to be meeting had bailed on him. And the person that emerges from the line of trees is none other than Nancy Wheeler. 

He quickly shuts the metal lunchbox as she approaches, taking a seat on the bench opposite of him, determination clear on her features.

“Uh…are you lost, Wheeler?”

“No,” she states flatly, swinging the other leg over the bench seat. “You’re just the guy I’ve been looking for.” 

He scratches at the stubble on his jaw, fingers tapping against the worn wood of the table. Eddie has seen a lot of odd things in his twenty years of life, but Nancy Wheeler making a drug deal was not something he ever expected. 

He glances at her warily when she folds her hands on the table, looking far too prim and proper to be sitting out here with him and his lunchbox full of weed. 

“Well, how can I be of service then, Wheeler?” he tilts his head towards the metal box, but she holds his gaze regardless. 

“I have a proposition for you.” 

He can’t help but snort, already beginning to shake his head. 

“Okay, I don’t know what rumors you've heard Wheeler, but the only type of payment I accept is cold hard cash.” 

And from the look of almost horror that crosses over her features, he instantly realizes he’s misread this entire situation. 

“Oh god, I’m not here for a drug deal, Munson!” 

It’s silent for a beat, neither of them daring to look at the other out of sheer embarrassment. 

“So, why are you here, Nancy?” he asks quietly. 

Her eyes flick up to look at him again, noting the splotches of pink rising up the skin of his neck. 

“Tina’s party on Friday,” she starts, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. 

His shoulders sag a little at her answer, arching a brow in her direction. He only can assume someone put her up to this, one of her more popular friends not wanting to be caught dead with the likes of him. Well, unless they need someone to supply the weed. 

Nonetheless, a part of him can’t help but admit he’s a little intrigued.

“What about it?”

Nancy flashes him a look before continuing. 

“There’s a certain someone that’s going to be in attendance…” she trails, biting back a smile when he instantly perks up. “And I think she would really want you to be there.” 

Eddie’s cheeks flush a rosy pink, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. While he had thought about going to try and make some extra cash, he wasn’t exactly sold on the idea. 

A costume party filled with a bunch of drunken idiots that hated his guts sounded like a goddamn nightmare. But knowing that you were going to be there? Well, that changed things drastically. 

“I’ll be there,” he asserts. 

Nancy is a little taken aback but happily surprised by his quick response. In her own way this was also a small test. A test to see if Eddie really liked you as much as you claimed he did. And she had gotten her answer. 

“Well, great!” she says, flashing him a polite smile and rising to her feet. “Be there by 10 o’clock sharp, and don’t forget to wear a costume!” 

Eddie doesn't have a chance to reply before Nancy turns on her heel and disappears back through the trees. 

Friday has finally come. 

And your stomach twists with every step you take toward the large house, the click of your heels on the sidewalk a far more steady rhythm than the beat of your own heart. Parties had never really been your thing and the only other one you’d managed to get invited to was at Steve’s house, back when he and Nancy were still together. 

So it was no surprise that you felt completely out of your element as you continued to strode up the darkened walkway. You can feel the bass pumping inside you before you even cross the threshold, wringing your hands together in a nervous manner. 

The air is thick with the smell of smoke and cheap beer, throngs of your peers in scantily clad costumes stumbling past you to the makeshift dance floor. No one spares you a passing glance as you take a step deeper into the hazy room, your own eyes seeking out your best friend. 

Her pale pink dress was surprisingly difficult to spot amongst the crowd, but it was Jonathan who you ended up spotting first. He looked out of place amongst the dancing teens, a dark blue suit hugging his shoulders as he leaned against the far wall of the living room. A pair of round sunglasses shielding his eyes. 

The Duckie to her Andie. 

Relief floods your chest as you begin to push through the crowd, the pounding bass echoing in your ears. Nancy looks surprised when she finally spots you, passing her drink to Jonathan before pulling you aside.

“Where’s the bunny costume?!” she shouts over the music, tugging at the sleeve of your cardigan.

“I couldn’t do it Nance,” you reply, wrapping your arms further around your middle. “It just wasn’t…me.”

And while you can see the clear disappointment written on her features, there’s a sparkle of understanding in her eyes. 

“Well, if you’re going to be a,” she pauses to look over your ensemble in its entirety. “…librarian,” she continues, “You at least need to be a sexy one.”

And without another word she’s pulling you into the nearest bathroom. When the door clicks shut behind her, she immediately gets to work. She reaches to untuck your button down shirt from your pleated skirt, popping open the buttons one by one to reveal the swell of your breasts.

You earn a small nod of approval when she sees you actually wore the push-up bra you had bought for your original costume. The brunette gives the lower half of your shirt the same treatment before tying it off with a knot right above your navel.

Lastly, Nancy hikes your skirt up a little higher up your hips and takes a step back to admire her handiwork.

“Perfection. There’s no way Eddie’s gonna be able to resist you like this.” She grins and you feel your palms begin to sweat.

“What do you mean? Eddie’s here?!”

Suddenly it all clicks into place. 

The real reason for why both her and Eddie were missing at lunch last Wednesday. Before you have a chance to question her any further, she’s fled the bathroom, her curly bob disappearing in the sea of drunken teens.

Damn her.

You take one last look in the mirror, fighting the urge to pull your cardigan tighter over your newly exposed skin when you rejoin the party. Your eyes scan the entirety of the room, in search of that tall lanky figure you’ve come to know all too well. 

To your dismay, Eddie is nowhere to be found. While you knew he wouldn’t be amongst the groups of people grinding against each other in the living room, you had expected him to be tucked in a corner somewhere—observing. 

You find yourself searching almost every inch of Tina’s large home and backyard, desperate to catch even a glimpse of him. And, unfortunately for you, instead of finding Eddie, you stumbled upon a couple getting hot and heavy in her parents bedroom. To which you quickly slammed the door shut and tried to scrub the image from your memory. 

You take those stairs back down to the main level slowly, disappointment weighing each of your steps. There was only one place you haven’t checked yet: the kitchen. And with your terrible success rate, a drink sounds too appealing to pass up. 

But once you cross through that open doorway, you stop dead in your tracks. Because there he is, in all his handsome glory—casually leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest, a drink long abandoned next to him. 

Has he been here this whole time? 

While his expression borders on cynical, all of that shifts once your eyes meet. Eddie’s throat bobs, jaw slackening once you come into view. The set of plastic vampire fangs sitting between his teeth fall to the sticky tile floor with a soft clack. 

He has to practically wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth as you approach, straightening up and trying to look at anywhere other than the swell of your breasts.

“Hi,” you breathe softly.

But his answering smile has your knees about to buckle beneath you.

“Hello to you, sweetheart.”

Only then do your eyes flick downward, towards the t-shirt adorning his broad chest. And you let out a soft snort of amusement.

This is my Halloween costume is written in dark Sharpie against the bright orange cotton. The words are slanted and messy, as if he scribbled it on in a rush. It’s barely visible beneath the lapels of his leather jacket when he crosses his arm over his chest.

He quirks a brow at you. “What? Are you not impressed?” he muses with a teasing glint in his eye. “I thought it was quite clever, if I do say so myself.”

His smile widens at the soft giggles that bubble past your lips, leaning further back against the counter before motioning to your ensemble.

“And what exactly are you supposed to be then, hm?” He chuckles, as if it isn’t obvious.

But you feel your face warm, suddenly hyper aware of every inch of bare skin that’s now exposed to him when your hands fall to your sides.

“Uh… a librarian,” you reply, trying to muster up some feigned confidence.

Eddie’s eyes darken slightly as he takes in your bare midriff, tongue gliding over his lower lip in deep thought.

“So, I take it you’ve come to reprimand me for my overdue book fines?”

Feeling slightly emboldened, you take a small step closer, lightly nibbling on your lower lip to stifle another giggle. 

“I mean, rumor has it you’ve had that copy of The Hobbit checked out since your junior year…” you trail off, carefully pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose. “That’s an awful lot of fines, Eddie.” 

“My sincerest apologies, Miss,” he grins before placing a hand over his chest, those dark eyes alight with mischief. “Is there anything I can do to remedy this…misunderstanding?” 

You hum in contemplation, gently tapping a finger to your pouted lips—an action his eyes can’t help but follow. 

“Hm, perhaps…” you say before glancing over your shoulder toward the crowded living room. 

While dancing isn’t something you normally gravitate toward, something in you wants to try. Although it’s a silly high school milestone you never expected to experience, you don’t want it to pass you by either. Especially with Eddie by your side.

Maybe it’s the trickle of confidence that’s surging through your veins or the underlying adoration in his eyes, but either way, you reach out and lace your fingers together. 

“Dance with me?” 

Eddie doesn’t hesitate before he grasps onto your hand, a dimple indenting his cheek as he grins down at you. 

“I’d be honored, sweetheart.” 

It takes all of your self control to hold back a small squeal of excitement, quickly leading him out of the kitchen and towards the heart of the party. You’ve barely made it to the threshold before you feel it. 

Warmth. 

Wet, sticky warmth splashes up onto your neck, dribbles down your chin and onto your chest. Soaking into the white cotton of your shirt and sticking to your skin, the red punch does you no favors as the lace of your bra is revealed through the fabric.

“Oops,” a sickly sweet voice croons, but the unmistakable snark in their tone tells you this was anything but an accident.

Roxy Carraway just smirks at you, now glancing down at her empty cup with a mock pout. Two of her friends flank her on either side, keeping you frozen in place.

A gazelle caught between three lionesses, their claws sharpened and teeth bared.

“Now I need another drink,” she whines, snapping her gum obnoxiously. “You know, you really should watch where you’re going, freak.”

She hisses, taking one glance at you and then the male behind you before flipping her blonde hair off her shoulder and striding past you into the kitchen.

You don’t say anything as she knocks her shoulder into yours, white hot shame blazing through you as you meet the eyes of several other party goers. Whispers and snickers of laughter begin to flow through the crowd that were there to bear witness to the interaction.

No one offers you a shred of remorse or pity as they continue on, the thump of bass dragging their attention elsewhere. Tears began to sting your eyes, lower lip wobbling.

Don’t let them see you cry.

When you turn to rush toward the front door a pair of strong arms envelope you, tugging you down the darkened hallway and away from the throngs of your peers.

“Hey, hey—are you okay, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s voice is more gentle than you’ve ever heard it but a newfound rage begins to simmer beneath the warmth of his irises. When all he receives in response is a small shake of your head, he carefully tugs you both into the small bathroom you’d been shoved into earlier by Nancy.

Only this time any ounce of excitement has been drained from your limbs.

When your eyes meet your reflection, you wince, noting the harsh red liquid that clings to your shirt. The fabric suctions to you like a second skin and accentuates the curve of your breasts from the bra beneath. But not in a way that makes you feel a lick of confidence.

Before you can stare for too long, Eddie guides you to take a seat on the lid of the toilet, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it beneath the stream of water. His ringed fingers catch in the harsh lighting as he wrings the rag out into the basin of the sink. The droplets slide over the rough calluses of his fingers.

Eddie turns to you then, sinking to his knees before you. He gently nudges your thighs apart before slipping between them, the stray water droplets soaking into the fabric of your knee-high stockings. His hands are warm where they rest against your upper thigh, the other gently gliding the washcloth over your chin and down your throat.

Despite your best efforts to remain calm and collected, your breath hitches in your throat—something the male doesn’t miss.

While you can see the small smirk that threatens to tug at the corner of his mouth, he says nothing. No teasing comment as he continues to clean the dried punch from your skin.

“I’m sorry this happened,” he mutters softly, that small smile now turning downwards into a frown. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You can tell by the mournful look that spreads across his features that there’s more he wants to say, but he refrains.

That should’ve been me.

While the words remain unspoken between you, you hear them loud and clear.

“It’s not your fault you know,” you whisper, eyes dancing along the strong features of his face. Memorizing each freckle that dots along the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. “They probably would’ve found another way to torment me tonight anyway.”

His hand stills once he reaches the curve of your chest, eyes flicking up for your permission before he delves into uncharted territory. But you are unable to hide your shy smile at his display of nerves.

With your nod of approval, Eddie continues on, fingers trembling slightly when the cloth dips past the collar of your shirt. He can feel the heat of your skin through the damp fabric, his body aching to feel that warmth melting into his own. 

But he keeps his composure, shifting slightly at the uncomfortable ache in his knees. You continue to watch him closely, that look of longing he’s witnessed for months now sparkling beneath your irises. 

Your gaze continues to travel lower, over his cheekbones until they reach his full lips. They’re pursed in concentration, just the tip of his tongue poking out from between his teeth. He continues to glide the damp cloth along your skin, wiping away the sticky residue. 

But Eddie can feel the weight of your stare. In a nervous yet teasing gesture, he glides his tongue over his lower lip. 

“Would it be weird if I wanted you to kiss me right now?” you whisper.

Eddie’s eyes flick up to meet yours, fingers hovering over the dip between your breasts. He swallows harshly, your eyes following the bob of his throat. But the corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft grin that has your heart stuttering beneath your ribs. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replies, washcloth dropping to the tile floor as he reaches to cup your cheeks. 

When your lips meet, you breathe out a sigh of relief, slipping your arms around his neck to tug him impossibly closer. Despite your newfound urgency, his movements are slow, gentle as he molds his mouth over yours. Almost as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips against his own. 

Your hands quickly find themselves in his wild hair, twirling the dark strands around the tips of your fingers. He groans softly when your nails scratch against his scalp, the deep rumble of it sends warmth blossoming beneath the surface of your skin. 

And soon, too soon he’s pulling away. 

The male is practically panting, gazing up at you with an almost dazed expression. But Eddie soon notes the small pout that’s beginning to form on your lips, leaning forward to press another tender kiss to your mouth. 

“How about we ditch this lame ass party?” he mumbles against your lips, earning a small hum of approval from you.

And he can’t help but press another kiss to your awaiting mouth. “We could go to my place, maybe rent a video…” He chuckles when you pull him in for another firm kiss. “Order a pizza? Large pepperoni—” 

“With olives,” you add, gently nipping his lower lip. 

The male groans low in his throat, lips ghosting over the edge of your jaw. 

“Half with olives,” he counters. 

“Deal,” you breathe, giving him one more spine tingling kiss before he begrudgingly rises to his feet. 

And when he begins to slip his jacket off his shoulders, your brows furrow in confusion, head tilting in a silent question. He just gives you a cheeky grin as he reaches to hook his fingers into the nape of his t-shirt. The male quickly pulls it over his head, his bare chest now on full display.

Before you have time to fully ogle the dark ink that swirls across his skin, he hands you the bright orange shirt. You can already feel the warmth of the fabric seeping into the palm of your hands, confusion still evident on your face whilst he shrugs the jacket back on.  

“There’s no way I’m letting those assholes get the last laugh, sweetheart,” he explains, motioning to your stained shirt. 

And your heart thuds at the implication, a half smile tugging at your lips. You eagerly slip the cardigan off your shoulders, reaching for the buttons on your blouse. You let out a soft giggle when Eddie quickly spins on his heel in an attempt to give you some privacy. 

