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gremlin-girly · 2 months ago

Text

Grass

Part of the Green collection

Curtis Everett x f!Roommate! Reader

Banner by me, made in Canva w/ Curtis' pic sourced on Pinterest. Dividers by @/kodaswrld and MDNI/Reblog Banners by @/saradika-graphics

WARNING: This fic not only contains smut but also consumption/use of marujuana. If that's not your bread and butter (or if you are a minor) please do not read.

Additional tags/warnings: roommates to lovers (back with this again ik), blowback, use of a bong, inexperienced reader (with the bong lmao), making out, p-in-v (wrap it), creampie, inebriated fucking/fucking while high, sex while standing, standing carry, fucking in the kitchen, mutual masterbation, post-sex cuddles, petnames (sweetheart, bunny)

Not beta'd and I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Summary: Your roomie convinces you to take a hit, leading to some fun in the kitchen.

Word count: ~3k (on mobile sorry)

A/N: sorry it took so long! I had ideas for two other fics while doing this one but there's going to (hopefully) be a double whammy of the Green Collection this weekend 👀

Green Collection | Curtis Everett Masterlist | Navigation

Coming home from a long day at work was nothing short of bliss, especially knowing your roommate was home. Curtis was a perfect roommate, an all-round great guy too, which was why you enjoyed spending time with him when you could.

Curtis worked odd hours, which meant that on your days off he could either be sleeping or at work, however, you both had a system that benefitted you both; he cleaned, you cooked and prepped lunches, both of you would take turns to do laundry. This meant that you didn't have to worry about anything pile up of dishes and Curtis didn't have to eat noodles five days a week and take out on weekends.

The times that your days off synched up, you'd usually do something together. Be it shopping, or a movie, it didn't matter. The only thing you could possibly think of that would make Curtis a bad roommate was the fact he smoked grass on his days off.

He was kind enough to light a candle or to smoke in his room if you were home, and despite the smoky smell, you didn't mind. He had a high-stress job so it was nice to see him relax at least once a week. You couldn't blame him for wanting to take the edge off.

On your way home this particular day, one of your best friends called you up, asking for you to join them for cocktails at a bar across town.

"Can't," you say, fishing in your bag for your keys. "Curtis is off and we've already agreed to watch a movie."

You can hear the groan on the other end of the line.

"You mean your boyfriend?" Your best friend sneers.

"He's not my-" You begin defensively before backing down. "We made plans last week. I can't just ditch him."

"If he's not your boyfriend, you can."

You want to snap at her that you can't; you made a commitment to Curtis first... but part of you knows she's got a point. Even it is a miniscule point. Curtis was a great roomie. Reliable. Fun to be around.... hot.

You shake your head as you pull your keys out. "I can't."

"Alright," she chuckles. "Have fun with your hot roommate. And tell me if anything juicy finally happens."

You frown at your phone as the line goes dead, cheeks warming as you open the door to the apartment. Curtis is leaning against the kitchen counter, grinder in hand, bong already set up beside him.

"Hey," He greets with a short nod.

"Hey." You reply, feeling your chest tighten. He's in his cosy clothes but, sweet mother almighty, he looks delectable. Baggy, dark wash wash jeans that hang low on his hips, tight white t-shirt with a light oversized grey patterned hoodie with a deep v-neck over it and, of course, his signature black beanie. You wished he didn't look so hot; it would give your best friend less ammunition saying he was the reason for your lack of a boyfriend.

"Leftovers were good." Curtis says watching you unload your bag and place your dirty tupperware in the sink. "Thanks."

You can hear the grinding of metal on metal as Curtis twists his grinder.

"It's no problem." You grin, turning on the sink tap and unloading an ungodly amount of dish soap into the bowl. "You need to stop thanking me for it though, Curt. I've been doing it for months."

"Yeah, I know." He grins back at you and you have to steady yourself against the sink so your legs don't give out. "But I want you to know I'm always grateful for it."

Stomach full of butterflies you turn back to the sink, dipping your hands into the hot suds and wishing whatever God was listening to throw you a boon. The flick of a lighter and the bubbling of the bong snap you from your explicit thoughts and you're lucky enough to catch Curtis blowing smoke rings before the smoke disperses.

Fuck me.

You don't know if it's a curse or a wish at this point. Curtis catches your gaze and offers you the bong, large hand over the mouth of it trapping white smoke in the chamber. You shake your head and hold up a soapy hand.

"No thanks."

"Just one drag. Try it." He wiggles the bong at you with a sweet, begging expression. "Please?"

Pursing your lips you consider your options. You'd never done it before, so the opportunity to try it in a safe environment with a 'professional' was a good start. On the other hand, you didn't know how weed would affect you. Would you be a drooling mess? Would you not remember a thing? Would you, as your best friend had described, be so fried out of you mind you would just lie on the sofa and have a minor existential crisis?

You can't lie and say you hadn't been tempted before now but Curtis made it look so easy. The thought of embarrassing yourself in front of him nagged at your brain but the want of the experience under your belt won out. You'd be safe with Curtis. Existential crisis and drooling be dammed.

"Fuck it. Fine." You sigh, taking the bong from him and holding it awkwardly; scared to drop it and unsure how to hold it correctly.

"Hold the top and the base." Curtis instructs with a smirk, watching you frown worriedly as you changed your grip. There's something phallic in the entire procedure that makes your cheeks heat and you feel entirely stupid for thinking it.

"Put your lips on it." Curtis' voice sounds low and breathy, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to steel your thoughts.

You move to do as he instructed but you're obscured by a stray piece of hair that won't move out of your way no matter how much you shake your head. Curtis chuckles and you can feel warm fingers brush along your forehead, removing the stubborn piece of hair, and tucking it behind your ear. His eyes meet yours as you peek up through your lashes, bottom lip pouting against the lip of the bong. The kitchen suddenly feels a lot hotter and you don't know if Curtis can feel it too.

"Try again." He says quietly, trailing his fingers through your hair as he pulls his hand away. You hadn't even noticed his fingers lingering against your skin but now that they were gone, you wanted them back.

Placing your lips into the mouth of the bong, holding it tight, you meet Curtis' eyes expectantly. Curtis' lighter flickers to life as he burns the ground weed on the other side and after a few seconds, instructs you to suck in as much air as you can.

You try, you really do, watching the smoke twist in the chamber and burn your lungs as you take the deepest breath you've possibly ever taken.

But it still ends with you coughing and sputtering.

"You need to take it into your lungs." He says, patting your back softly. "You don't have to do it quickly. Just like taking deep breaths."