Once you remove the ruined blouse, you gladly toss it in the wastebasket, slipping the borrowed shirt over your head. His scent hits you like a tidal wave, warm and spicy with a slight undertone of weed. It’s a smell you want to wrap yourself up in for days, have it imprinted on your skin forever.

You take another subtle whiff before you clear your throat and rise to your feet. The movement further closes the already short distance between you. 

“I’m decent,” you say finally.

You’re unable to hide your amusement when he turns around so quickly that he almost crashes straight into you. But his look of concern vanishes the moment your laughter rings in his ears, securing his arms around your waist. 

“What’s so funny, sweet thing?” he chuckles, head tilting down toward you. His wandering gaze now focused on your lips. 

“I thought you said we had to stop meeting like this, Eddie.” 

series taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @blckbrrybasket @your-nightmaredoll @missmarch-99 @fandom-princess-forevermore @mylovelycrazyworld @princesssunderworld @scarlet-bitch @thecreelhouse @vamp-bunny @notwantingtoadult @keeksandgigz @josephquinnsfreckles

[thehypnone]

Ain't No Hope In Hell

WC: 3k

Relationship: Zephyr/Rain

Tags: Disabled Characters, POTS Rain, Fainting, Semi-Public Bathroom Sex, Transmasc Rain, Non-Binary AFAB Zephyr, Cunnilingus, Minor Gender Dysphoria, Tail Sex

T4T Zephyr and Rain fuck in a disabled mall bathroom after the water ghoul has a fainting spell. That's literally it.

Notes: Commission for @everybodyshusband!!! Also tagging @ominousposting because we talked about these two deserving such action a while ago :3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

The bond that Rain and Zephyr share confuses many. They don’t spend much time together and when they do it’s either to sit in silence for hours or fuck viciously for just as long.

Sometimes one follows the other.

Still, despite it seeming so shallow and even toxic to outsiders, the two ghouls need each other. They understand each other in a way that no other ghoul ever could. Their relationship is in their hearts, minds and souls, not so much in anything that’s on the surface.

And like this, Zephyr and Rain love each other fiercely.

One of the things neither of them would ever be accused of enjoying that they do enjoy when together, is going out. Not to clubs, bars or anything like that; what they like is simple dates like going shopping or to the cinema. 

Today they decided to take a train that leaves every hour from a station a few minutes away from the Abbey and go to a mall. They didn’t have any big shopping plans, just mindless browsing, so to speak. If something would catch either of their eyes they’d get it and be pleased, but they’d be as content to leave with empty hands, only having spent that time together. They can also get some food in there, maybe dessert, too—that’s the thing Zephyr and Rain love about malls; there’s everything there.

Well, maybe they are not very fond of the amount of humans they inevitably encounter every time, but that can be overlooked.

And they are having a great day, indeed, until Rain starts feeling unwell.

“Zeph? Think I’m gonna have a spell,” he mutters, blinking hard as his head sways on his neck. The air ghoul reaches out to grab his wrist and turns it to see his watch. His pulse is going one hundred and fifty beats per minute. “Can we go find a bathroom?”

It definitely isn’t anything more dangerous than his usual episodes, so they should be fine without professional medical assistance, but it needs to be taken care of nonetheless.

“Yeah, of course,” Zephyr says, “it should be just around the corner, are you gonna make it or do you want to switch aids?”

“I–I’ll make it,” the water ghoul breathes shallowly, leaning heavier on his crutch, “just gonna go slow behind you.”

“Alright, puddle. Alright, let’s go.” Zephyr grabs their wheels and rolls on slowly, looking over their shoulder every five seconds to make sure Rain isn’t doing worse. The walk lasts both a second and an eternity, but finally the big accessible bathroom’s door latches behind them and Zephyr only has a second to throw their leather jacket on the floor (of questionable cleanliness) before Rain slides down the wall and passes out.

The air ghoul does not worry, he’ll wake up in a few moments, as always. In the meantime they watch as the other’s glamor slowly slips and rummage through his backpack for a salty snack and some water.

Soon enough Rain opens his eyes.

“There you are, puddle,”  Zephyr chuckles. “Was starting to grow bored.”

“Sure you were,” the water ghoul groans, sitting up slowly. “How long was I out?”

“Whole…” they check their watch in a theatrical manner, “two minutes.”

“Hm.” Rain makes grabby hands when he sees the air ghoul holding his replenishment set ready and they can’t help but shake their head at how adorable he is while still so out of it. He’ll feel better once he munches on a few nuts from his obscenely salty mix, though.

“You think you can get up already?”

“Why?”

“I want you off that nasty floor,” Zephyr scoffs, “and in my lap, preferably.”

Rain rolls his eyes but gets to work on standing up. Thankfully this bathroom actually is accessible—unlike many fakely advertised ones—and there’s a lot of things he can hold on to to stand. It works, albeit the water ghoul still gets dizzy and there’s black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He grabs Zephyr’s hand in the dark and flops down onto their lap. “C’mere, puddle.”

“That is more comfortable,” he sighs, leaning back against the air ghoul’s chest. They place a little kiss on Rain’s neck, just under the gills that escaped his glamor when he was out cold. A pleasant shiver runs down Rain’s spine at the gentle touch and his fins ruffle. “Gimme more, Zeph.”

“Greedy,” they hum but oblige nonetheless, putting their mouth over the water ghoul’s gills and kissing them softly. Rain groans and lets Zephyr appreciate their neck for a little while longer before he can’t take it anymore; he needs their lips on his. He tangles his fingers in the air ghoul’s hair and pulls them away from his neck and up, to kiss him. He slams their lips together and they both moan into it, getting more desperate with every second. They only part to catch a breath.

“Have we ever defiled a disabled mall bathroom before?” Rain asks, panting, as he leans down and rubs his nose up and down Zephyr’s neck, breathing in their fresh summer scent.

“I do not believe that we have,” they answer as they continue to grope the pretty water ghoul in their lap.

He hums thoughtfully, “Do you reckon it is time to do so?”

“Absolutely I do,” Zephyr breathes before tangling their fingers in Rain’s hair and pulling him up to seal their lips in a kiss even more heated than before. Their teeth clank together and they both try to shove their tongue down the other’s throat in a battle for dominance. Even though it’s obvious who is—and is going to stay—in charge. It’s always Zephyr; the only one for whom Rain always subs.

The next time they need to pull away to breathe, Rain notices something on the wall.

“Why was I laying passed out on this filthy floor when there’s a perfect bench right there?” Rain scoffs and throws his hands up dramatically; the princess that he is. There really is a perfect bench right there; albeit a foldable and rather unobvious one.

“You were already going down,” Zephyr shrugs. It is the truth, there was no time, but the truth is also that they didn’t notice it earlier, either. “You know I like to see it.”

“Oh, do you now?” Rain scoffs at the air ghoul’s poor joke. Or a flirting attempt.

“How could I not?” they seem dedicated to making him blush impossibly more, now. “Who wouldn’t like to see a pretty water ghoul between their legs, hm?”

“Are you attempting to make an offer, you old tit?” said water ghoul laughs. Both ghouls are well aware of how the half-affectionate, half-insulting nickname sounds without context and even though it does not get much better with it, the situation improves slightly when one is aware that it originally came from the bird tit and the facts that Zephyr’s feathers in their fully unglamored form are a similar color to that of a tit. The fact that it’s a rather loaded homonym just adds comicality that both Zephyr and Rain love.

“Depends,” the older ghoul shrugs. “Are we in a rush?”

“Not at all. It’s hours until the last train back home leaves.”

“Well, then…Do you want to go down?” Zephyr winks.

“If I can kneel on your jacket.”

“Such a princess, aren’t you? I’ve got a better idea.” Zephyr lightly shoves Rain off of their lap before getting up from their wheelchair and walking over to the bench. They unfold it, look it over and press on it to see if it’s reliable for…more than sitting. It’s rather high, but that will only make the air ghoul’s idea work even better.

“Hop on, puddle,” they pat it in invitation, “today’s my turn to get my mouth on that pretty cunt of yours.”

Rain can’t stop blushing even hotter at that, but he follows the other’s command. As he situates himself on the edge of the bench, Zephyr returns to their wheelchair. They bring it as close to the bench as possible, sit back down and lock the brakes so they don’t just roll away mid eating Rain out.

“As much as I wish I had that skill, I don’t think I can fuck you with my tongue through your jeans,” they tease with a wink, patting his thighs.

“Oh, shut it,” Rain grumbles but does indeed start to fumble with his pants. He drops them down to his ankles but Zephyr tuts and shakes their head. “What?”

“I want my head between your legs, puddle,” they purr, “I need full access.”

Once again the water ghoul mutters something unintelligible under his breath, as if in protest, and yet still obeys Zephyr's every word.

His pants are all but ripped off and thrown across the bathroom to land in the sink—hopefully dry—and the air ghoul wastes no more time. They grab Rain’s thighs, spread them and lean in to nuzzle their cheek against his soft skin. The water ghoul’s lower legs end up hooked over Zephyr’s shoulders and their feet on the back of their chair. A rather solid position, if not for the bench under his ass. His back and hips will hate him for it later, no doubt.

Zephyr throws him one more look before descending onto his cunt and licking a fat stripe up his folds. As always, what they start with is a way to indulge themself more than the other—they love having delicate, wet skin under their tongue. They also love seeing how easy it breaks, but that’s for another time.

The water ghoul instinctively puts one of his hands on Zephyr’s head, digging his fingers into their scalp and pulling on their white as snow hair. They groan against his cunt, but not in protest. Lucifer only knows they grew their hair out just to get it pulled more and, oh, does Rain deliver every time. His tail wraps around Zephyr’s arm when they grip his hip.

Zephyr licks between his folds, up and down to flick the tip of their tongue against his clit and then goes back down to tease around his hole. They prod at it and Rain thinks they’re about to really lick into him when a wave of unpleasantness hits him. He curls in on himself slightly.

“Zeph, wait, uh–” Rain breathes out, tightening the hold he’s got on Zephyr’s hair. They pull away immediately.

“What’s wrong, puddle?” they ask with concern in their voice.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, just…” he bites his lip, “don’t put it in today. Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” the air ghoul smiles at him knowingly, with deep understanding. They’ve been there. “I’ll suck your pretty cock instead, what do you say?”

Rain only lets out a rather undignified grunt as a response as he throws his head back against the wall.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Zephyr smirks and dives back down to take the water ghoul’s t-dick into their mouth. They start out light; swirling their tongue around it and petting it gently with the appendage. Rain is already so lost in it he can only whine and whimper; thankfully the bathroom is all solid walls, or else someone would definitely be calling in an emergency.

He’s pulling on Zephyr’s hair harder and harder with every lick over his cock, losing his mind even more when the air ghoul really starts doing what they’ve promised; sucking him off. Rain all but wails the first time Zephyr hollows their cheeks and sucks at his sensitive t-dick. It’s maddening.

At some point Zephyr grunts and takes one of their hands off of Rain’s thighs to move it down and fumble with their zipper, desperate for some kind of stimulation themself. They manage to open their pants, wiggle a hand inside and rub their own wet cunt. Rain only notices when the air ghoul’s moan vibrates through him.

“Zeph–” he pants, “Zeph, lemme–”

The water ghoul can’t really articulate what he wants, overwhelmed with pleasure. He unwinds his tail from Zephyr’s other arm and shoves it down their pants along with their hand.

“Oh,” they moan as they pull away from Rain’s cunt. They squeeze their eyes and rest their head against the water ghoul’s thighs, breathing heavily as he rubs their clit with the tip of his tail.

“Good?”

“Yeah, get it–puddle, get it in deep,” Zephyr begs and their shaky voice makes Rain whimper.

He obliges—once he collects himself enough to focus—and pushes his tail further down their pants. He finds the air ghoul’s slick hole and pushes in, slowly sliding his tail deeper and deeper until he all but runs out of it.

“Fuck…” they swear under their breath and follow it with a whine and it’s like a song. Zephyr returns to sucking Rain’s dick as if they want to slurp his soul out right through it and the water ghoul himself does his very best to stay focused enough to be able to fuck the other steadily with his tail.

There’s no rhythm to it, but neither of them cares; it’s all a blur of moans and whines and groans as they pleasure each other the way they know the other likes best. That’s the thing about them; they just know things, understand each other like nobody else.

Rain’s eyes cross when the air ghoul trails their wet tongue down, past his cunt to lick at his taint and tease his ass. Just for a moment, to make Rain soaking wet all around; they don’t go further, but Rain moans as they’re taking him apart piece by piece anyway. If Zephyr had access to the base of his tail, too, it’d all be over in seconds. Alas, their position makes it impossible.

There’s something about the softness of the skin in some places that makes Zephyr lose their mind. Another rather peculiar thing about them.

The air ghoul drags a smooth fang up the inside of Rain’s thigh—both a threat and a promise, but only for when they’re back home. They’re both wrecked and the fact that they’re in public escapes their horny minds entirely, it’s the instinct that keeps Zephyr in check.

“Do that…your tail, the–that thing you do…” they groan and even though it’s not much information, Rain knows exactly what to do.

“Lean back, need–need space.” He pulls his tail out of the air ghoul’s cunt and twists it tightly around itself, only leaving the spade out on the bottom. When he slides it back into Zephyr, it’s like a perfectly textured thick dildo with an attachment to stimulate their clit. Rain presses the flat tip of his tail against it and the air ghoul folds in on themself in pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s good,” they moan and start rolling their hips slightly, riding Rain’s tail as much as possible as they return to the task at hand; the delicious, soaking wet water ghoul cunt right in front of their face. And making it even wetter.

It won’t take much more and they both know it; it’s just a minute after Zephyr puts their mouth on Rain’s cock that he cries out a warning, “Close…”

“Uh-huh,” Zephyr hums in acknowledgement and nods slightly. The water ghoul can only assume it means they are nearing their climax, too. Still, the air ghoul is focused solely on Rain and making him cum his brains out. They double down their efforts and the noises falling from rain’s lips gain in volume.

“Yes, yes, yes–I’m–c–cumming, Zeph, oh,” he moans—the loudest and most wrecked of them all—and the air ghoul can feel slick gushing out of him to drip down their chin and onto the godforsaken bench. Rain’s entire body goes rigid as waves of his orgasm wash over him; including his tail. The makeshift dildo becomes impossibly thicker inside them and Zephyr groans in a nearly pained manner as they’re thrown over the edge, too.

Rain sags forward, falling face first into Zephyr’s chest as they lean back in their wheelchair. The both of them breathe heavily for a longer while, slowly coming down from their highs.

“I hate you, you old tit,” the water ghoul murmurs at some point, making Zephyr laugh.

“I love you, too, puddle,” they reply with a grin, patting his back.

Once they deem themselves composed enough again, they get up to clean the mess that they’ve made of each other. Putting both their glamors back in place and adjusting their clothes and hair so as to not scream with their looks about what they’ve been up to in that bathroom, they get ready to go.

“I don’t even want to know for how long we’ve been blocking this bathroom,” Rain grunts, a little disappointed in himself. 

“Don’t worry, puddle,” Zephyr reaches out to pat his hip reassuringly, “it’s not a busy day and I’ve seen another one not so far from here, I’m sure we didn’t cause anyone inconvenience.”

The water ghoul hums in acknowledgement and finally unlocks the door again. To his great relief there isn’t anyone waiting. They leave the bathroom and decide to visit one more shop that was on their agenda; Rain feels alright now and one more won’t hurt anyone. After that they check potential trains that could take them back to the Abbey and start making their way to the station.

“We should have a list,” Zephyr proposes at some point.

“Of what?” Rain asks, genuinely curious.

“Places we defiled,” the older ghoul clarifies and Rain snorts out a laugh, “and places we have yet to defile.”

“I’m down,” he giggles under his breath, “but only if we write it down on a piece of paper that I can hang on the fridge in the den.”

“You got it, puddle,” Zephyr grins. “My requirement is that we put Primo’s closet at the very top of the been there, done that part.”

“Ah…” Rain sighs dreamily, “that was a glorious time, indeed, dear Zephyr.”

“Absolutely it was, dear Rain,” the air ghoul agrees. “Whose next, Terzo or Copia’s?”

“Secondo’s. Let’s go chronologically.”

“I love your brain, puddle.”

[revelboo]

I would like you to write a nice Dreadwing story tfp and reader please greetings from Argentina

Hi! I’ll try

Anything At All

TFP Dreadwing x Reader

• Watching everything fall apart around him is a strange feeling, because his voice goes unheard as the Decepticon cause slowly self destructs. Straying so from their original goal. Still believing in Megatron, but unable to pretend he doesn’t see the infighting, the petty squabbling. Even Megatron seems lost, preoccupied with dark energon first and now that little organic pet of his. Forgetting that he promised them all a new home and freedom. He’s been ranging farther and farther, unable to watch the madness.

• Swearing softly as your old sedan sputters, temperature gauge firmly in the red for the last several miles, it’s not too much of a surprise when your car dies in the middle of nowhere. One more thing going sideways like this whole trip. Leaving your small town to head for California. For opportunity. Except you’re nowhere close, the money’s gone and your car is dying on you out in the middle of the desert. Forehead thumping against the steering wheel after you coast to a stop and pull off on the side of the road. When’s the last time you saw a gas station or even another car? Hours ago. Which means your best option is to keep going on foot after you realize your phone is as dead as the car.

• There’s something peaceful out here . Skyquake had told him about this world, about its beauty, but he’d doubted him. Expected another organic mud ball, but walking across the desert as the wind sighs around him and kicks up the sand in fitful little dirt devils, he understands. On the horizon, the sun is only a thin sliver, the sky bleeding pink and orange. Alive in a way that Cybertron hasn’t been for a very long time. Just wishes he could have seen it beside Skyquake, misses the sounds of his voice and of having someone to talk to. In the distance there’s a small shape moving slowly across the sand. One of the small, organic natives?

• Skin hot to the touch, you’d stopped sweating hours ago as you walked. You’re almost positive that you remember that being bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything. Wish it would rain so you can tip your head back, because you’re so thirsty. At some point, you’d lost the road and you’d not been able to find it again. Hadn’t realized that you could get lost in the flat, empty desert, but you are. Staggering as your knees buckle. Just so tired and thirsty. It’s an incredibly stupid way to die, you think forcing yourself to keep moving.

• Tracking the creature, his optics narrow as it staggers sideways, then goes down. And stays there. Not his problem at all, but he finds himself crossing the desert anyway. He’s never really seen one of the natives up close and can’t deny being curious. Crouching over the still form, he reaches a servo to nudge you. You’re even smaller than he’d guessed, feeling so insubstantial as he rolls you onto your back. Dying? He’s not sure, but your eyes open and drift until they find his optics. Expects you to scream and try to get away, not just to stare up at him. With a wholly unexpected bravery. Straightening to turn away, it’s the feel of small fingers brushing his ped that stop him. You’re reaching out a trembling hand, seeking help and it’s not his problem. He could walk away, but he’d be walking away from his own honor. Venting tiredly, he crouches down.

[ylangelegy]

all its milk teeth ♾️ minghao x reader.

“i'm only the hostel 'till there's a house that you like.” # day two of (the)8 days of minghao.

☆ includes: situationship, angst, more prose -ish than anything. this is inspired by & heavily references NIKI's Milk Teeth. word count: 1,400+

When you first met Minghao, he had been running. 

Not in the literal sense, no, but it might as well have been. Back then— at the start of your little arrangement— he had just been desperate for some sort of escape. Somewhere to go when there was a litany of toomuchtoomuchtoomuch clanging around in his head. 

He wasn’t looking for sex or vices. He wasn’t even looking for you specifically. 

But that’s how it ended up anyway, and that’s how you find yourself on the hood of his car at the godawful hour of three in the morning. 

How long have the two of you been out here? You’re not quite sure. 

You just know it’s one of those evenings. Minghao had texted around dinnertime. An innocuous Are you free tonight?, which was always the beginning of your undoing. 

It’s a familiar routine. He picks you up, lets you choose the radio station. He’ll drive in relative silence. It doesn’t matter where to. The settings are almost always the same. Empty parking lots, secluded parks. 

Tonight, it’s one of those cliffside parking lots that overlook the city. The lights of Gangnam glitter underneath the two of you.

If you were a lesser person, you might’ve teased Minghao about the whole thing being romantic. But there’s no room for romance here. Not between you two. 

A gust of wind sends loose leaves flying past you. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine. 

Minghao, who had been staring up at the stars, notices. He glances down at you with the ghost of a boyish grin. 

“Cold?” he asks. You shake your head. 

The howling wind has your teeth chattering mere minutes later. 

“Maybe a little,” you finally admit when Minghao shoots you an exasperated look.

He lets out a huff of laughter. When he extends his arm, your foolish heart skips a beat. For a moment, you assume he’s going to pull you towards him. 

Instead, he peels off his jacket.

“You don’t—” Have to, you mean to say, but Minghao’s already dropping the article of clothing onto your lap. 

Underneath his outerwear had been a plain white tee, one that you doubted to provide him sufficient warmth. You open your mouth like you’re going to protest some more, but Minghao beats you to the punch line.

“I dragged you out here,” he says dismissively. “It’s the least I can do.” 

The least he can do. You mull those words over for as you think of the many other things that Minghao could do. Put an arm over your shoulders, for instance. Call you in the daytime. Put a name to whatever this thing is. 

As it is, you know nothing on your wishlist is about to be ticked off. And so you do the next best thing: You pull on his jacket, letting the warmth of it wash over your chilled skin. 

Minghao glances at you. He doesn’t look like the type of guy who’s having a sudden epiphany. Those cliché I like how you look in my clothes, so I must like you scenes. No, he’s just— checking to see if you’re doing good. 

Once he’s gotten his supposed answer, he’s already looking back up at the night sky.

A fulfilled obligation. That’s what that had been, you think bitterly as you tug his jacket just a little more snugly around your frame. Nothing more, nothing less. 

When you first kissed Minghao, he had called you a thief. 

He had muttered the accusation against your lips— the word a low rumble from the back of his throat. You had pulled away, eyebrows creased in confusion. 

“Stole my heart,” he joked with the slightest upward curve of his mouth.

You had thought it was the sweetest thing in the world. 

Now, though, you’re not so sure. 

As you pad further into your apartment, Minghao lingers by the entryway. Already anxious to leave? you almost tease, but you’ve long since learned your lesson about teasing him for his tendencies. He’d punished you for it, once. Had been inaccessible for weeks. 

He came back eventually. The two of you don’t talk about that time anymore. 

Wordlessly, you peel off his jacket. Your hand pauses midway into hanging it over the back of your armchair; you’re looking at Minghao, waiting for him to decide. 

He glances at his wristwatch. 

Then— “Can I stay the night?” 

It’s funny, how he still thinks he has to ask. Instead of holding his jacket out to him, you drape it over your chair. 

“You know where everything is,” you say quietly. The spare toothbrush behind the bathroom mirror. The change of clothes in the back of your cabinet. 

He toes off his shoes, finally, and walks over to you. It’s quick and chaste— the way he presses his lips to the crown of your head. His hands don’t quite touch. They linger instead, bracing at the side of your arms. 

Your eyes flutter close. You don’t have the time to relish in the feeling because he’s already heading to your bathroom to clean up for the night. One empty kiss and, suddenly, it’s not as bad as it seems. 

Pathetic, a voice in the back of your mind hisses. You don’t know who the voice is referring to. You? Minghao?

Both, you decide inwardly. Both of you are pretty pathetic. 

When Minghao first left, you thought it would be the last time. 

The last time you saw him, that is. But then he came back, and every instance after that— every hurried exit, every walk of shame— had you hoping that would be the last time he’d leave. 

You’re no longer naive enough to think that he wants more out of these rendezvouses. You know what you are to him. A trial run. A stopover. You know that; you know better now. 

Still—

There’s something about the way Minghao looks in the morning. 

It always gets you. The sunrise streaking through the blinds highlights the honeyed shades of his skin, the pink of his plush lips. That’s nice and all, really, but what has you hook, line, and sinker is something much more harmless. 

A sleeping Minghao is a Minghao who doesn’t have a care in the world. A sleeping Minghao doesn’t have that itch to bolt, that urge to escape into situationships that offer the most temporary of reliefs. 

He looks peaceful. He looks like something that could be yours. 

As the sun rises further into the sky, Minghao stirs slightly in his sleep. You have the urge to do something. To keep the fear from embedding. 

Instinctively, you shift forward to press a kiss to his forehead. He relaxes immediately; it makes your heart ache. 

You opt to not wake him, instead leaving him under the covers as you make your quiet way to the kitchen. You don’t overthink it. Flour, eggs, milk, butter. 

Minghao drowsily shuffles out of your bedroom right on time. 

“Pancakes?” he grouses, one hand rubbing over his face.  

A grin tugs at your mouth. “Yeah. Did you want yours with bacon or eggs?” 

“Ah…” 

The small sound is all you needed to hear, to know what was to come.

“I might actually skip breakfast,” he tells you. He sounds genuinely apologetic. Somehow, that makes things worse. If he were a little more cruel or unkind, then maybe your door wouldn’t always be open a crack for him. 

“That’s fine,” you say coolly as you lay out the completely pancakes on a plate. “More for me, then.” 

Gracefully, Minghao doesn’t double down. He doesn’t try to present himself as something he’s not. He’s a runner. He’s run from everything in his life, and you are no exception. 

He changes back into last night’s clothes— shrugging on his jacket, pulling on his socks. You don’t walk him to the door; you stay at your spot on the dining table, where you’re already cutting into your stack of one-too-many pancakes. 

There’s no kiss goodbye, no text me when you get home. You feel a twinge of something, because you know Minghao is capable of it. He has so much love to give, so much devotion that he can dole out. 

There are reasons why he can’t, of course. Excuses and justifications that all fall flat in the face of a cold, hard fact: Minghao wants to date. He just doesn’t want to date you. 

And so he settles for this charade, this cheap imitation of a relationship. You mumble “take care” and he gives you an appreciative nod in response. 

When he leaves, you know it will not be the last time. You stay at your table until the pancakes have gone cold.

Minghao comes to you to quiet the screech of toomuchtoomuchtoomuch in his head.

He leaves you with your own mental chorus of not enough, not enough, not enough. 

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 1 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol references, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 2.5k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 1

April 1994

“So, all votes are in?” Katie asked. Everyone in the room nodded, and you sat forward in your seat.

The current General Manager of the radio station, Katie, ran a tight ship. Still, nobody could deny that they were sad to see her leaving - graduation was claiming too many people this year. She glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses.

General Manager would be read first, you knew that - it was the closest position the station had to President, the person who ran the whole thing. And after the last three years, all signs pointed to Katie's successor being you. Most people didn’t want the job - it was pretty thankless, all on a volunteer basis, and the election is often more of a formality to the most obvious person. But, you were passionate about the radio station - you always had been. Running it wouldn’t be easy, but you knew you were the right person to do it.

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your favorite place, your niche. There’s nothing you loved more than spinning some records on-the-air, hanging out in the station lounge, and being a part of something. It’s where you’ve made your friends, easily able to bond over your love of music, making it your safe space when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

You could feel Steve Harrington’s eyes on you from where he sat across the room. You pointedly ignored him, your clasped fingers growing clammy with anticipation.

“Drumroll, everyone!” she said, resulting in a cacophony of pats against legs, tables, or any available surface. When Katie read your name, the room broke into a smattering of applause.

“Congratulations!” Nancy cried from where she sat next to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you laughed, giving your friend a tight squeeze. 

Despite the fact that you had expected this, a wave of relief washed over you. There was no glamor in keeping this place running, you knew that. Still, you cared too much about it, and now it was in your hands… just as you had hoped.

Your joy could only last so long, though - you were almost too caught up in your personal celebration to notice. Almost.

“Okay, and for Program Director… Steve!”

This time, a few whoops and hollers were let out - probably from Steve’s buddies, large in number and often loudly enthusiastic. But, you were just frozen, feeling your fists clench.

The Program Director coordinates a lot of things - new DJ training, events, stocking the music library… and works most closely with the General Manager. Meaning...

“Looks like we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, sweetheart,” he said later with a smirk. 

The meeting was long over - positions had been announced, congratulations given, goodbyes for the semester bid on the way out. You had sat there for the last hour with a rage steadily bubbling under the surface. You had tried your best to listen, relieved to find out Nancy was working as the Media Director, and your friend Eddie working as the Training Director. That, at least, offered some comfort - if you’d be running your favorite place with your friends, how bad could it be?

The answer, apparently, is still pretty shitty.

You can’t put a finger on exactly why Steve Harrington bothered you so much. But, from the moment you had met, he had been a thorn in your side. He knew it, too - it seemed to be his life’s mission to get on your nerves, just to get a rise out of you.

But he was blocking the exit, arm leaning casually against the doorframe. So, you took the approach you usually tried to - not letting him see that he was getting to you.

“Looks like it,” you said, words measured and careful. “But until then… have a good summer, Harirngton.”

You tried to shoulder past him, but he wasn’t budging. You sighed, meeting his gaze again and straightening up a bit.

“Do you mind?”

“I just thought you were gonna try to stick around - let me guess, you already have a 20-step plan for what we should do next year? I mean, I’m surprised you didn’t just jump all the new E-Board members to tell them how you’re going to run things. You know, in your insane and anal-retentive way.”

You clenched your jaw, grimacing as the notebook that you knew was buried in your backpack, containing your ideas for next year’s agenda.

"That's a pretty big word for you, I'm impressed," you mocked. Before he could come up with a clever reply, you continued:

“You know, I was surprised you ran for a position,” you said sweetly. “I mean, last I checked, you haven’t shown up to a single volunteer event. Were you even at the Spring fundraiser?”

“I was busy.”

“Funny way of saying hungover,” you retorted.

You took a deep breath, taking a moment to regain your composure.

“Look, we’re going to have to work together, so - can we just start over? Bury the hatchet, or whatever?”