You nod your head as he flicks his lighter again, waiting for your signal (another nod) to light it again.

"Now, inhale."

You breathe in and the bong bubbles angrily, putrid smoke invades your lungs and makes your mouth drier than a desert. Your lips break away from the bong and you cough hard, your lungs screaming at you as you try to breathe. You try to suck in as much air as possible, feeling lightheaded as you continue in your coughing fit, letting Curtis remove the bong from your grasp. Once your breathing is finally steady, Curtis is already blowing another smoke ring smirking over at you.

"You did alright for your first time." He chuckles.

"Show off." You whisper hoarsely, giving him a watery eyed glare.

Curtis clicks his tongue dismissively and lifts your chin gently with one hand, thumbing tears from your cheeks. His thumb lingers a moment, brushing the softness of your skin before he moves his hand away to light the bong for another hit.

"You'll get better with time." He says nonchalantly, sucking in smoke. You're still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. Maybe there was a God offering you a boon.

"I don't wanna do that again," you grumble, your voice still raspy. Curtis exhales slowly, no smoke ring this time but he looks over at you curiously, as if contemplating asking you something.

"What?"

"I could always give you secondhand smoke?" Curtis suggests, inhaling the smoke again. When he breathes out, he pushes the smoke towards you, but you srunch your face at the smell. Curtis laughs at your cute expression.

"You've got to suck in the smoke."

"But it smells gross." You whine. "Is there another way we could try?"

"Actually..." Curtis' eyebrows raise as an idea forms and he beckons you closer. You shuffle forward, an inch or so between you.

Curtis lights up the bong again, and holds the smoke but before releasing it, he takes your chin in his hands delicately and kisses you. You gasp in surprise and Curtis takes the opportunity to blow the smoke into your mouth; you cough and sputter less this time but your lips tingle from the kiss. Curtis watches you closely, waiting for your reaction.

Your mind draws a blank; fuzziness setting in and you don't know if it's him or the contact high but your smiling up at him regardless.

"Could we keep doing that?"

Curtis breaks into a radiant grin. "Yeah. Of course."

The kisses start gentle and tender; sweet pecks that make your body feel tingly and light. It works well; after every kiss you inhale the smoke he blows into your mouth, slowly getting used to the feeling of his lips against yours and having him so close.

Then one kiss lingers for longer than a moment.

You're both a little breathless, only millimetres apart when you break for air, and it takes one millisecond more for your eyes to meet before the floodgates open. Curtis' lips crash into yours, and you welcome them, his arms wrapping around you in a crushing embrace. Your hands rip his beanie from his head and toss it somewhere on the floor, raking your hands through the short, soft buzzcut. Curtis rumbles a chuckle but doesn't stop kissing you.

There's a harsh clink as Curtis sets down his bong and his hands begin to freely wander up and down your sides. Mimicking his actions, you allow your hands to feel along his chest and collarbone. It's harder than you expect; thinking there'd be a slight softness under all his jumpers, not that you care either way. Your hands slip under the layers of his jumper; mapping out every defined muscle your fingers trailed moments before. Muscles twitch under your touch and Curtis sucks in a sharp breath, hands squeezing at your hips.

"This okay?" You ask quietly, gently running your palms downwards against his hot skin, stopping above his belt. Your gaze flickers to his, waiting for confirmation to continue. Which it does - in the form of a low groan as he cranes his neck to kiss you quickly.

"It's more than okay."

Your head's already starting to feel heavy but you can't tell if it's because your being kissed senseless or if the smoke has finally hit you. A large hand knots in your hair, the other making quick work of unbuttoning your jeans, a thick finger dipping under the fabric of your panties to rub tight circles against your clit. You gasp in surprise, your own hands fumbling with his belt as you try to concentrate, but that's all that Curtis needs to push his tongue further into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Curtis' tongue is hot and tastes like the smoke that made you gag not five minutes ago but you don't care; taking a hit of him is better than any bong.

"Already wet for me, huh?" He murmurs against your lips, index finger swirling your clit with your own slick. A moan hitches in your throat making him chuckle, peppering more kisses along your cheek. You can feel your pussy squeeze around nothing, a familiar sensation building between your legs.

His kisses are sloppy but no less passionate. Curtis chases your mouth with his at every pathetic whimper you make in an attempt to keep yourself quiet. You, on the other hand, are a breathless mess as you manage to undo his belt and jeans. Palming over his cock teasingly gets you a firm press against your clit that makes your thighs squeeze around his fingers.

"Don't tease, bunny." Curtis murmurs, nipping along your jawline, making you shiver. "That's not fair."

"Eager?" You tease softly but Curtis pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His pressure and swirling against your clit pause and you grind your hips slowly for some relief.

"Maybe. Is... Is that a problem?"

"You know damn well it's not." You huff impatiently.

Curtis' nostrils flare and he curses, tugging his hand from your jeans and removing his jumper and white tee in one movement, discarding them to the floor before moving to shove his jeans down. You quickly follow suit, adding your shirt to the pile as you wiggle out of your jeans. You don't have time to react when Curtis' mouth finds yours again, more feverent and desperate than before. His fingers tug your panties down your legs and you shyly step out of them, allowing his fingers to slip between your folds and caress your now-aching clit.

You inhale sharply when his thumb grazes your clit, two thick fingers teasing and your cunt's entrance. Curtis' other hand grips the back of your neck, holding you steady when your legs start to tremble and you mewl his name so breathlessly.

Your hands tug his boxers freeing his cock; eager to touch him - finally - and eager to please him. One hand pumps in rhythm to his stroking fingers, the other gently cupping at his heavy balls while your own thighs clench like a vice around Curtis' fingers; struggling to stay standing at the attention he's giving your clit.

"Look at me," He says firmly, voice strained, blue eyes locking with yours. "Look at me when you cum."

"Fuck fuck fuck." Each curse becomes higher in pitch before you let out an airy sigh as your first orgasm ripples through your body. Your eyelids are heavy but you keep your eyes fixed on Curtis' face, a smirk of satisfaction on his swollen lips. His thumb swipes your clit slowly as your body comes back from the orgasm-high. You feel extra elated. Your body feels like every nerve is alert but your muscles are entirely relaxed.

There's a kiss to your forehead that leaves tingling ripples across your skin. Then another to your cheek. Then to your neck...