He just grinned.

“Yeah, sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower. “You’re the boss.”

You had given up on asking him to drop the sweetheart thing long ago. So instead, you gave him a sharp nod, muttering have a good summer, Harrington.

He stepped aside enough to let you through, but still crowded the doorway enough that you had to brush past him as you did. 

You ignored the way his breath caught as you did.

Maybe you could both be mature adults about this… maybe.

*******

September

“Harrington?!” You cry, stomping into the booth. Steve sits in the chair, switchboard alight as Head Over Heels plays through the speakers. He barely hears you enter, thanks to the headphones he’s wearing. When you slam your hands down on the desk, he jumps in his seat.

“Jesus - the fuck are you doing here?” he cries, yanking the headphones off to let them fall around his neck.

“You booked studio space without going through me,” you say angrily.

His face shifted then, from confusion to smugness.

“Oh - well, you were unreachable, and I only needed two board members’ approval. And, I count as a board member.”

“Who the fuck was the second person who approved it?”

“Eddie.”

You groaned. Of course - Eddie probably didn’t even know -

“So your band just happened to book studio space to go on-air during my show’s time slot?”

“Oh… it’s during your show?” he asks, voice saccharine with feigned innocence. 

You rolled your eyes.

“Cut the act, Harrington. There are a ton of empty time slots that your little band could play during, you know.”

He sighed, crossing his arms and spinning the chair around to fully face you.

“If you’re so hurt about it, why don’t you come by? We need an emcee, and if you’re already usually here…”

“As if I’d waste my time coming to listen to you guys. I don’t even listen to your show.”

“So you’ve said. I thought your boyfriend was in the band too, last time I checked.”

You scoffed. “Eddie is not my boyfriend. And, not that he’d ever tell you, but he’s filling in as a favor. He’s only playing with you guys because Corroded Coffin broke up.”

Something unreadable flickers across Steve’s face, then he shakes his head. 

“Yeah, okay - keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But, we’ve got the time next Thursday - so, come by, don’t come by… I don’t give a shit. Just let me know by the weekend if you are - it’s only protocol, after all, and I know you’re a stickler for that.”

He pulls the headphones back over his ears, turning the volume of the music up a bit.

“Now, if you don’t mind - I’m about to go on-air, and I’d hate for everyone to hear your hissy-fit through the radio waves, you know?”

He returns his attention to the microphone, ready to turn down the music and start speaking - but you’re not giving him the satisfaction of sticking around to watch. 

You just huff, crossing your arms and stomping out with even more fury than you came.

Your drive home is full of frustration that grows to rage. You grumble under your breath over the hum of the radio, cursing Steve Harrington’s name at every red light, every sharp turn. It’s only when you pull up to your apartment and park that you realize what’s even playing through the car’s speakers.

It’s WAMC - what else would you have on? You always have your radio tuned to 98.9, doing your best to listen to your friends and support the station you hold so dearly. But, of course, the person on the air right now is him.

You had taken a personal vow a while ago to not tune into Steve’s show. You know it’s stupid - one listener doesn’t make a difference, and you know Steve Harrington certainly doesn't have trouble sleeping at night knowing that you don’t listen to whatever crappy music he plays over the air. But, he’s driving you crazy - he’s so arrogant, so smug, and everyone else eats it up. Nobody dislikes Steve Harrington… it seems like everyone on campus who knows Steve either is in love with him, or wants to be him. You’ll never understand the hold he has over people. 

But, maybe you should try to - it’s only fair to get a sense of what all the fuss is about, you reason. So, you turn up the volume dial, letting the music flow through the stereo and over the din of your still-running engine.

It’s about what you expect - mostly Top 40 hits, some classic rock sprinkled in. It’s not bad, necessarily - just, like nearly any other station you could tune your radio to. It’s not a hard and fast rule to play lesser-known music - it’s just encouraged. But, everyone tunes into Steve’s show, ask him for advice on how to plan a slot… it makes your blood boil.

You tell yourself that you’re only going to listen for a few minutes. When Steve’s voice comes on the air, you roll your eyes - he’s cracking jokes, giving anecdotes about the songs, and unfortunately, he’s nearly charming. You don’t realize a full hour has passed until he signs off. You quickly kill your engine and dart into your apartment, doing your best to try not to dwell on the slight disappointment in the show being over.

Double-booking your radio slot was only the most recent of a string of things Steve had been doing to piss you off - showing up late to meetings (if he even shows up at all), calling out of his radio show, making snide remarks under his breath at the meetings he does show up to… you’re basically doing two jobs at once. Any false promise of civility between you two is a thing of the past. He’s making your life a living Hell - but, you’re not one to back down. Two can play dirty, after all.

******

October

You and Steve spend the next few weeks doing a delicate dance, going back and forth not-so-subtly sabotaging one another. His band tried to book a gig at the local venue, which you conveniently “forgot” to sign off on. He tells incoming freshmen that they don’t need to go through you when applying to be a DJ, causing an enrollment nightmare. You pay Jonathan Byers $20 for the equipment to “break,” only for the two hours that Steve is scheduled to do his radio show. But, throughout it all, you barely actually see one another. It’s nearly a month later that you actually encounter him again.

The moment you set foot in the vinyl library, you groan. He looks up from where he’s perusing the records on the shelves, grinning as soon as he locks eyes with you.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.”

Fuck off, you think.

“Hey, Harrington,” you say, exhibiting what you consider to be an exorbitant amount of restraint. After your blowup last time, the last thing you need is to continue to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand.

You march straight ahead, going right to the shelf next to him. You pointedly stare forward, running your fingers along the spines of the albums, pulling out the ones you’re looking for as you find them.

You hear Steve scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes - practically an involuntary response with him at this point. 

“Do you have a problem?” you asked, your tone biting.

He just shrugs. “No. You’re just… predictable.”

“How so?”

“If you asked me to come in here, and pick out the records for your radio show for you… it’d just be too easy. Let me guess… The Smiths… Talking Heads… R.E.M…Sonic Youth…and some European band whose name I can’t pronounce, probably. Am I close?”

You clutched the records close to your chest, arms crossing to obscure them.

Steve just grins smugly.

You hold your place, not breaking eye contact. He simply shrugs, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

Pleased with himself. Too cocky. A challenge. 

“That’s what I thought.”

You straightened up, keeping eye contact.

“You act as if you’re any better, with your Worst 40 bullshit -”

“You only pretend to not like it to be different -”

“I don’t pretend to not like your music! I’m just trying to make us sound different from any other station people tune into -”

“So you do listen to my show?” he asks. He’s still wearing that shit-eating grin, but for just a moment, you swear he sounds surprised.

You open and close your mouth a few times, debating what to say. You’ve been caught. And he’s just staring at you, so blatantly self-satisfied, that you want to punch him.

“Shut up,” you say quietly.

“You gonna make me?” he asks.

You feel your face heat. The vinyl library is too cramped, its narrow walls making Steve stand just a bit too close to you. You swallow, straightening up a bit. He’s blocking the only exit, a habit he seems to reserve especially for you.

“Can you let me leave, Harrington? Or do I have to answer a riddle or something first?”

“I’m having a party on Friday,” he blurts out. “You should stop by. Everyone else from the station is coming.”

You shake your head. 

“Um - I don’t think -”

“C’mon, sweetheart - show me that you know how to have a little fun!”

You shrug.

“Maybe. Whatever, I’ll see.”

He grins. “Okay - 36 Hamilton Street, by the way. Friday night, 10pm.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the darkness of the record library. You try to ignore how fast your heart is beating in his wake.

Fucking Steve Harrington.

author's note: Hi everyone! Here's the first part of a brand new fic - ta da! In general, I think the plan for this fic is to have shorter chapters, but more total chapters, so the word count will be... whatever it ends up being. Keep in mind that there will be smut down the line, so only engage is 18+, please. Likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated! Also, this was barely edited, so if you see a mistake... no you didn't.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 9: Upside Down

wc: 547 | Rated: T | cw: Ambiguous/Unresolved Ending

Tags: Years Later, The Upside Down, Steve Harrington Angst, Searching for Eddie, Platonic Stobin (Robin Not Present), Ambiguous/Unresolved Ending

'Hope'

Steve somersaults downwards, careful to keep a tight grip on the line of rope suspended between worlds as he feels gravity even out again. He lands planted on his feet and the cracked linoleum beneath his boots echoes out loud crunching sounds.

Looking around, Steve determines that the Munson’s trailer is clear and he dusts off his hands. He pauses, deciding to forego the map he has tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He doesn’t need it.

Not after all this time.

Steve has poured over his map of Hawkins more times than he can count. He is certain he knows every square inch of his hometown.

Even if he hasn’t traversed the whole thing yet.

He didn’t get too far last week. Only made it to the Quarry before the ground started to shake. There are still tremors down here, and they can be felt up above too. But Steve made a promise that if he was down here, he would leave if such a thing happened.

He promised Robin.

And friends don’t lie.

It would be much easier if the other gates were open. Hell, Steve would even take his chances at Lover’s Lake again if it meant he didn’t have to start from the same spot every week.

He told Robin that he wouldn’t be down here too long today. His best friend wanted to head to the next town over and go to a market. And he won’t deny her a simple pleasantry, something fun to do, for once.

Before, they’d make a day of it and pile into his car at dawn, head on over to the gas station for snacks and sing the whole way. They’d go further, stay over. And he’d never once look at his watch.

But Steve won’t skip a day.

He can’t. He has to come down here.

Not too long after he had first journeyed back down here, Steve started to feel like he was being watched. He was sure it wasn’t any kind of monster or a hoard of undead bats. And El and Will said they couldn’t feel Venca, either – even if they continued to wait for him to return.

So, he has hope.

And it is why he ventures down here every week without fail.

Even when his parents are home and asking him a million questions. Even when he has work and Keith is busting his balls about flaking out on a shift.

When it’s the holidays. When Claudia insists that Steve stay with her and Dustin.

When his best friend wants to go somewhere fun.

It has been five years now.

Hawkins is mostly put back together, even if half the town moved away. Even if there is still a crack running straight down the middle of Cherry Street.

They left Eddie in the Upside Down on a Thursday night in 1986, and when Steve finally made it back, despite the protests of his friends, his body was nowhere to be found.

He hasn’t told anyone that part yet.

Steve looks at his watch. He promised Robin three hours.

He reaches for his flashlight with one hand and removes his baseball bat from its makeshift holster with the other.

Maybe today will be the day.

He hopes.

[mylahrins]

01. road trip? road trip!

“are you sure you guys want to come?”

akaashi was in the kitchen with kuroo, packing some snacks for the road last minute.

“you’re asking that now? after everyone’s already packed?” a grin adorns kenma’s face as he scrolls through his phone,

“i just want to make sure!” you smile, as bokuto opens the front door, ready to take more suitcases to the car.

“is it just these last two?” he asks to which akaashi rushes over and hands him one more bag.

“that should be it! but maybe we should double check we packed everything? hyogo is quite the drive”

“you’ve already overpacked a whole lot ‘kaashi” kuroo laughs, slinging an arm over his shoulder to which he rolls his eyes to. 

“if we need anything we can just stop to buy it.” you reassure him.

“okay then, that should be it.” he sighs, putting his hands on his hips, feeling accomplished.

“great!” kenma says sarcastically as he rolls off the couch, “that only took 2 hours.”

“to the car everyone!” bokuto cheered, leading the way with his suitcases.

just the night before, kuroo found a photography competition online. life was nice being independently wealthy and all, but it was boring. for weeks you had been trying to new hobbies to entertain yourself, but nothing had helped you out of your slump. until, kuroo sent you the link to the competition. you’re sure that he was joking when he said that you should join, but you saw this as a great, new opportunity. 

photography was an old passion of yours, you were part of the yearbook club in high school and spent most of your time with a camera. seeing that your old camera still worked years later, you knew it was a sign. so you decided to text the groupchat, letting your friends know your plans to leave tokyo. ever so supportive, they all offered and asked to tag along, which you agreed to with ease.

so now, you were all getting ready to leave tokyo together for a 7 hour drive to your hometown in hyogo. the theme for the competition was one word: nostalgia and there was no better place with more memories than the smalltown you grew up in. also, it had been years since you visited home and family, so this was the perfect excuse to do so.

“buckle up!” kuroo said, starting the car.

kenma sat in the passenger seat, whilst you sat in the back with bokuto and akaashi. you were thankful when akaashi volunteered to sit in the cramped middle seat.

“are we ready?” kuroo asks despite already steering out of the driveway.

kenma covers himself with a blanket to catch up on much needed sleep, while akaashi pulls out a book and starts reading, sharing earbuds and listening to music with bokuto.

“you ready to go mimi?” bokuto grins as he talks to his dog in his lap, petting her as she falls asleep. bokuto was hesitant to join the road trip since no one could dogsit mimi, but you assured him that mimi could come-with as you’d all be staying with your grandma rather than a hotel. volleyball happened to be off-season so it was all very convenient for him.

you glance outside your window, watching as the familiar sights start to change. you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like back home. it’s been years. were there new buildings? there were definitely going to be new people—but what about the old people? those who helped make high school bearable, could they still be found were your fondest memories reside?

you sigh, laying your head on akaashi’s shoulder. growing up often meant growing apart, not just with others but yourself as well. while you loved to reminisce of old memories, some things, some people were meant to be left in the past. would seeing old buildings and familiar sights bring you to the person you used to be? you figured it didn’t matter what happened in the past, as in this very moment you were surrounded by people you love. so you let those thoughts rest, and shut your eyes.

masterlist |next, 02. to the gas station! | back

author note: ahhh!!! so it starts... like i said i plan on writing more in this fic. there will little hints of a smau at the end of each chapter though (probably...) i know this is a pretty short start but we gotta start slow!! lmk what you think!! also this is like semi-proof read so... bear with me!!!

taglist: @from-mae @littlemiyastars @yenonnoff @jojo23allegra @milesmoralesluvs @vertejay

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[still-breathing-au-p3r]

The Dark Hour is already creepy enough on its own, and being in the hospital is also plenty unpleasant without any other factors. The two experiences combined are so much worse than the sum of their parts. 

The eerie silence is what he hates the most, he thinks. Normally the hospital is full of noise, day and night: the rumble of carts or bins or stretchers being rolled through the hallway, keyboards rattling at the nearby nurses’ station, muffled squeaking from the rubber-soled shoes that all the staff wear. All of it’s gone, replaced with a blank stillness that makes Shinjiro’s skin crawl.

It’s the first time he’s been awake for the Dark Hour since landing here. Normally, between rehab and scrambling through half a year’s worth of schoolwork, he’s so wiped at the end of the day that he can barely make it to nine before crashing. 

But not tonight. 

Tonight he gets to discover what it’s like to be dropped into the premise of a really shitty ghost story, because there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep while the rest of the team is out there facing the final Shadow. 

It won’t be just the Shadow, either. Shinjiro knows Strega better than all of them, and he knows for a fact that they’ll be there to get in the way. This is the only chance they’ve got left, after all. Plus, Takaya would never waste the opportunity to take a dramatic last stand, the theatrical jackass.

…

He should be there. He only got to help with one of the huge Shadows, and that doesn’t even come close to pulling his weight. He knows he’s got no one to blame but himself for that, and it leaves him feeling even more useless.

“Dammit…” Shinjiro grits out, draping his arm over his face. While he was on the streets he’d barely given any thought to S.E.E.S. and what they might be facing elsewhere in the Dark Hour. He’d been sure that Aki and Kirijo could handle whatever fights they decided to pick just fine without him– better without him and the liability he posed. Every new member that Aki told him about was another reason Shinjiro didn’t need to fret over it. 

It’s ridiculous how quickly his tune changed once he’d come back. It’s ridiculous that it changed at all. He’s seen first hand how well the team had been doing without him, how tough and crafty and powerful they’d become as a unit. Now he knows for certain just how little they actually need his help, but suddenly he can’t stop worrying. 

If any of them get hurt, and there’d been something he could have done– a shadow he could have wiped out before it had the chance to attack, a hit he could have taken–

A light flashing in the small gap between the closed curtains catches his eye and his thoughts grind to a halt mid-spiral. Shinjiro sets his teeth and levers himself out of bed so he can shuffle to the window. He slides the curtains aside– and stares.

Just what the hell is he looking at?

The familiar view of the Moonlight Bridge is defaced by the huge– thing floating above it. Shadows are always kind of nasty, and the one large Shadow he’d fought was definitely weird, but nothing like this.

It’s gigantic for one thing. The Shadow in September had been big, sure– as in room-sized. This one is closer in scale to a building. It’s so huge that even from this far away he can make out a surprising amount of detail.

He kind of wishes he couldn’t.

The Shadow dangles from a contraption that looks cobbled together from a bunch of stolen holy symbols– but that’s just about the only thing holy about it. He can’t see quite well enough to be sure, but he’s got a sickening hunch that it isn’t rope or chains that the shadow’s body is hanging by– that’s its skin, pierced and pulled taut and straining against gravity. Its neck droops at a disgusting angle, stretched out and loose. The whole picture is just…foul. It might actually be one of the most disturbing things he’s ever seen in his life.

Shinjiro keeps his eyes glued to the Shadow, grimacing, his whole body tense, until it hits him that it’s…not doing anything.

It just floats there. It doesn’t attack, it doesn’t move. Nothing. 

Before he can wonder what the hell is going on, another flash snags his attention. Lighting claws upward like it’s trying to tear down the swampy layer of clouds that always appear from nowhere during the Dark Hour.

Aki. 

It can’t be anyone but Aki. Arisato’s electric attacks conjure up ball lightning, blue-tinged like St. Elmo’s fire. Amada creates singular golden bolts that strike with sniper precision.

Aki’s lightning is as wild and intense as the person casting it: a huge, erratic net of eye-searing white that leaves everything in close range fizzing with static. He’s too far away to feel that charge, but the hair on Shinjiro’s arms stands up anyway.

The commotion is on the complete opposite side of the bridge from where the Shadow is idling away. Unless someone has suddenly turned traitor, it’s easy enough to guess who they’re fighting. 

A gout of greasy-looking smoke plumes upward– yeah, that’d be Jin and– damn, who was Jin’s Persona? Phobos? No, Moros. The fire it wielded always stank of oil and machinery and belched out filthy black smoke like a coal furnace. Another blaze of light– not Aki this time; it’s more a glow than a lightning snap, and buttery gold like sunlight. Amada. 

It takes him a second to even fully process what happens next. At first he thinks there’s something wrong with his eyes– but it’s not his vision failing, it’s the light being sucked away from the space surrounding the fight. Koromaru’s Curse attacks look nothing like that, and neither do Arisato’s.

With an unpleasant jolt, Shinjiro realizes that he’s never actually seen Takaya’s Persona before. He doesn’t even know its name, let alone what it’s capable of– but of course the bastard specializes in Curse magic. If Amada is on the front line, that could be a disaster. Goddamnit.

And all he can do is stand here and pray that the rest of the team doesn’t underestimate them.

I should be there. I should be helping, not sitting on the sidelines. Haven’t I done enough of that?

The presence in the back of his mind pushes back against those thoughts in a way that reminds Shinjiro of getting a stern but gentle talking-to. It urges him to stay put, radiating calm despite still being so unfamiliar. 

It’s so odd to reach back into that place in his head where Castor used to be penned up and find concern for his well-being. The only thing Castor had ever been concerned about was where to find his next opponent. Castor was always spoiling for a fight, and if he didn’t get one then he’d been more than willing to take his increasing hostility out on Shinjiro. Or, as it turned out, on anyone unlucky enough to be close by.

The memory has nausea clawing at him for a second, but it gets tamped down again and replaced with more of that warm, almost paternal reassurance. He doesn’t actually feel a phantom sensation of a steadfast hand on his shoulder or anything like that– but he can definitely imagine it.

Not that he has any paternal references to cross-check with, of course. He can only assume this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Shinjiro gently rests one hand on his chest. “I know I can’t do anything…” He murmurs into the darkness. His breath fogs up the window just a little. “But it still makes me anxious.” 

A feeling of understanding washes over him, and Shinjiro smiles slightly. Of course he gets it. ‘I am thou and thou art I,’ or whatever it was he’d heard before. 

The fireworks from the battle with Strega suddenly stop. The fight is over, but there’s nothing to clue him in on who won. Shinjiro stands frozen in the nerve-shredding silence, waiting. After a small eternity the Shadow starts to move, tilting downwards like something on the ground has caught its attention.

And then that unmistakable, sky-filling lightning that could only be Aki’s handiwork.

That’s that for Strega then. Shinjiro can’t help but smirk. He never should have doubted his team.

Whatever it is they’re attacking, it’s not the Shadow itself, but it’s definitely connected to it. The thing gives a sudden lurch and loses altitude, swaying crazily on its horrible fleshy tethers. It drops again, then crashes to the ground, out of his line of sight. For several minutes all he can see are wild flickering lights that make the bridge’s architecture seem to twist and thrash like it wants to join the fray.

The Shadow hauls itself back into the air; the others knock it down again. The pattern repeats, and then–

It all stops.

The atmosphere shifts in a way that makes him kind of light-headed, almost like the air surrounding him suddenly weighs less. The moon is still far too big, though. It still glows poison green.

Why is it still the Dark Hour? They’d done it, hadn’t they? 

Another minute drags past without that giant nightmare Shadow rising triumphantly back into the air. Shinjiro squints, trying to pick out anything that might give him a better idea of–

His forehead meets the chilly windowpane with a soft thunk. Scowling, he buffs away the smudge left behind with the sleeve of his hospital gown.

They had to have beaten it. This has to be just a last gasp, like a squid still thrashing its arms even after you’d cleaned out everything that would keep it alive.

He tells himself this, but it doesn’t completely soothe the doubtful itch at the back of his thoughts.

Something tugs on his Persona’s attention, and then he can hear Yamagishi’s little bell voice as clearly as if she was standing right next to him.

“Aragaki-senpai? Are you awake?”

Right. He’d forgotten that he’d asked Yamagishi to contact him as soon as the battle was finished. Thank god she actually remembered. 

“That was a hell of a lightshow you guys put on,” he replies. The relief in his voice is naked and obvious to him, but for once he doesn’t care if they can hear it too. “Who could sleep through that?” 

“Wait, HUH?” Junpei’s voice sounds slightly further away than Yamagishi’s, like he’s standing over by the door maybe. “You saw all that?”

“I can see the bridge from my window, dumbass,” Shinjiro laughs. “Kinda hard to miss.”

“Hey, I dunno what kinda view you’ve got, man! The curtains are always closed!”

“...You got me there. Fair enough, I take it back.”

“Now there’s something I’ve never heard from you before. Junpei, I think you just witnessed a miracle.”

“Shut up, Aki.”

“We were just discussing how to celebrate our accomplishment,” Kirijo slides in smooth as silk, like she can just smell that they’re about to start testing her patience. “Iori proposed that I order sushi. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Anything beats hospital food,” Shinjiro says with feeling. He is never going to take having access to a kitchen for granted again, even the dorm’s postage-stamp sized one. “Definitely won’t turn my nose up at sushi, though.”

“I already told Mitsuru you’d want salmon.”

“God, of course you’d remember that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Aki sounds baffled and almost offended, like Shinjiro had suggested he might forget his own name. There is absolutely not a sentimental knot damming up Shinjiro’s throat in response to that thought. No goddamn way.

The fact that they want to include him in this little celebration at all only makes the knot tighten. He hasn’t done nearly enough to deserve something as nice as Kirijo-bought expensive sushi. 

But he knows that if he says anything, it’ll just cause an argument. Because all of them are even more disgustingly sentimental than him, and every bit as stubborn. 

In the background he can hear Aigis prompting Arisato for a victory cheer. His idea of one turns out to be ‘let’s eat,’ which Yamagishi parrots with confusion, Junpei with manic delight, and Aigis with her signature stoic enthusiasm. Shinjiro can practically hear Kirijo shaking her head, equal parts fond and bemused, when she speaks again.

“We shouldn’t keep you up any longer. I’m sure you’re quite tired.”

Fatigue immediately drags on his limbs, as though she’d reminded his body of its own exhaustion.

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat. Stressin’ out about you thrillseekers is hard work, y’know?”

“I am keenly aware of how taxing that can be, yes,” she says, her voice as dry as a salt-flat. Aki has the decency to sound sheepish when he laughs at that, but Shinjiro does not. “Rest well, Aragaki.”

“Hey, you too. You’re the ones who earned it.”

“Night, Shinji,” Aki says, warm and affectionate. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.”

“Goodnight, Aragaki-senpai,” Yamagishi chimes in. “Everyone is so excited for you to be back!”

“Yeah,” Shinjiro says to the silence of the hospital room, after the connection through Juno has already dissolved. “Me too.”

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Lovely perfumes and naughty deeds in the villa

Lovely perfumes and naughty deeds in the villa

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing:   Napoleon x MO (Lesser vampire)

Part of : Sexy Ikemen Summer hosted by @xxsycamore

Prompt : 1. Your rich friend's summer villa

Tag: Established relationship PIV Creampie Scent kink Biting kink Smut Minors DNI!!        

Word Count : 3.733

Author’s Note: A vacation on an island is the right occasion to turn a simple holiday in so much more, deepening the bond of the two lovebirds as they give in to their love. 🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 

@william-rex @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty @lichtluv

@ike-garden2024 @jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

Summer has arrived at least stronger than ever, the heat wave a mighty lion engulfing the country in an indolent lifestyle that, though relaxed, not everyone in the mansion appreciated.

Napoleon was one of them, running around the halls ordering things he only saw to be messy, while his little students enjoyed a well deserved vacation from their studies.

“It reached my ear that this summer was indeed being too hot for you to bear, is it ?”

As he spoke, Comte sent a glance to Julia who sat slumped on Jean’s chest on a sofa hidden under the tree’s thick foliage, he smiled at the sight of her nephew’s chartreuse eyes glimmering with happiness at the news she foresaw coming from him.

“But I have an idea.”

The spark in his amber gaze didn’t go unnoticed to the residents gathered in the garden, shocking even the usually stoic Sebastian who was holding a parasol over their head.

“I think we all could enjoy a vacation on our own. I will cover all the expenses you just have to pick a destination of your choice and let your fate in my hands.”

Needless to say no one thought twice about his offer, and so baggages in hand everyone adventured themselves in their own journey.

“I am so excited we have picked the same palace to go on vacation in.”

Julia’s shrill voice seemed to shake the whole train wagon awake as she looked at her friend, whose hazelnut eyes glimmered in the dimlit out wagon with a smile that didn't fail to outshone the sun itself since they found each other at the train  station barely a few hours ago.

“I am too. I can’t wait to see all Corsica has to offer and let’s say I adore the idea of staying at your uncle’s villa.”

“I bet he has mansions all around the world.”

“Well he seem he come up with a good idea for once.”

Jean’s voice made her laugh softly as she playfully slapped his chest looking up at him as he stroked fondly her cheek with his thumb.

“Come on, you know he wouldn’t let an occasion to spoil us pass him by.”

“To spoil you.”

“And you too.”

Playfully she brushed her nose against his, oblivious to the curious glances of the train’s passengers … and even those of their friends sat in front of them.

Napoleon’s cough did nothing to separate them and so he resumed his chat with his lover, whose chocolate locks fall like a voluptuous cascade around her shoulder in the noon’s sun shining through the windows.

“I am really happy you have picked this destination. It is a lot to me.”

“I know, that’s why I picked it.”

Between carefree laughs and idle chats the travel went on, it was long but no one of them mind given the pleasant company and even the beautiful scenery of the countries the train passed through.

At least they landed in the isle of Corsica.

It was a sight to behold, mountains, valley and cascades all took her attention in turn as the seagulls shrieked fling high above the water from where they came from, accompanying the boat in its travel as the peculiar group decided to retire for the night in the mediterranean style villa secluded in an hidden corner of the isle surrounded by a luscious greenery to grant as much privacy as possible from the outside world.

Napoleon remembered that island well, memories of distant past overlapping with most recent ones, but along lights there came shadows, demons swirled in his mind immediately brushed away from the warmth of her hand taking his.

They were two against the world and he had all the intention to make her the happiest girl on earth as she made him.

Every season had his peculiar scents, and sights worth of painting he never got tired to admire yet nothing could compare to his lover’s beauty.

She was really a sight to behold, he never could get tired to admire in all her glory every time of the day, smiling at the sight of her chocolaty irises flashing scarlet with lust when they were in bed, cherishing any moment and giving himself over to her, revelling in the little prickle of her fangs scraped on his skin, quenching her thirst with him while groans of pleasure fled from his lips.

He enjoyed even submission taking pleasure as she rode him out all through the night, using him for her own pleasure, letting him lead only at the break of dawn for an intense session that would have made her sore the next day but she didn’t mind, not at all. 

Her voice, a melody to his ear, hearty laugh or easy talks it was a song he never got tired to listen to, like the sensation of her hand engulfed in his, as they strolled side by side through Paris, making shopping or sightseeing the stores’ windows basking in the busy atmosphere of the city, it felt natural as a second nature like the love he hold for her has become to him.

To think of the day he would have been this happy, sharing that simple life he always yearned for, was a gift he couldn't believe to be so lucky to have, loving her like he had never loved before, thinking that maybe his arrival at the mansion had a purpose after all, to meet and feel in love with that peculiar girl who had enough courage to stick up to him, becoming a vampire just to be at his side.

His heart swelled with affection at her thoughtful act, ready to support and love her so much she wouldn’t have been able to regret her choice because he wouldn’t have given her any reason for it.

The sun was shining high, bathing everything in sight in its tepid warmth, the laundry billowing in the wind seemed to dance for an imaginary audience following the chirping melody of the birds hidden among the foliage of the trees.