Your skin prickles to gooseflesh, breath hitching again, dragging your thumb over the tip of Curtis' cock to coat it in his own precum. Curtis' moan is so close to your ear and it's lewd. You'd never have guessed he'd be loud during sex. Curling your head into his neck, you nip along the prominent vein, illiciting more and more filthy noises from Curtis until he slips two fingers into your dripping pussy.

"Oh shit," you whine as your walls clench around his fingers. The stretch isn't painful by any means, but the fullness as his fingers move and curl is euphoric. But any further moans are smothered by his mouth on yours, his fingers spreading you open easily to explore your pussy.

"Curtis," You pant when you're finally granted a gasp for air, trying to focus on pumping his cock and holding off your orgasm. "Bedroom?"

"No." Curtis growls. "'M too impatient. Here will do."

Before you can ask him what he means, he squats down and wraps his muscular arms under your knees. He peeks up at you, placing a gentle kiss to your stomach that makes you shiver and your heart thud violently.

"Hold on to me, sweetheart."

That's the only warning you get before your feet leave the ground. With a yelp, you fling your arms around his neck, holding on until Curtis is back at full height and supporting you in his arms like it's no big deal. You can feel another rush of arousal as you watch the veins in his arms twitch under the strain and the brush of his leaking cock against the backs of your thighs.

Your knees are bent, legs dangling over Curtis' thick arms helplessly, with his large hands groping your ass as he repositions you over his cock. You've never been fucked like this before and you know damn well that gravity is about to work wonders with skewering you onto Curtis' cock and let out a shaky sigh of contentment.

"You ready bunny?" Curtis asks, the fat head of his cock pushing against your dripping cunt ever so slightly. "Because once I start fucking you, I'm not stopping."

"Yes," you nod, biting at your lips to contain a whorish moan. "Fuck, Curtis, please."

Curtis lowers you onto his cock slowly, watching your lips part is ecstacy as his cock slides into your cunt with welcomed ease. Your moans of need are sweet and sultry as he splits you open in the middle of your shared kitchen, toes curling as gravity helps his twitching cock nestle deep inside you.

Once buried to the hilt, Curtis sighs in delight, your walls fluttering around his cock like he'd always imagined. His large hands grope at the flesh of your ass, kneading the muscles as he flashes you a panted grin. You shift in his grip with a shy smile and squeeze his hips with your legs.

"You feel like heaven, bunny." Curtis murmurs, canting his hips upwards into you. Your ass bounces against his thighs, your arms straining as you try to hold onto his neck. Your maneuvered quickly in his grip, your body moving upwards so you can pretzel your arms behind his neck, fingernails clawing at his shoulders, his cock never leaving the warmth of your cunt. Once anchored to him properly, Curtis begins to cant his hips frantically, fucking you into oblivion while you whimper and moan as you cling to him.

"Look at me, sweetheart." Curtis pants and through your fucked-out haze you manage it. There's the satisfied smirk again, his eyes red-rimmed and blown wide but sparkling nonetheless. Your lips are wet and swollen from the kissing, from biting back moans, and Curtis loves to see it. To be the cause of it.

Wet slaps echo against the kitchen walls and your starting to lose control, moaning his name louder, your pussy constricting tighter and tighter, splashing your delicious cum over his legs, balls and cock.

"You look so good getting pounded like this." He muses, watching you hiccup another moan. His eyes trail to your tits, watching them bounce in time to thrusts, loving how you milk his cock so eagerly. He wished you'd smoked sooner or at least wished he'd made a move sooner, had he known that you'd be just as eager for him as he was for you. His eyes flit back to your face. Every part of your face is contorted in pleasure; eyes red, glazed and half-lidded, lips slightly parted and your eyebrows that in-between of surprise-frown as you try to withhold coming again.

"C-Curtis - I - I'm-" you breathing is heavy, you can't even form a thought as he bounces you on his cock and it makes Curtis' balls tighten.

"So am I bunny." He grunts out quickly, fucking your tight pussy harder. More slapping sounds coupled with your half-scream of pleasure echo through the apartment. "You just hold tight okay? Don't think of anything else but this cock."

You hum and nod - barely - you're already too lost to pleasure to even care. Curtis curses when your nails dig into his shoulders. He can feel your cunt convulse desperately as your orgasm begins to rip through you and you shout his name almost in a panic.

"I got you," He coos, his thrusts slowing only slightly as he tries in vain to postpone his release for a few moments longer. Soaking his cock again sends him over the edge and he cums hard when you softly whisper his name repeatedly as you go limp in his grip. His cum is warm and sticky as it slowly drips from your pussy but you're too busy drowning in post-orgasmic bliss to care.

Your head rests against Curtis' shoulder as you catch your breath, the kitchen now quiet apart from your breathing. Your legs wobble when Curtis sets you down gently, wrapping those strong arms around your waist once more, fending off the chill of the kitchen for a few moments longer and placing tender kisses to your neck and shoulders. The silence is comfortable and you push away thoughts that could potentially ruin your night; what did this mean for you both? Was it a one time thing? Did you want it to be a one time thing?

"You were..." Curtis begins but trails as his head buries itself into your neck. "Fuck, that was amazing."

"Speak for yourself." You breathe out, arms still wrapped around his neck as you lean into him, desperate to stay as close as possible before reality kicked in.

You liked Curtis. You knew Curtis. And clearly, your little crush wasn't one-sided otherwise you wouldn't be standing in the kitchen naked right now. However, from the depths of your mind, slow worries began to rear their ugly heads; telling you a relationship with Curtis could still blow up in your face, especially since you already lived together. That seemed like speed-running the dating process just a tad.

Curtis' snort startles you from your thoughts and you glare up at him.

"You're thinking too loud, bunny." He smirks and then, as if it were second nature, lifts his head to capture your lips in a quick peck.

You'd only just regained your breath and it had been stolen all over again. You lean into him more, letting the kiss linger like the one that had kick-start this whole thing. His lips are warm now, not searing like they had been, and you're drawn into him, chasing his lips as he retreats his head.

"Sleep in my bed tonight." He murmurs, giving you a squeeze. His eyes twinkle in the light and the faint smirk he still wears makes your pussy throb all over again. "I'd like to wake up next to you at least once before we decide on what to do next."

"If my legs work." You joke half heartedly, your heart fluttering wildly against your ribs. You're not happy at the squeak that escapes you as Curtis lifts you easily again, half over his shoulder as he pads to his room before throwing you onto the bed. You bounce along the mattress with a laugh, wrapping yourself around Curtis when he crawls over you to pepper kisses over your face again. His eyes are still glassy, but there's a sweet look that sends shivers of desire throughout your body.