It was such a nice day she spent all morning running out and about in the villa’s gardens going to the extra miles to spend as much time as possible basking in the tepid air of the summer ocasinaly refreshed by the salty breeze brushing in the garden, whispering about adventures the island had to offer, with prompt she collected fruits from the trees thinking already of the delicious meal she would have prepared, picturing the smiling on his lover face enough to make her heart race furiously in her chest, a rosy blush arised to her cheeks hidden by the huge stack of laundry neatly folded in the basket she was taking inside. 

The moment his loverp stepped in the hall he senses her presence, it wasn't just the habit of her soft voice singing to herself that awoke him rather it was something else he couldn’t point out, and then just when he was to give up, mindlessly walking down the staircase to greet her suddenly it invaded his nostrils.

The sweet aroma of peach melted with the fresh scent of bergamot, harmoniously mixed with jasmine and sandalwood, her perfume the same he would have recognized among thousands exactly like standing out like a colorful flower in the dull monotony his life had been up until their meeting.

She placed the basket in the little storehouse before walking toward the kitchen, he followed his movements stealthy in a way he hoped she couldn't hear him, proud of himself for his idea, he followed his plan smirking at the little yelp escaping her rosy lips as he hugged her from behind. 

“Leone!”

“You didn’t expect me, mia piccola principessa ?”

“You can say. I thought you were sparring with Jean.”

“I was but then his wife came in and … well he remembered he had to help her with reordering their luggages.”

“Do you really think Julia needed his help for that ?”

“Not at all.”

“Why do I have the sensation there is something naughty going on ?”

“Because you have a good instinct. They were only walking hand in hand through the corridor but it was clear as the day how much they loved one another, trust me with the accomplice's glances they shared I am more than sure you are right as ever.”

He nuzzled in her neck, letting her sweet scent invade his nostrils, driving him mad a sensation he experienced only with bloodlust but totally different, here he felt the need to lick and suck on her skin not to draw blood but to sign her fair skin with rosy love bites, visible proof of his unyielding affection. 

“Ahhh … Leone, what are you doing ? It’s still morning.”

“I know.” 

His voice huskier than what he normally was as he tightened his arms around her, pushing his body against her betraying a need that wasn’t there before.

A desire he wishes to satisfy only with her alone.

That thought put disarray in her as she yielded, as she always did, to that uncontainable passion that linked their hearts together.

“I love your perfume.” 

His lips nibbled on the soft skin of her shoulder, before trailing the tip of his tongue from her neck to her earlobe, brushing an earring of hers with his nose.

It was a gift of his for their anniversary and the idea she wore it ever since, thinking each day of him, never failed to make his heart beat a little faster in his chest, filled with a warm love he never believed he could have experienced, 

“You naughty boy, we aren't alone in the house, you know ?”

“If you can still think of something else then I am not doing a good job.”

He scraped his fangs on the side of her neck, taking her flesh between his teeth sucking on it, careful to not pierce her skin.

“Ahhhh Leone … please-”

“Please what, my little ?”

“Please … ahhh … don’t tease me like that.”

“I am not teasing you at all … mia piccola principessa.”

He murmured sultrily in her ear taking in the view of the blissful smile curling her lips while a dreamy sigh escaped her lips.

“You seem to be so clingy today Mon Roi.”

He chuckled at the title, while his arms tightened around her torso.

“I can’t help it. I like way too much keeping you close Ma Reine. You're so warm.”

He nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck, revelling in the little yelp of surprises tumbling out her soft lips.

“Your perfume is amazing I think I am going crazy for you all over again 

She arched her neck offering it to him moaning as his fangs pierced her skin, a wave of pleasure ran straight down her core, the way she rolled her butt against his, brushing over his crotch, driving him mad, robbing a groan from his throat.

As payback he pushed back earning a sinfully moan form her luscious lips as his hands begin to roam on her body, his fingers doing a quick job of her dress’s buttons sliding it off her shoulder enough to cup her breast from above her chemise, groaning as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger hardening under him as he generously gifted her other nipple alike, while the warm touch of his fingers crawling under her light undergarment leave a trail of fire in his caress.

Slowly he pulled away licking her wound clean before offering his arm up to her, her bright rose eyes flashing red with lust as she grabbed his hand with trembling fingers leaning her warm lips on his skin sucking his blood, pure erotism he couldn’t take his eyes away from, groaning at her soft tongue lapping the wound sucking it.

An act of nourishment they both used to their own advantages for naughty sessions of love making ever since she was turned into a lesser vampire, all for him. 

“Napo … leone.” 

His name enveloped in her melodic voice while his hands palmed down her tights, raising the fabric of her drawers in his trail, trickling his fingers over her supple skin, bending over to him, mewling at his fingers sliding off her drawers enough to give his fingers space to work his magic on her taking his time caressing her labia tickling the soft sensitive skin around her clit before brushing over it.  fleeting touch but that was enough to make her yearn for more. 

The soft pad of his digit probed at her entrance dwelling a bit longer in the warm space between her folds. 

“Leone please.”

A whiny whimper fled from her lips as she desperately pushed her hips against his hand hoping to be enough to make him do something, anything but that slow tease tantalizing her arouse with all the intention to satisfy it …  only not any time soon.

“I see my little is impatient today.”

He caressed her butt cheeks playfully slapping it, her core glistened with her wetness seeping onto his fingers, making him even more aroused as the painfully hardened bulge in his pants begged for a release. 

Gently he leaned over her, his hand already gripping her hip, up and ready for him as he whispered sultrily brushing his lips on her earlobe.

“Are you ready ?”

“Yes please.” 

He lined his cock with her entrance, dipping its tip in her juices, barely resisting the urge to sink in a single thirst and forget the rest for how delicious wet and tight she was.

“Are you sure baby ?”

“Just got at it already Napoleone.”

“It seems I am getting myself in quite a mess aren't I ?”

“You sure would be if you don’t move Napoleone Buonaparte”

A hearty laugh escaped his lips at hearing his full name pronounced by her lips, surely she has gotten bold since they started dating but he was happy to see her so straightforward with her desire, exactly like she has taught him to be.

“Get at it or  Ahhhh.”

Her moans coupled with a low guttural grunt as he sheathed fully into her, his fingers tightened on her hips, as he stood still to give her time to adjust to his size. 

“Or mia piccola principessa.”

“Or I would anf think of ahhh a revenge.”

“It seems my lover has such a temper.” 

“You already know, don't go around ahhh acting all surprised now.”

“I never dream of doing it, piccola mia.”

It was only when she pushed her back against his pelvis eliciting him to move that he did, setting a slow pace, rolling back and forth like a wave of pleasure he yearned to ride alongside her.

The only sound in the cozy kitchen was the melody of moans and grunts filling the air making it even hotter than what already was, refreshed partially from the light breeze coming from outside caring with it the salty scent of sea and the screeching of seagulls chatting freely with the chirping birds flying round the garden in a cascade of colors falling from the luscious greenery.

“You are so good mia dea so ngghh tight and wet all for me.”

“Only for you. Ahhh always for you, Leone.”

Her pink nails clawed helplessly the table doing her best to steady herself amidst the waves of pleasure wrecking over her body, mewling at the way his fingers grip on her waist tightened like the knot in her belly as the light massage of his skilled thumb on her sensitive clit increased speed, helped by her soaked cunt sucking in every so sinfully good his aching cock, mercilessly diving deeper into her at each thrust robbing a wanton moan form her lips as his tip kissed the base of her cervix making her see stars.

His ever skillful fingers though tired to grip her hips begin to roam upward, sliding under her blouse tickling her sensitive skin in their travel.

“Ahhh Napo you are not nghh fair.” 

Her words mixed up with her moans turned him on more than he could say, excitement he showed pulling down and then sinking back in a single thrust robbing a wanton moan from her soft lips.

“Who said I ever was nunuche ?”

She scoffed but he knew she wasn’t really mad, but still to make up for his pettiness he nuzzled softly in her neck nibbling on the tender flesh on the crook of her shoulder, erasing any animosity she may have had, and he knew that the payback for that would have been merciless, be it teasing him to the point of madness for a whole day in which she would have then denied him any pleasure. 

“I know you love this about me.”

“As this is the only thing I love, mio principe.”

Her tender words taking him off guard, making him falter for a second, moment she took advantage of to push her butt back to him, turning as she could toward him to leave a gentle kiss on his cheek, making him yearn for more he didn’t shied back to take grabbing her face in his hand, freed from her blouse, and smacking his lips on hers, his tongue probing inside ravaging her mouth only to entwine at least with her own.

A kiss they reluctantly broke off a tiny string of saliva still connecting their lips as she crashed her lips on his once more, sweeping him in a passionate tango of pleasure that never failed to fill his heart with love, so bright to outshine even the brightest star and warmer than a thousand suns.

He broke off the kiss leaning his forehead on her back as he regained his breath, feeling her doing the same, pressing his hand gently on her bosom to keep her upper half from slumping once more on the table, sliding off only when her breath returned steady, his naughty fingers taking advantage of her surprise to slide the buttons of her shirt off one by one, feeling her eagerness in the way she arched her back taking his hand in hers only to palace it flat on her bosom eliciting him to play her magic on her once more as he always did never failing to make her feel loved and cherished like only he could.

His digits ever naughty tugged the ribbon of her corset making it come undone enough for him to cup her breast in his capable hand out of her light chemise, pulled downward giving her an air of blissful decadence that fitted the naughty squeaking noise of their coupling as his hips continued to pound into her over and over again, bringing her to the edge with the help of his left thumb mercilessly stroking her sensitive bud only to withdraw as she least expect it, leaving her unsatisfied and eager for more, she didn't shied away from taking it herself covering his hand with her own stoking her clit along his forefinger bringing her to a climax long yearned for.

She slumped on the table curling blissfully on his arm, wrapped around her torso all the while his right fingers went on the prowl on her body, rolling her peaked nippled between his thumb and forefingers smirking as it hardened under his touch, thrusting in and out of her at a light pace enough to make her regain enough energy to give in his ministrations to the fullest.

Ever the tease he decided to mould her other breasts a bit longer than its counterpart, caressing her areola robbing wanton moans from her lips, sending a pang of arousal in his already aching cock stills sheathed in her cunt, the same he yearned to fill with him, signing him with his cum, with his scent, even though he knew that so much jealousy wasn’t necessary now that they were alone on the island he couldn't help himself.

He wanted to sign her for everyone to see and wear the lovebites she gave him with pride, a seal he was hers, signed by the one and only he loved, the same he would have done anything to see smile. 

Gently his left forefingers begin to rub circles on her clit, earning a soft mewl as he set a fast pace, all the while his right hand continued to knead at her breasts only to slide down to caress her hips, holding her close all through their copulation, tightening his fingers as he felt her walls close around his shaft in a vice like grip, groaning into her ear as he felt her came all over his dick, coated with her juice as he spilled his cum deeper into her in a single trust, painting her inside white as he rolled back and forth riding through their orgasms.

Bliss washed over her features as she slumped on the table, letting him holding her close to his chest with his right arm, bathing in the light whimper of dissatisfaction as he pulled away, with practised movements he lifted her in his arms, smiling as she nuzzled her head in his shoulder.

“Where are you going Napoleon, it's still morning ?”

“I know but I don’t think I can wait to ravage you, even more because I am sure Jean and Julia are pretty busy already and they sure won’t mind if the meal is ready or not.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, tightening his grip as he started to wander around the immense villa, slowing down his pace only when inside their room.

“So now what do you say to let me continue to enjoy ourselves to our heart’s content?”

“I would say it is a wonderful idea.” 

She slumped on the soft sheets of the bed welcoming him with open arms as he hugged her to his chest, looking fondly at her, his eyes full of promise as he stroked the back of his fingers on her cheek, his voice a tender confession warming her whole heart bursting with love.

“I love you so much Mia Regina.”

“I love you too Mio Re.”

Wasting no moment they give in to the temptation, ready to show off their love to one another with only the stars as audience of that peculiar spectacle, affection swimming on their warm gaze, curling their lips in happy, bright smiles.

[donationwayne]

Fuck It Friday

i noticed everyone is mostly doing spicy clips this fuck it friday but i haven't written any buddie smut yet so i hope everyone enjoys a snippet from my upcoming army!eddie fic coming up. It will also be my first multi-chapter fic! (this is from my first draft so if you see any typos please ignore lmaoooo)

i was tagged by @daffi-990 !!!!

Buck and Eddie moved to LA w/ Chris, shortly after Eddie was deployed overseas again. Buck is navigating raising their son on his own in a new state while working a new job and starting at the 118. Things get dicey when Eddie goes MIA overseas.

“Hey Bobby, I hate to ask this, but my Abuela broke her hip while she was watching my son. Would I be able to pick him up from the hospital? His Tia will have her hands full caring for my Abuela.” Bobby blinked at Buck, stupefied. “Your son?” Buck gave the three of them a sheepish smile, turning shy eyes on Chimney and Hen, who were staring at Buck slack-jaw. "Sorry, can you repeat that?” Chimney asked, pretending to clean out his ear with a tinge of sarcasm and shock. “I, yeah—his name is Chris. He’s 7. I’m sorry I never said anything sooner—we were still just trying to settle in. It was a huge change for us to move out here. And on top of that, I didn’t know…” “You didn’t know what it would be like here.” Hen stated. She picked up on the implication behind the half spoken thought easily. In the years since Bobby took over, the crew had grown so much closer, all wound together in one giant, occasionally dysfunctional, family. Even more so, once Athena and Bobby started dating about a year after she and Michael had officially separated. Buck wouldn’t just be introducing himself to a new family, but his son was, which was certainly intimidating. Terrifying even when it was so clear that Buck had some serious self-esteem issues. He was terrified of rejection, and adding an extra party to the equation complicated everything that much more. Buck shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I never expected LA to become home so fast. Before I really settled in here at the station, I just wanted to be sure it was going to work before I completely committed. I needed to leave my options open in case the hours didn’t work with taking care of him. Texas and LA are extremely different environments, and even though we’d been here through my training, I still wasn’t sure if we’d find a good school.” Buck shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention anything sooner, but we just weren’t ready.” “But you’re ready now?” Bobby asked, his expression both unreadable and soft. “Yeah,” Buck glances at the three of them flushing a little. “I really think I am.” “Wait, you’re a Texas boy?” Chim grimaces like he can’t connect the dots to Buck. Buck laughs at his befuddled expression. “Not exactly. I was born and raised in Hershey, Pennsylvania. I ended up in Texas after some traveling.” “Traveling? How did you travel with a whole ass, kid? Aren’t you only like 25?” Buck laughed while watching them struggle with the math of it all. “It's a long story.” One that he was not ready to tell, one that he would not be ready to tell until Eddie was back stateside. Until he was safe in Buck’s arms. “Well, if you want to bring him back here, you’re more than welcome to,” Bobby offered, squeezing Buck’s shoulder comfortingly. “Thank you, Bobby, and I promise this won’t be a regular occurrence.” Buck started to babble. “It's alright, Buck, now go get your son.” Bobby soothed.

I feel like a lot of people have already posted today but if anyone wants to do this who has, tag me so I can see your fic!!!!

[mrs-dr-reid]

Babysitting

(A Spencer Reid x Fem!OC Fic)

Pairing: Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Adri Carmichael (my CM OC)

Summary: Spencer is charged with babysitting the LaMontagne boys as well as little Addie Carmichael-Reid while the BAU Ladies have a night out

Genre: Fluff, Dad!Spence Brainrot

Warnings: Toothrotting fluff, Dad!Spence (need I say more?)

A/N: This is something I finished writing solely for my Discord friend, Ozzie. But also because I love writing Spencer's interactions with my OC after they have their daughter. Also, I'm not gonna bother switching this out of diary-entry style, so have fun with that. Also also, Henry is like 8, Michael is 6 months old, Addie is 2 months old, and my faceclaim for Adri is Amanda Seyfried. Just throwing that out there

Word Count: 1467

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Status Report:

I just witnessed the cutest thing in the world. I was out with Tara, JJ, and Penelope for a ladies night, and Spencer volunteered to watch all three kiddos (Henry, Michael, and Addie) for the evening because Will was planning on going out with some of his old coworkers at the police station and was concerned about finding a sitter so last minute. Spencer brought me and Addie over to JJ and Will’s because he insisted it would be easier to bring Addie there instead of bringing the boys to our place, and I went upstairs to get ready with the ladies. At the same time, Will gave Spencer the rundown on what the boys needed to get done while we were out. I found everyone in JJ and Will’s master bathroom, and we started getting ready. Tara said, “Are we sure Reid can handle three kids all at once?”, while putting on mascara, so JJ replied, “Well, he did a pretty good job with Henry last time we went out for a ladies' night,” while curling her hair, and both Penelope and I let out joking shudders because all of us got AWFUL hangovers from that night, and Spencer still hasn’t let us forget that we didn’t come back until after sunrise when we said we’d only be gone a couple hours. It also didn’t help that the next morning we had to go support Hotch at his triathlon and all of us were MISERABLE from how bright it was and from all the cheering.

Once we were all ready, we went back downstairs to find Spencer already doing a kid’s puzzle with Henry while bouncing Michael and Addie on his knees. I melted at the sweetness of the scene, then went over to kiss him on the lips before I said, “We shouldn’t be out any later than midnight. I’m the designated driver and JJ isn’t drinking, so we’ll make sure we don’t leave you hanging all night,” which earned a pointed look and a, “Thank god,” from him. I giggled, then squatted down and said, “You’ll be good for Daddy, right?”, to Addie, who flapped her little arms and babbled happily at me. I smiled and said, “Good,” before kissing her nose with a comically exaggerated “Mwah!” sound to make her laugh, then standing up and calling, “Let’s go, Ladies! Party time waits for no one!”, the girls following me out the door while extending their thank you’s to Spencer, who just held up a hand and told us to have fun. And fun, we had. I honestly can’t remember the last time I got to hang out with my best gal pals outside of work like that. We obviously didn’t get up to the same level of debauchery as last time since JJ and I stayed sober the whole night to keep the other ladies on track (still being breastfeeders meant no alcohol for us), but we still had a good time.

Tara and Penelope were giggling messes the whole way back to JJ and Will’s due to the large but still reasonable amount of alcohol they consumed, and we pulled into the driveway at about a quarter after 11. Tara and Penelope were staying the night in the guest bedroom, so they quietly dragged their inebriated butts upstairs while JJ and I followed behind them with lovingly exasperated looks on our faces. The tv was still on and playing what I think was a Spider-Man cartoon, and when I saw a familiar mop of unruly hair poking over the back of the couch, I put out a hand to stop JJ from walking and pointed. She nodded, then the two of us tiptoed around to the front of the couch and proceeded to melt, because Spencer was fast asleep on the couch with Henry snuggled into his side and both Michael and Addie knocked out on his chest. Both of us whipped out our phones and took several pictures (making sure the flash wasn’t on so we wouldn’t wake them up), then I went over and kissed Spencer’s forehead before whispering, “Honey, we’re back,” which made his nose scrunch before he opened his eyes while mumbling, “Mmm, what time is it?”

I smiled and said, “20 after 11. Tara and Penny are staying the night, so I was gonna help JJ bring the boys up to bed before I bring you guys home,” so he said, “No, you go put Addie in the car, I’ll help JJ and pack up Addie’s stuff,” while gesturing for me to grab our daughter off of his chest. I did so, then he very carefully handed Michael to JJ before he scooped Henry up and nodded for JJ to go in front of him. He whispered, “I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”, so I whispered back, “Okay,” he smiled, then pressed a chaste kiss to my lips before following JJ upstairs to the boys’ rooms. I shook my head fondly as I watched him go, then strapped Addie into her car seat and brought her out to the car, her not stirring even a little bit the whole time (if there’s one thing she inherited from me, it’s my ability to sleep like the dead in any circumstance). I started up the car (double-checking that the radio was off first), and then Spencer made his way out and plunked into the passenger seat. I giggled, and he let out an only slightly melodramatic sigh before saying, “Thank you for not being out until sunrise again,” so I replied, “You’re welcome. Thank you for taking care of the Three Stooges all night,” which made him wave a hand and say, “Anything for my favorite ladies. Now let’s go home,” causing me to roll my eyes lovingly before saying, “As you wish, My Love,” and pulling out of the driveway.

We made it back to the apartment, and Spencer got out of the car to grab Addie’s car seat while insisting I go ahead and get ready for bed since he was already in a hoodie and sweatpants. I gave in, then as I was taking my makeup off in our bathroom after changing into some pajamas, I heard Addie babbling nonsensically and Spencer talking indistinctly. I went back into our bedroom to find him walking around with a swaddled-up Addie in his arms, and every time she let out a coo or a squeak, he’d say something like, “Really? I never knew that,” or, “Wow, Precious, that’s incredible!”, which made my heart practically turn to mush and a dopey, love-sick smile spread across my face. Spencer turned around to see me standing there, and his smile got even bigger before he teased, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” which made me scoff and say, “Photographic memory, Wise Guy. Don’t need to,” earning an eye roll from my partner.

I walked over to him, then said, “You get in bed, I’ll put her back to sleep,” and when he said, “You sure, Adri?”, I said, “Yes, Love, now give me my Little Lady,” while holding out my hands expectantly. He chuckled, then handed me Addie before kissing my forehead, crawling into bed, and grabbing the book he was rereading for the eighth time. I said, “Okay, Baby Genius, time for your bedtime song,” while adjusting Addie’s blanket, and Addie reached up to grab at my finger as I started to sing, “Edelweiss, Edelweiss, every morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright. You look happy to meet me,” Addie cooing at me while I rocked her back and forth. She fell asleep after two choruses, so I very carefully slid her into her crib and tucked her in before whispering, “Sweet Dreams, Miss Adeline,” and climbing into bed beside Spencer, who was looking at me with more love in his eyes than the day we finally told the team we were together.

He whispered, “You’re incredible, Adri. You know that, right?”, so I replied, “You tell me every day, My Love. I know. You’re pretty fantastic, too,” before leaning closer and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smiled against my mouth, then when I pulled away, he quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “Bedtime?”, which made me let out a tiny snort and confirm, “Bedtime,” making another smile spread across his face. He turned the lamp on his bedside table off, and I snuggled against his chest while letting out a content sigh. I felt his lips press against the top of my head and I heard him whisper, “I adore you, Adrienne Carmichael,” so I whispered back, “I adore you too, Spencer Reid,” before letting the sweet caress of sleep overtake me. That’ll be all for now. Talk soon!

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CM Taglist: @homoose, @libraryofloveletters, @xgoldentigerlilyx, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @boketto2-0, @aryaarathornson, @spoookymuulders, @nomajdetective

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Anon, you're wild. I love it. I appreciate the investment in this story SO MUCH.

126 sentences:

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He’s not much more than a blurry figure through the darkened windshield glass, but Eddie finds he can see him clearly in his imagination. Leaning forward in his seat. Leg tapping. Waiting and hoping something will happen. An intensity in the blues of his eyes that would suck Eddie in. 

He misses him so badly. Even if Buck might hate him now. Even if Eddie is furious with him. 

He lets his mind get carried away with scenarios that won’t happen, but that fill the gaps of boredom in waiting for activity. He imagines walking out of the cafe and into the station lot. He imagines standing there, waiting for Buck to make some sort of move. Like surrendering himself to a law that rules only over him. He imagines Buck climbing out the Jeep and grinning at him, like no time at all has passed. He imagines Buck climbing out of the Jeep, pulling a gun on him, and shooting. He imagines Buck climbing out of the Jeep and being afraid of him. 

Eddie stays in his seat. 

It takes another half hour for Buck to give up on the fire station angle. Eddie has finished his tea and has to high tail it out of the cafe so as not to lose him completely. Even so, by the time he’s in the CRV, Buck’s Jeep is gone. Eddie has to think about where he might be going. 

How does Buck think Eddie would think? 

Well, truthfully, if he wasn’t a fucking vampire, Eddie would run with his tail between his legs to Bobby. Bobby, who has always been a safe haven to him, even when he has royally fucked up. But Buck can probably guess that Eddie would consider the religion of it all and steer clear. Leaving his next two best bets, Hen and Chim. Eddie has thought about them, too. 

He can’t go to Chim. Chim, who is just as likely to be compassionate and kind as he is spooked. He thinks Chim would try to help him, but he also knows Chim cannot keep things to himself. Secrets come at a great personal cost to him. And the first person he’d encounter and be likely to tell? Maddie. And Maddie would tell Buck. So Buck must know that Eddie knows that Chim is a no-go. 

Which leaves Hen. 

Eddie drives towards Hen’s house. Maybe if today leads to nothing, he’ll have to turn to her for help, anyway. 

💧💧💧

No sign of him.

Sophia’s text greets Buck with equal parts frustration and relief. 

He wants this to be over. He wants Eddie to be found. But he also wants to be the one to find him. He wants to be there. He’s been dreaming of it for months. Been aching for it. The idea of Eddie being spotted, and potentially disappearing again, while Buck is across town? It drives him mad. 

Buck knows the whole thing has made him sort of insane. He knows he probably needs therapy and potentially a lobotomy. It’s impacted everything about him. He knows that he spends too much time fantasizing about finding Eddie. He knows the dreams he has at night about what might happen once he does are wildly inappropriate. Out of his control, really.  But inappropriate. If it was just the sex and the kissing he’d understand. He hasn’t had sex since Tommy, since before he and Eddie were bit. He’s pent up, and Eddie is the source of a lot of his obsessive thoughts. But the dreams where it goes further than that? Where Eddie is biting him again? Buck knows he’s fucking sick. Damaged. He knows he needs this to be solved so he can begin shaping himself back into who he used to be. If that’s even possible. 

Buck can’t lose Eddie again, now that he’s so close. He’s just not sure he has the resilience. 

He pulls onto a street adjacent to Hen and Karen’s, and parks on a curbside that gives him a decent view of their house. He doesn’t have to worry about them seeing him being creepy. He knows that they’re in San Diego today, visiting Karen’s brother, who hasn’t been able to meet Mara yet due to the checkpoints. They’d gotten Mara back pretty quickly after Councilwoman Ortiz became a victim of a vampire attack. Buck always wondered if that was Eddie, too. The way Gerrard had been. 

If Eddie comes looking for Hen and Karen, it will be a dead end for him. He might move onto Bobby or Chim. Though Buck doubts the latter especially. He wonders if Eddie will break in here, too. That will tell him something about the guy’s state of mind. He doesn’t have a reason to. At least not that Buck can think of. 

Sighing, eyes half on the house, half on his phone, Buck replies to Sophia.

3:21PM 

Not at the station, either.

Trying Hen’s house. 

Her response dings immediately.

Would he go there?

Buck really hopes so. He thinks he knows Eddie well enough to predict his choices. Though, the weeks before all this shit went down kind of proved that wrong. 

If he’s back, it’s because he needs help. 

Hen would help him, if she knew. 

He knows that. 

Maybe Buck should have told her to begin with. Just another thing he’ll have to apologize for when he is finally liberated by the truth. 

A few minutes after Buck parks, a dark blue Honda CRV drives past Hen’s house. It looks familiar. Buck thinks he saw a similar car parked near the station as he was leaving. But there are lots of cars that look just like that. It’s probably nothing. 

🩸🩸🩸

Eddie circles the block when he sees where Buck has parked the Jeep. The streets connect, so he approaches the street where Buck is staked out from behind. He parks far enough behind him to go unnoticed. Hopefully. 

It’s another long, boring hour or so of sitting around. The sun is hanging lower in the sky. Eddie has hardly slept in forty-eight hours, and he’s feeling exhausted. This needs to move forward somehow. Eddie is desperate. 

Hen and Karen don’t appear to be home. So that simplifies things. But Eddie has to wonder what Buck’s mover would have been if they were. Would he warn them? Call the police? Is he warning them now? Does he have more in mind than waiting and watching? If Eddie could just… Get him alone. Figure it out that way. Let Buck try what he’s going to try; Eddie can outmaneuver him if need be. He’s never going to figure it out just driving around. And eventually he’ll run out of gas. 

Eddie needs to think of something. Something that answers his questions, but leaves Buck with enough agency to reveal how he really wants to act. Force his hand without him knowing it's being forced. 

After all, if Buck’s plan is to kill him, he’s not going to do it in the middle of the street. 

💧💧💧

The early January darkness is settling in when Buck sees it. He’s beginning to get tired. Beginning to consider leaving and trying a new angle. So really, it’s fortuitous timing. He might have been about to get sloppy. 

The thing is, Buck knows when he’s been tailed.

---

1230 words damn

[rreskk]

The motel

Set in the North Yankton era!

Summary:  You have been trying hard to keep your sexual relationship with Trevor secret. One risk blew it all. And it all happened in one motel room.

Pairing: Fem!reader/Trevor

TW: -Smut

The motel was dim and hallow.

The 70s wallpaper was barely attached as the remainder would be faded due to the unkind years of passers and criminals (like you). The curtains struggled to reject any outside light source as the street lights would burn your awakened eyes, alarming you of movement that erupted from outside your motel door. It was still, silent, all in solitude despite the figure beside you. Trevor was lied on his side with a cigarette effortlessly stationed between his cracked lips. He was reading a magazine while Michael and Brad claimed the other double kings sized bed. They were fast asleep as minutes would past, almost an hour. The clock reminded you of the night falling and Trevor was still distracted by the pages of printed ink.

You sighed, pulling the covers over your shoulders and reminisced of the past few weeks that was full of mayhem and chaos. Another situation, another trip to a whole new town. You barely see any familiar faces apart from the guys in the room with you. They are the only people you trust, throughout the thick and the thin. Trevor was the closest. Admitting there is sexual tension that resolves during nights of lonely clouds and broken sighs of distant dreams; you’d meet with him for a night together more than once. Stress relief to it’s finest but there is feelings aside. You fear of his behaviour and unpredictive flaws. He fears nothing of you, yet, you have found comfort in his eyes and touch… Not so much with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ reality TV shit.” Trevor judged, smoke evaporating from his mouth as the cigarette wobbled through his words. He was eyeing up the latest news in the magazine.