"I was doing all the heavy lifting," Curtis teases into the crease of your neck. "My legs are all achy."

"Aw, want me to kiss 'em better?" You tease back, squealing when he rolls you on top of him, gasping when you feel his cock twitch between your thighs.

"Nope. I want to watch you do all the work this time, bunny." Curtis grins up at you with a squeeze of your hips.

Despite your brain swirling lazily with questions, your high brain was far more interested in round two.

At least you'd have some very juicy updates for your best friend tomorrow after all.

End

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@stargazingfangirl18 | @bridgetina | @irishhappiness | @looking1016 | @awkwardgiraffe726

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett snowpiercer #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett #curtis everett smut #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x female reader #chris evans characters x reader

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fawnnpaws · 7 months ago

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to add to other anons point.... crack baby by mitski is PATRICKS SONG!!!

CORRECT!!!!!!!! everyone sit down it’s time for fawn goes insane about mitski hour

first of all……… crack baby is absolutely 2019 patrick’s song these lyrics have me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure needing to give him a goddamn hug

like…. 20 year summer vacation, 20 years trying to fill the void of art in his life ARE WE OKAY PATRICK ZWEIG NATION?? NO!!! he’s directionless. he doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t know what he needs, because the person who was his north star slipped through his fingers before he could even fight to keep him. he didn’t care about winning the junior doubles, he cared about playing with art. he would have followed him anywhere. not to mention losing tashi when his last words to her were so harsh, only to get her back for a couple feverish fucks and have her go right back to art. art who was his first. patrick zweig you put up a confident front but i see you……….

and while we’re at it let’s do the other two

art mf donaldson is so washing machine heart it hurts. he has his snake tendencies, but at his core he doesn’t want to be left out. even his attempts at manipulation were done out of desperation because tashi was focused on patrick and patrick was at stanford for tashi, not him. he doesn’t want to be forgotten or ignored. so badly, that he stays after he gets cheated on, runs himself ragged playing a career for more than just himself, and when he’s left alone in the early hours of the morning still has to wonder why he was never tashi or patrick’s first choice.

tashi duncan the war you fell in love with was tennis and how can you allow your husband/protege to love you with everything he has when you haven’t been able to fully mourn your first true love? when you’re haunted by the day you were forcibly relegated to the sidelines of the one thing you based your entire life around? the failmarriage affects her, too. the way she knows art wants more from her, needs more, but she can only give so much before her wounds reopen and she has to lick them clean all over again.

BONUS ROUND!!! me and my husband is so 2006/academy artrick to me. art always looking to patrick, always searching for him first in a room full of people, putting him on this pedestal and feeling out of place until they’re side by side. one cannot exist without the other. and patrick planning their futures together, even when their paths diverge with him going pro and art going to stanford, he’s never once thought about his life without art in it. in this lifetime they’re in this together, he’ll place all his bets on art’s furrowed brow, until the day he comes up short and loses it all.

whew anyway…….. they are sad and i want to squeeze them all

#fawn thoughts #i’m pathologizing ALL OF THEM #sorry this is so angsty this is just what mitski does to me #are they mischaracterized maybe idc #ask

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fuctacles · 7 months ago

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Here's an excerpt from chapter 2, chapter 3 will be posted later today :) once again, dividers by @penny00dreadful, beta @dragoon-ze-great | read on Ao3

After a walk around the overgrown backyard, and strolling down the musty hallway, it hits Steve, that all of this belongs to him.

He owns a house.

He's been vague with Robin about his decision for the past two weeks, dodging questions while packing his life into boxes and wrapping things up with their old landlord. Maybe in some way, he wanted to prove he could do it by himself, no world-saving party needed. The urge to spill it all to his best friend had been eating him from the inside, and now he could finally give in.

He rushes to the phone to dial the number he has memorized, regardless of the early morning hour, but when he puts the receiver to his ear, he doesn't hear the dial tone.

He jabs the numbers anyway but puts it back on the cradles when nothing happens. The landline was supposed to be set up for his arrival, and while it is an inconvenience, he doesn't let it piss on his mood. He fixes himself a quick breakfast and starts the list of groceries and necessities he's missing. Add's 'contact the phone guys' at the bottom. Tucking the notepad into his pocket, he climbs upstairs to start his journey in house flipping.

After opening the windows to let in some fresh air, he removes the paintings, deciding to relocate them to the library, where their fantasy theme would be more fitting. Maybe he'll find something more to his tastes, so he could leave the nails in and simply replace them. With a sudden thought, he pulls out the notepad to add nails to the list. He should have some simple tools in one of the boxes and get whatever will be needed as he goes.

The walls used to be a dark burgundy color, as the squares revealed by the paintings would suggest. Steve never gave much thought to what color he'd like his bedroom to be and Robin would kill him if he decided without her. He refrains from adding paint to the list and writes down ' contact Robin ' instead.

He likes the canopy and manages to take it down gently to wash it later.

laundry soap

look for a lighter bed canopy (white?)

His first and obvious thought is to throw the bedding away, but upon touching the fabric, he can't bring himself to do so. It goes into the laundry pile along with the canopy, because while the dark colors may not be his thing, sleeping in silky smooth sheets certainly could be.

The shelves are mostly empty, and he'd need a box to put the few items away, so he rolls the round black carpet, puts cleaning supplies on his list, and walks to the laundry room.

The machine seems to be in working condition, but he won't know until he actually attempts to wash something so he leaves the sheets there and takes a lazy stroll around the house to put down anything else he might need. When he goes to close the bedroom windows, his fingers catch on a remais of a cobweb. He shakes his hand in distaste and gets a better look at the window screen. It's old but seems to be holding up well.

He remembers the amount of bugs he'd encounter on camping trips and writes down 'bug spray, check the screens'.

He should have expected the loud, undignified screech that shakes his eardrums. But all he can do now is appease his friend.

"I promise I'm only buying necessities to clean up and fix whatever needs fixing. The porch is falling apart and I spoke to this nice guy at the hardware store who could come over and tell me what I need. But of course, you can pick the colors."

"I fucking better," Robin seethes into the receiver. "How was sleeping in the haunted house?"

"Uneventful." Steve shrugs, leaning against the side of the phone booth. He briefly considers mentioning the fridge magnets though he feels insane just thinking about them, let alone speaking of them. But then again... "Hey, do you remember what the magnets on the fridge spelled?"

Robin is quiet long enough that he thinks he's lost the connection, but eventually, she speaks up.

"'Get lost' , I'm pretty sure. Why? Has it changed?" Her tone is not worried enough to Steve's liking. She sounds like a thrilled conspiracy theorist. Nancy has been a bad influence on her.

Steve hums, a sense of worry creeping up on him.

"I'm pretty sure it said 'get out' before I left today."

"I could have remembered it wrong," Robin offers, but both of them know it's unlikely. She clears her throat, and Steve can hear the springs in her bed creaking as she straightens up. "Do you think it's actually haunted?"

Steve sighs.

"I hope it is. We could call the party and they would science it out of existence. I'm afraid it could be a good old-fashioned squatter." He rests his head on the side of the booth with a thud. "I still don't have the key to the basement, after all. Anyone could be down there."

They stay silent for a while until Robin speaks up again.

"You could take the door off its hinges, you know?"

Steve promises he'll pick her up as soon as she's free on Friday, so she can help out with the renovations. He gives her his landline number, in case it starts working later (the company claims it's been set up and should have been working this morning), and checks off the rest of his list, along with some groceries.

Soon, he's back, watching the laundry spin in the washing machine that is, thankfully, working despite its age. He won't have to get a new one just yet. He gathers all the cleaning supplies into a bucket, and walks to the master bedroom, determined to spend the next night in a real bed. But when he enters, something isn't right.

He can't put his fingers on it until he opens the windows and turns around.

The paintings are hanging on the walls. He could have sworn... He could have sworn he took them down to carry to the library later. Led by a strange feeling, he leaves the room and walks downstairs to the kitchen, to stand in front of the fridge.

Rude

Steve stares at the word for an embarrassingly long time, processing the implications of it. Someone was in the house when he was gone.

He's dealt with squatters before, so he doesn't panic. Hell, he's fought literal monsters, so even if it is the rumored ghost, he feels a sense of purpose washing over him. Because he already has a whole group, a Party if you will, of people ready to deal with the otherworldly stuff. And if it is a squatter, well...

He has a bat in his trunk.

And there's only one place in the house where someone could still be hiding.

He walks back to his car, keeping on high alert and quietly cursing the washing machine that started making a ruckus upstairs. He'd rather be able to hear whatever is happening around him and not just a thud thud thud of it bumping against the floor.

Regardless, he approaches the door to The Dungeon , his bat in hand, and bangs against its sturdy surface.

"Hey! Anyone there? I just want to talk! I'm the new owner and if you need a place to stay, I can help! We can have lunch and a beer, we can talk it out!" As he expected, there was no answer. He shifts his grasp on the bat and looks around for something to leverage the door.

"If you don't open up, I'll have to take the door off!" he warns, grabbing a crowbar from his box of tools. It's shiny new, just bought today, and he's not one hundred percent sure how to use it for such a task. Regardless, he rests his bat against the wall and inspects the hinges. They are a bit different from the ones he's seen in his life - sturdy, stylized to look more rustic, like the door itself - made with visible planks of wood instead of a singular, heavy piece.

"Last chance!" he warns, slotting the crowbar under the door. When he gets no answer, he pushes on it, making the door pop up. They're heavier than he expected, but with some maneuvering, he manages to get a grip on them and haul them up and off the hinges.

He rests the door against the wall, wary of the darkness he just uncovered. He quickly grabs the handle of his bat but realizes, he doesn't have a flashlight. Cursing himself, he backtracks, trying to keep his eyes on the basement. Once in the entry to the living room, he jumps to grab his duffel bag before rushing back to the hall. There's been no movement from the darkness he's eyeing. With his left hand, he rummages through the necessities he's packed in his bag. Among them, he can finally feel a flashlight, and he grabs it with a wave of relief before straightening up and walking up to the doorframe.

"Okay," he breathes out, leveling his heart rate. He turns on his flashlight and it reveals surprisingly pretty wooden stairs, some dust, and cobwebs. He sees a hint of a green rug below them, but nothing more.

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#haunted house au #steddie #steddie big bang #cj x big bang #mine #sex drugs and a haunted house #steddiebang24 #ghost eddie munson #ghost!eddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction

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chanshoesunite · 2 years ago

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Imagine playing the Pepero game with Chan

“You know what we should definitely play tonight? The Pepero game”, Chan announces to the room, his eyes slyly drifting to YN. Everyone groans good-naturedly.

“Oh, come on, boys, we haven’t played it in forever! Are you scared I will beat you all again with my epic skills?”, Chan boasts, pokes Jisung in the chest and takes Changbin in a headlock. “You tell ‘em, love”, YN encourages her boyfriend indulgently. “You are so transparent, hyung”, Jeongin smirks, “we all know you just want to make out with YN!” ”Whaaaat”, Chan’s voice pitches up with incredulity, draping his arms around YN, “I could just do that whenever I want!”

“Yeah, but you are sadist that wants to make us all suffer through your PDA”, Minho deadpans. YN laughs, and Chan darts his looks from Minho to her: “I resent that accusation. Why are you laughing, baby!” “It’s funny cus it’s true”, she says wisely, stroking down Chan’s arms in a calming gesture.

Chan’s face scrunches up adorably. He taps YN on the nose: “No, it must be because Minho is jealous”, he slowly untangles himself from her and takes an innocent step towards his friend, “if you are jealous, you could just ask for your own kisses – but you barely allow me my hugs!”

That last bit he shouts while chasing Minho around the table. “Just let me love you!”, Chan coos. Minho swears, the others laugh and YN grins at these dorks. After two rounds of running, Minho stops and puts his hands out, bracing against the onslaught of brawn and affection.

“Stop! Fine! We shall play the Pepero game! Just get away from me.” Chan immediately stops making grabby hands at Minho. “I knew you’d come around!” “What’s the prize for the winners?”, interjects Felix. “How about the losers have to buy them dinner?”, says Changbin.

“Great plan, Chan and YN always find the best restaurants anyway”, quips Han. “Hey, hey, what? Why should the losers automatically be me and YN?” “Oh yeah, hyung, sure you will focus on winning, suuuure you will!” “You just watch us!” “I’d really rather stare at my washing machine for an hour than watch you two smooch.”

“Alright, alright, focus”, Seungmin says before Chan can start whining more. YN squeezes him tightly and Chan dutifully snaps his mouth shut. “I’m getting the Pepero and I’ll watch the time. You decide on teams.”

Seungmin leaves the room, and the others start playing gawi-bawi-bo to figure out the pairs. Chan stands aside, his hand on YN’s hip, grinning like the cat who got the cream. He gently strokes her as she leans into him. They watch the boys shouting at each other. Then Seungmin brings back a pack of Pepero. Shaking it, he says: “Teams are decided? Ah”, he looks at the pair of Changbin and Hyunjin, “Well, I know who I am putting my money on. OK, get on with it, sit opposite each other.”