“Shhhh,” Not wanting to cause disturbance with the sleeping men beside you both, “Lower the tone…” You whispered.

He raised an eyebrow like it was a challenge before hogging the duvet, leaving you attentive and exposed to the cold air. You scoffed at his childish antiques. He stole the warmth and snuffled deeper into his pillow, sending you a devastatingly handsome smirk. You couldn’t hate it.

“I’m cold.” You complained with a smile.

Trevor reached for the ashtray and tapped away some of the ashes built upon his blunt. He grunted as a result of underestimating the distance between him and the nightstand. You watched him with fascination.

“Gimme a reason why we should share the covers.” He soon spoke after retreating the nicotine to his lips. Observing the smoke syncing from his nose and mouth, you were left to realise his offer to debate. He always had a reason to make it a competition.

“Why shouldn’t we?” You questioned.

Trevor looked at you for a minute. He gazed down to the skin revealed from your baggy pyjamas. His eyes lit up with an idea.

“How about this,” He muttered lowly (thankfully following your advice and being quiet), edging closer to your side of the bed, “We both don’t get em. We warm each other up like cavemen, yeah?”

Unfazed as it seems! You were used to these riddles that often preoccupied irrelevant history that doesn’t even apply any reliable facts. You allow him to run his mouth because that’s his only talent besides aggression.

“Why can’t we share?”

“One of us will end up hoggin’ it anyway.” Trevor smirked.

“Look at Brad and Mike… They’re fine with the duvet. Why do you struggle?”

“Struggle? The only thing I struggle with is containing myself when you are lying right beside me.”

Your cheeks submerged in shades of red and pink. It was lucky there were limited lights as you were shamefully blushing.

Trevor breathed out the smoke again, “I don’t suppose you like the idea of fuckin’ when the guys are here.”

The idea was painful… Painfully good. You wanted to justify your opinion but you didn’t want to give yourself into his attempt of gaslighting. He jokingly blackmails you in getting a reaction and you fall every time.

“No, I don’t.”

Not expecting that answer, he exchanged a surprised glance. The cigarette dropped from his mouth and smothered it’s ashes onto the white shirt he wore. Trevor cursed as he wiped it away and threw the wasted blunt across the room, easily agitated that there was no more nicotine streaming through his system.

“I think we should go to sleep instead.” You suggested.

“You kiddin’, right?” Trevor almost begged, “The mood is right, sugar. If we keep it low-“

“Hush!” He immediately stopped his sentence. He rolled his eyes as you double checked that Mike and Brad was still asleep.

“You killjoy.”

You sighed, “Better safe than sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It ain’t our fault we are cramped in this shitty square room.”

“Technically… It is.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Trevor mumbled, holding eye contact through his eyebrows, “Can we please… I’m desperate.”

Slowly averting your eyes to the duvet that covered his lower body, you measured the pros and cons of the situation. He was fidgeting with his shirt like it was suffocating his body. You held your breath and nodded.

“Fine…” His eyes went wide with anticipation, “But!” His pupils dilated at your warning, “We are quiet. Almost silent.”

Trevor frantically nodded, “Quiet, vanilla, kinky, I don’t care.”

“I’m serious. They don’t know about us yet.”

“They’ll find out eventually, even if it’s tonight.”

“Trevor.” You insisted.

He threw his head back and groaned to minimal volume, “Fine…”

“Please, we’ll be quiet, promise?”

“Promise.” A small smile plastered across his compulsive frown.

Moments like these were treasurable. The room was peaceful and well. Brad’s heavy breathing and Michael’s light snoring. You felt Trevor move closer… A gasp left your mouth when he laid sloppy kisses across your jaw and neck. It was mesmerising. He sneakily threw his arm around your waist and tugged you into his neck kisses, applying more heaviness and passion, deciding to use his tongue and scratch the surface of your skin. You groaned silently before turning your head and meeting him.

“Don’t leave obvious marks.” You whispered against his wet lips. Your eyes were closed yet you felt him grin.

His hot breath penetrated your mouth, “I’ll leave em where they can’t see.”

Grasping for more air, he hooked his pinkie to your shirt, dragging it down so your breasts were on display.

“No bra… You wanted this to happen.” You could hear him murmur before taking a nipple into his mouth, tormenting it’s skin with his drool and saliva.

“Trevor…”

“Perfect… Oh, mama, you got the finest tits of em all.”

“Shh,” Secretly loving his risk, you didn’t want to shush him… But you knew this would rile him up more.

His mouth was owning the tip of your breast. He was making love to it with squalled moans of satisfaction. You held back a plea, suddenly feeling like you were making more noise than you hoped.

“I’m so horny for you.” He muffled with your tits in his mouth.

The sight was arousing for no reason. You lied there in the hands of this desperate man and he’s sucking your breasts, talking sweet and drooling uncontrollably. There were lines of his saliva dripping down your stomach. His eyes were maddening, wide, staring into yours. Now you couldn’t hold back.

“S-Stop, they’ll know!” You hissed.

Trevor chuckled breathily and moved away from your bruised torso. He was now hovering over you, a beast in action, a hunter searching for prey. The tongue slivered out of his mouth and circulated around your lips before he finally kissed you, fighting away your shame and anxiousness.

Drowning in the kiss, you broke away and panted, “Fuck you,” His smile growing wild and teeth showing. You gripped onto his shoulders, “Fuck you, fuck you… Just fucking fuck me,” Hushed whispers disturbed the silence of the room.  

“Easy, tiger.” The torturer sieved.

You frowned and he shook his head.

“You have some spike, girlfriend,” Trevor adjusted his bulge, “Fuckk, I’m so horny.”

Trevor leaned onto his elbows, head sunken against your chin as he watched you take off your panties. They were entangled around your ankles, you couldn’t kick them off considering he was already feasting upon your sex. He laid two fingers and rubbed across your wetness, pleased with the sight of it.

“Come on.” You whispered.

Trevor pulled out his boner. It was twitching and red with tensity. His tip was crying bloody murder as it looked strangled with his unleashed orgasm. You placed your arms around his shoulders again and waited for the push.

“Shit.” He whined. Trevor pushed himself in and you both jolted at the impact. The bed squeaked, even though he wasn’t at his hardness yet. You cringed when it kept on slamming against the thin wall.

“Fuckin’… Hold on…” A pillow was snatched from your neck and shoved in between the gap that created the banging and squeaking. Trevor thrusted to test the sound and when you couldn’t hear anymore obvious bangs, his face lit up with exaggeration and sped up his pace.

“Shit, Trevor.” You eyes fell to the others until he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, and only him.

“Pay attention to me, [Y/n]. Don’t worry about them.” The command was exotic, distinct, intimate.

The silent grunts he made was heavenly. The seductive charm he held while holding eye contact as he fucked you, it was hard not to squeal and open the closed mouth of yours. Instead, he did it for you.

“Fuuuckkk!” Trevor sturdily increased his pace when a large moan escaped. You gasped and slammed a palm against his lips, refraining any echoes of your devilish activity to wake the peace of Michael and Brad. His eyes flew back as your dominant hand restricted his moans. He loved being a menace and having the consequences.

“R-Remember…” You struggled, “Be quie- fuck…”

He was rigid now. The thrusts turned into longing grinds and you both arched your backs in neediness. Your legs were shaking against his ones. Trevor’s tongue met the palm of your hand, almost as though he forgot it was there. He licked you animalistically while slamming more power into fucking you. You had to bite your lip and plead him with eyes to not make a single sound.

“Mhmmm, Trev…”

He panted against your hand.

“Trevor, fuck.”

The slapping sensation of your skins bounced off the walls.

“F-Fuck… Fuck…”

Trevor, having his right of speech taken away, watched you with tears in his eyes, rapidly beating against your clit like it was pleasurable pain. His nose was scrunched up and tongue was numbly licking between your fingers. He muffled grunts and lonely effects that his eyes portrayed everything he wanted to say.

“Keep going.” You begged.

The foulness of sweat pasted it’s scent into the air. It was so strong that even you could smell it. However, you’d think of an excuse when morning comes but rightfully so, you were too intense in his physical friction that feeling an orgasm rise was the only think pestering your ungodly mind.

“I’m close.”

He nodded.

“I’m so close.”

Trevor threw his head back from your hands and gurgled a everlasting whine.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!” He cried.

You felt him break character as he’d thrust one more, hitting the sensitive part of your sex and suddenly, you body shook in ecstasy and white cum dribbled out of your clit. Trevor coughed due to lack of air and pulled out just in time to violate your sweaty stomach with his fluids, preaching it’s place on your body and staining the coloured sheets. He collapsed onto you.

Now it was silent again.

You kept an ear out and heard Michael and Brad’s sleepiness before letting yourself sink into the mattress in relief. Trevor perched his face up and looked at you.

“Fuck, I can’t breathe.” He smirked.

“They didn’t wake up, thankfully.”

“Are you warm now?”

You chuckled, “Yes, yes I am.”

Trevor remained snuggled onto your nakedness and nuzzled his nose into your jaw. You assumed he wasn’t going to move so you closed your eyes and let sleep creep up, a whole world of imagination knocking on the door. With warmth of his love and physical affection, it was easy to fall asleep. No duvet, no pillows, just him.

--

--

“Why’d we leave so early?” Trevor complained with a hot coffee in his hands, sitting beside Michael and people stalking from the cafes window.

“The motel wanted us out before 10,” Added Michael, “It was in the rules.”

The café was quiet and the four of you claimed the dark corner. Both Mike and Brad ordered some breakfast but… You felt quite full up, especially from last night. You guessed Trevor wasn’t eager for food either. He kept close eyes on you and a hidden smirk that embedded the memories. You couldn’t warn him so you had to ignore him.

“Next time we are in a motel with 2 beds, I’m sharing one with [Y/n]. Your bed breath kills me, Mikey.” Bradley laughed.

The mention of your name took Trevor by surprise and he immediately glared over. You hoped he wouldn’t say anything obvious. He was known for having a loud mouth… You could prove it by the times you’ve slept with him.

“If you think I want to smell that rotten piece of shit in the mornin’!” His hand gripping harder on the mug, “You can shit on my dick. I’m stickin’ with [Y/n].” The humour being disturbing.

Michael raised an eyebrow, “That’s not the only reason.”

You all looked at him. Trevor’s eyes widened in curiosity while you could easily hide under the table and hibernate from embarrassment.

“Oh, right.” Brad simply said.

“What?”

“We all know, Trev.”

“All know what?”

Mike rolled his eyes, “Last night. We heard.”

You closed your eyes and grimaced.

“Oh,” Trevor hummed, “Well, in that case, me and [Y/n] need to confess something.”

“We do?” You choked on your drink.

He grinned, “Oh yeah we do.” The table washes over with suspense as he locked eyes with you, “We’ve been doing it for about a year now.”

Michael’s reaction was appalling. He scoffed in disgust and refused to look in Trevor’s direction.

“What! Don’t act like a virgin. What makes this weird?” Trevor frowned.

“Jesus… Is this an official relationship?” He inquired.

You thought to yourself and found no answer. Neither did Trevor.

Brad sighed, “That answers it.”

[elvensorceress]

unknown amount of sentences Sunday ✌️

tagged by my belovedsss 💕 @hippolotamus @wh0re-behavi0r @rogerzsteven @spotsandsocks @rewritetheending @alyxmastershipper @ebdaydreamer @monsterrae1 @swiftiediaz @cowboy-buddie

tagging my loves 💕 @anxieteandbiscuits @shortsighted-owl @eddiediazisascorpio @fatedbuddie @evan-buckleydiaz @capseycartwright @honestlydarkprincess @jobairdxx @spaceprincessem @buddierights @putijeansdiaz-ronordmann @megsvstheworld if you want to share something 

from the s2 Broke My Own Heart verse with my darling partner in crime @alyxmastershipper 😘💕💜💖  This is after Eddie had to end things with Buck so he could try again with Shannon. They haven’t really talked much and Buck was almost hurt on a call. 

The station is quiet when they return and clean up. It’s close to four in the morning and most people go to lie down while they have a chance. 

Eddie doesn’t. His heart is pounding hard enough to break his ribs. 

Did he not secure the line well enough? Did he forget to check something? Was it his fault? Was he distracted and it put Buck in danger? How can he claim to look out for his partner when he lets something like this fall through the cracks? 

Could Buck have died? Because Eddie missed something? Because he did something wrong? 

He did everything wrong. Everything is wrong. 

Buck sits down on the coffee table in front of him. 

Eddie can’t look at him. Eddie failed him. If not tonight then— Eddie still failed. 

He lost him. He lost him. He lost him. 

Buck could have died. He could have been gone forever. Literally gone forever. 

Eddie lost him. 

“Hey,” Buck says in the same soft, gentle voice he used to use when they would meet and see each other all the time. When Buck would kiss him and touch him and make his body come alive like Eddie was real, like Eddie meant something. 

When Buck would beg for filthy things but it somehow always came with this gaping need to be loved and cared for underneath, and Eddie honestly didn’t know much in the way of anything sexual, not the way Buck does, but love he can do. Tender, gentle care and reassurance, sweet affirmations and praise, soft kisses and warm affection. Eddie knows those things. He can give worlds of those things. 

He would have. 

He wanted to. 

He doesn’t know why Buck is here now, sitting in front of him. Not after all of Eddie’s broken promises. Not after Eddie became one more person who used Buck and walked out. 

Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever forgive himself for that. He doesn’t know how Buck could either. 

He wanted to be different. He wanted to take care of him. He wanted the whole night with the homemade meal and the flowers and the soft music. He wanted Buck on top of him, under him, in him— fuck, he loved having Buck in him. He loved it. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt, nothing about having Buck was, but having Buck inside him was liberating, intense, overwhelming, incredible. 

It felt like Eddie could keep him. Like it made Buck part of him. He loved when they were so worked up and desperate they would slam and crush and shove their bodies together, and Eddie could still feel Buck buried deep inside him even hours after they’d finished. 

How can Eddie ache so much for something he only had for a few months? How can he ache so much for anyone? Shannon leaving didn’t feel like this. But then again, he was already wounded and numb, scraped raw, frozen by the time that happened. It may have been a few weeks now since he ended it with Buck, but this is still ragged, freshly ripped, newly fractured, still bleeding. 

What would he have done if Buck died tonight? If everything stays broken between them? If they’re nothing to each other ever again but acquaintance coworkers? 

What if Buck had fallen? What if his whole body splattered against the asphalt and he was gone forever in an instant? It happens all the time. Firefighting is dangerous. There are worse ways to lose Buck than breaking up with him. 

How could Eddie break up with him? 

He didn’t. Because they weren’t— they weren’t actually, technically anything. They weren’t dating or in a relationship. They weren’t anything. They were just fucking around. Sex doesn’t mean anything to most people. It’s just for fun. It’s just a thing people do. They fucked and it was nothing. 

Eddie never got to have him. Eddie never got to love him. 

He doesn’t love him. It was just sex. 

Buck doesn’t love him either. Buck never loved him. They lost— whatever it was, but it wasn’t anything. It didn’t mean anything. 

Buck doesn’t love him. Eddie never feels anything.