YN is sitting in front of Chan, a Pepero between her teeth. Her eyes glitter with amusement as Chan gets ready, holding her lightly by her shoulders. His warm hands feel good on her. The boys around her are shouting rambunctiously, deciding on strategies, but she concentrates on Chan’s mischievous face.

“OK, ready? 3 – 2 – 1 – start!”

More shouting goes up around them, but YN is entirely focused on the gentle way Chan tilts her head to get the best access to her Pepero. He keeps biting off pieces, far too slow to win, but the excitement she senses is worth it. His eyes are half-closed and his enjoyment is crystal-clear. YN is captivated by the sight, content in the grasp he has on her.

When she can tell his lips are nearly touching hers, she flips the Pepero into her mouth and leans into him. Their lips touch in a sweet kiss and she can feel Chan’s chuckle vibrating through his strong chest. He pulls YN closer, one hand splayed along her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw. With a soft sigh, she opens her lips, allowing their tongues to dance.

“Oh my god, I told you he would do this! Awful!” “Hyung setting a new record in holding his breath.” “Hajimaaa, you guys!”, Jisung has dropped to the floor, dramatically pounding on the ground.

Ignoring the teasing voices of the boys, Chan lifts YN into his lap, giving her one last, delicious kiss. YN’s hands are on his shoulder and neck, enjoying the solidity of his muscles. Chan squeezes her bum tightly, their upper bodies flush against each other. She tilts her head back, her face an invitation for one last caress that he cannot resist. He leans in again, giving her a few pecks down her throat. Finally, he relents to the screaming around him.

“Did we lose?”, he asks innocently. “Duh, obviously, you fools!” “You don’t even have a Pepero to show for all the time you wasted!”

With a cheeky smile, YN says: “I think I can safely say, no matter what happened, we are the real winners here.”

#bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #author tortoise #tortoise here: i just thought this would be a cute story!?! do you like the photoedit? i made it myself too nd i am actually proud of it tb #bangchan pepero #kissing bangchan #bangchan drabble #bang chan drabble

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ichigoromi · 4 years ago

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧🔞🔞🔞

Gojo Satoru is one sexy man. His arrogance may be annoying, but I must say a confident man is sure charming.

I don't normally write 🔞headcanon because my page is normally a fluff blog with a tiny bit of angst, but I want to try something new once in a while.

This is going to be a 🔞headcanon, so I'm going to bold my warnings.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem reader (using she/her pronouns)

WARNING (S): SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE, MINORS DNI, CONSENSUAL UNPROTECTED SEX, LOTS OF HORNY GOJO, I WARN THE MINORS OF MY PAGE, DO NOT INTERACT. M18. SOME FLUFF. SMUT.

Okay, 18 and above, please proceed.

Gojo Satoru

It was meant to be only a one night stand.

But this little steamy rendezvous between you and Satoru has been ongoing for a little too long, like maybe a few years?

You two were perfect for each other, just looking to fill each other needs and no commitments.

Only Shoko knows about you two because she accidentally walked in on Satoru going down on you in the infirmary.

You were mostly out for missions, but when you are in town, you are in Satoru's apartment or his room whenever you two are free.

Using the spare time you two have, you guys go at it for hours.

When you are gone for a little too long, the sex usually is better because he is more desperate and hornier.

The higher-ups were suspicious that you and Satoru have a relationship, so they send you away for overseas missions for three months.

Oh, those three months were agonising for Satoru the most, somehow, he got addicted to you, and other girls just don't satisfy him anymore.

Plus, you make delicious desserts that he can't get enough other you.

It was not easy for you, but you two would facetime or call whenever you can and have phone sex or facetime sex.

Shoko was there to pick you up when you came back from your missions early.

She sends you to the hospital to collect your birth controls since you ran out, so she booked you an appointment for you.

It was rather quick since you are going to get a refill of your previous prescription.

Once you are done, you two head back to Jujutsu High.

You went and report back to the higher-ups about your missions and submitted all the written reports.

After you finished the administrative matters, you went to take a shower in Satoru's room and head down to the kitchen to make a strawberry shortcake.

When Satoru is back from his mission, he noticed that a certain blue shirt from his closet is gone, and the familiar flora scent is back.

He took a shower and head down to the kitchen, and there you were.

Making desserts looking like a whole 8-course meal.

He swiftly makes his way to you and wraps his arms around you from behind.

You almost drop it but set it down so you can properly greet him with a kiss.

That kiss leads to a full-blown makeout session on the kitchen counter.

You had to pull away from him so that you could put the cake in the fridge to chill so that you two can enjoy it later. You put a note on the cover to inform them to not touch it.

After that, Satoru carried you back to his room to take that sweet body of yours that he missed dearly.

He couldn't even reach the bed, and you two starts kissing, with him pinning you on the door.

Satoru easily slips his tongue into your mouth and playfully sucks while you were getting really horny.

He loves your whines and your moans. It's like music to his ears.

You palm his bulge through his sweats, and he moans in your ear, and you sneakily slip your hand into his underwear, man. You defeated the poor man.

He humps into your tiny hand, forcefully took out your hand, and rips off the blue dress shirt you were wearing.

You wore matching black lace lingerie and officially broke Gojo Satoru.

He expertly unhooks your bra and yeet that shit away. Satoru dives down to your plump bosom and sucks your nipples depends on it.

Sensing that you were getting a little uncomfortable in the position, he carried you to his bed, and that is where the real fun starts.

You slip out of your panty with his help, and man, he is hungry for some pussy juice.

He sucked the soul out of you and did not waste a single drop.

You had to return the favour.

Grabbing one of the hair ties by the bedside table, you wrapped your hair in a bun and went down on him. It starts with slow strokes and deep sucking; oh, he loves deep throating you until you choke on his cum.

Satoru was going to do you until the sun rises.

He was leaving no mercy for you, and you almost choke on his cum, but you manage to breathe.

Satoru pin you down and slides into your wet ass pussy, and both of you moan in bliss when he enters you.

He is pistoning in and out of you like a machine gun, but when he was about to pull out, you told him to cum in you.

Babe, he is not done with one round. Bless your legs and your pussy tomorrow.

You and Satoru went on it for hours, non-stop coming, and you couldn't stop yourself; you want to go over your limit.

For the last round, he let you ride on top, and you were giving your all, and he too was looking forward to marking you and overstimulate you.

While you riding him, you felt him sucking on your skin, marking you all over, but you couldn't care less; now, it's about you and him. Who cares about little love bites?

After you two are done, Satoru pulls out and carries you to the bathroom so you can wash up first, and he can put on new sheets.

You run a warm bath, cleaning all the fresh cum and dried cum off your body and massaging your sore muscles as well. That was one intense workout.

After cleaning up yourself, you head to the bed, where the bed was cleaned already. You head to bed first while Satoru goes to wash up too.

Satoru immediately cuddles you after he cleans up, and you two fall into a deep slumber.

Gojo felt two tiny hands squished his cheeks together, and he opened his eyes slightly to find the adorable and sexy friend of his pouting at him.

The shirt that he lends her was sliding off her shoulder, revealing her collarbone marked by him. Then he smirks, remembering last night.

"You idiot! I'm going to kill you!" You grab his collar and starts shaking him.

"Doesn't it look pretty?" He smirks smugly at you, and you almost strangled him.

"PRETTY?! GOJO! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

...

Shoko held in her laughter as you and Gojo enter the conference room at the same time. You sat down beside her, and she smirks at the turtleneck that you are wearing.

The Kyoto counterpart were all there, and it was a surprise to them to see you coming in with Gojo. You two were known for being not having the best relationship since you guys were teenagers.

You fanned yourself slightly since the weather wasn't the coolest, and Shoko gawked at the love bites.

"Damn, you two went hard last night, huh?" She commented, and you glared at Gojo, who just smiled widely at you.

You focus on the meeting, and everything went smoothly until Gojo decided to display some affection openly.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to you as you two made your way to the cafeteria. Obviously, nobody expected that, and then they noticed the love bites on your neck when Gojo pulls down your turtleneck.

"Can you stop? These are going to last for months on my beautiful, flawless skin! Months I say!" You frowned, and he leaned his chin on your shoulders as he hugs you from the back.

"Hmm, should we start dating? We have been together for three years already; shouldn't we be counted as boyfriend and girlfriend?" He asked you, and you turn around to face him.

"Eh? Are you asking me out? The mighty Gojo Satoru is asking me out?" You pull on his cheeks, and he pulls down his blindfold so that you can see his eyes.

Those very eyes that you hate and love.

"Hmm, I have to think about it. See you!" You pecked his lips and ran off.

"Think about it? I have been waiting for three years, and you still want me to wait? Oi, come back, baby!"

Oh my gosh! I still can't believe I wrote smut... I mean, I'm legal but why does it feel so illegal? I hope you guys had fun reading this headcanon! Thank you for reading!

Stay safe and healthy!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru hcs #gojo x y/n #gojo sensei #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk headcanons #jjk smut #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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lipstickstainz · 4 years ago

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true lies - s. r. (12/?)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: A collection of letters Spencer and you share while you're gone - and then you're gone forever. At least, that what he thinks.

Warnings: some fluff, angst, angst, angst, smoking, slight ptsd, grief and loss

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I'm sososososo sorry. please don't hate me. I love you. gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

previous part

Dearest little bear,

two months have passed since you had to leave, and not a day goes by that I don't think of you and wish you were here with me.

We are trying to do everything in our power to be able to bring you back home. But unfortunately, it seems to be taking longer than I would like.

I was told you were working on it as well. You are strong and smart and even though you can't be with me, I'm sure we can do it together.

Take care of yourself.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest Neruda,

I was very happy to receive your message. I always carry it with me, although I would rather be in your arms, but I can't.

I can't tell you where I am right now, but still I wish you were with me. It is warm and beautiful and I am sure you would like it here very much.

Except for these letters, I'm not allowed to talk to any of you, but I like talking to you best anyway. We've come this far. And we'll make it.

Thinking of you.

With love,

little bear

Dearest little bear,

It's been four months and with each passing second it becomes more unbearable. But a light is appearing at the end of the dark tunnel. We think we know who she is.

It won't be long before we can see each other again. And I can't wait to be able to hug you again. To be able to touch you. Or kiss you.

Not much longer. And then nothing can separate us.

Take care of yourself.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest Neruda,

It would have been too good to be with you again at last. But it still takes time.

I have found something that can help us, but for now, just know that I will do everything I can so that I can return home. Back to you. No matter what it costs.

Keep your eyes open. We're closer than you think.

I'm thinking of you.

With love,

little bear

Dearest little bear,

I was given time off to take a break. I was with my mother and she told me that a kind young lady had been here. She doesn't remember you, but she knows you are familiar and that she can trust you. As I do.

I am infinitely grateful. And I'm tired of waiting, but for you I do. For you, I do it all.

Take care of yourself.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest Neruda,

I can no longer grasp a clear thought, because whenever I close my eyes I see everything I have done in review. I can hardly sleep and the nightmares plague me.

I just hope that everything will end soon. It has already been a year since we saw each other. I can't promise you anything, but I hope you know that everything I had to do was for you. For us.

Thinking of you.

With love,

little bear

Dearest little bear,

it's been a few weeks since I've heard from you. I hope you are doing well.

We have found a trail that will take us further.And brings me a little closer to you. And that will bring you back home. I can't wait.

Take care of yourself.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest little bear,

It's been two months since you wrote to me.

Get back to me as soon as you can.

Take care of yourself.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest little bear,

Words cannot describe how much I miss you. Or how great the pain in my chest is.

I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can hardly breathe without you.

Thinking of you.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest little bear,

they hung your picture today. In the portrait you are smiling, proud to finally be part of the team. I can't look at it.

I was sent home, but everything there reminds me of you.

Thinking of you.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest little bear,

I keep your letters in a small box next to my bed. They are a part of you that I don't want to lose, even though I have already lost you. They are a part of you, just as you are a part of me.

Thinking of you.

With love,

Neruda

Dearest little bear,

I went to our bookstore and found a book of poems that you would like. I'll put it with your letters.

No book in the world could have prepared me for the grief I feel. The pain is too engaging for me to talk about it with anyone but you.

Thinking of you.

With love,

Neruda

Dear little bear,

it's been almost two years since we last saw each other. I don't remember what you sound like, or what you smell like. Why can't I remember that? Is it wrong of me not to think it's bad? It takes away my pain a little.

Thinking of you.

With love,

Neruda

Dear little bear,

A lot has happened in the two years we've been apart. Too much to ever be able to write down all the things. I just want you to know that this time was not easy for me. Not for any of us.

I put your letters away safely because you will always be important to me. But I have to let you go. And with this, I release you.

I love you. Forever.

With love,

Neruda

You pinch your leg to wake up. Your neck is wet with cold sweat and you have to blink several times to realize that you are in a cab. You run your hand through your hair as the driver looks at you curiously through the rearview mirror. He says nothing, which is why you glance out the window.

The drive from the airport to Quantico only takes an hour, but you still take the opportunity to close your eyes for a moment and doze a little. You haven't had a decent night's sleep in ages, you don't even know what a healthy portion of sleep feels like anymore, because you haven't had that luxury in the last two years.

As the car comes to a stop in front of the FBI building, you pay the driver and get out with your small bag. The building seems much bigger than you remember. You used to spend every day here, it had once been your home. But now you're not even sure you have a home anymore.

You take a deep breath and enter through the large doors, but are directly approached by a security guard.

"Miss? Are you visiting?", he asks suspiciously, extending his arm to keep you at a distance - something that wouldn't do him much good if you were actually trying to get past him.He eyes you up and down, which you can't blame him for. In your ripped jeans, dirty sneakers, and loose sweater, you don't look like someone who belongs here. By now, you don't either.

You look at him. "I'm here to see Unit Chief Prentiss", you reply coolly. You know he's just doing his job, but you're too impatient to let all this wash over you. You know Emily is already in the office. You know her too well not to. Why doesn't he just go get her? You just want to see your friend.

"Chief Prentiss?" He raises an eyebrow. "And what is your request?"

Your gaze is rock hard and your tone cold as ice. "Tell her Y/N Y/L/N is here to see her."

You wait outside the building, letting the morning sun warm your skin and the cigarette burn between your fingers before you put it to your lips and take a drag. Afterwards, you stub it out on a trash can. As you exhale the last bit of smoke, you turn around. And there she is.

Emily is standing at the door, and when you see her, you drop your bag and wrap her in your arms so tightly that you can't breathe. You cling to her, afraid that maybe this whole thing isn't as real as it feels, but you imperceptibly pinch your arm. And she is still with you.

"I thought - they said", she stammers, and it's the first time in your friendship that she's speechless. You hug her even tighter.

"I know", you answer softly, blinking away the tears that have formed in your eyes. The moment is too beautiful to cry. As you break away from each other, Emily wipes her own tears from her cheeks, but some have already landed on her blouse. There are dark stains now.

"I don't even know what to say", she says, smiling at you as you enter the building together. The guard gives you a look, but doesn't ask any questions as you walk past him toward the elevator. Inside, she pushes a button that takes you to the BAU floor. "I can hardly believe you're really here."

Neither can you.

The office is completely silent because no one is here yet except for you. Although nothing has changed, everything has changed because you are now someone else. It's been a long time since you've been here. Two years, but everything in this room is all too familiar to you. The coffee machine, the law books, the files. It feels like you've never been away. It's déjà vu all over again.

While Emily gets you both coffee, you sit down at the round table and wait for her. Your friend sets the cups down on the table before sitting down next to you. She smiles faintly. "How are you?"

You pucker your mouth. How are you? You haven't been asked that question in ages, and to be honest, you don't know how to answer it either. How could you possibly be?

When you don't answer Emily, she phrases her question differently. "What are you feeling right now?"

Your lips become a thin line. "I don't know. It feels like all of this," you point to the room, "isn't a part of me anymore. Nothing has changed, but it still feels foreign."

Emily nods. "You've been through a lot, I guess." She takes a sip of her coffee. "You're right, Y/N. Nothing has really changed here. But you're a different one now, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to answer her, but you don't know what either. Part of you feels at home here, but a bigger part of you knows your place is somewhere else. You just don't know where exactly.

"Do you want to see the others?", Emily asks. "I'm asking you because it's been a long time since you've seen them. And they think you're...you know. Are you ready for that?"

Are you ready for that? You haven't seen either of them in a long time, and it would probably be better not to see them for now, but to let Emily sort it out first. But the team is your family - the closest thing you have to a family. And you've missed them all terribly.

You nod and take a sip of your coffee as JJ and Rossi enter the room. When they see you, they glance uncertainly at Emily, as if they're not sure if it's just imagination, but she nods at them. And that's when all the dams break for JJ.

She pulls you from your chair and hugs you like the salvation of the world depends on it, and David has to pry her cramped arms from you so he can put his around you as well. They affirm to you how much they missed you and ask how you are, wanting to know what happened, but Tara and Penelope join them and that's when it gets too loud for you.

Penelope cries with joy and Tara also can't believe that you are standing in front of her. They besiege you and ask you questions to which you have no answers, so you just smile weakly at them. They definitely don't mean any harm, after all, you've just risen from the dead for them, but you've spent the last while in silence and are no longer used to this volume. So you turn away from them. They look anxiously after you as you sort of flee from them. You hope that this will make the headache go away.

Without paying much attention to where you're going, you find yourself facing the wall where the pictures of the deceased agents hang. And yours is hanging there, too. You don't know how long you've been standing in front of it - minutes? hours? -until a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"Y/N?"

You turn around and there stands Spencer. His hair is a little shorter and he looks like he's seen a ghost. Well, he sort of has.

You want to throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, and never let him go. Seeing him knocks the air out of your lungs, which is why you can barely breathe. The two years without him had been hell on earth, but you got through them. For him.

For Spencer, who doesn't take his eyes off you as the blonde woman next to him, whose fingers are intertwined with his, looks at him and asks, "Honey, who's that?"

- tags -

@obsssedwithjustaboutanything // @ashwarren32 // @slytherinbth // @rexorangecouny // @candlemouse // @lexymoniqu // @m3sml // @username2002 // @calliecookie // @haylaansmi // @thehuntresswolf // @skyslowalking // @padsfirewhisky // @criminalminds4days // @criminallyoddsocks // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @vladsgirlxx // @justdianaz // @x2moonlight2x-blog // @countingthestarsinfinitely // @box-of-fandom-stuff // @sergeantbuckybarnes // @princesssmooshie // @sassiest-politician // @ littledm2000 // @a-broken-pact // @strawberry-tea // @sassy-hades // @danrad-rdj4ever // @takeyourleap-of-faith // @smell-my-twisted-shadows // @poeticsassandtrash // @wintrrrsoldier // @peaceluvnirvana // @jemimah-b99 // @lokislilslut // @advicefromnixxxx // @panicattheeverywherekid // @my-guilty-pleasures--of-life // @itsdars @pjmjams // @imagine-this-motherfucker // @sasbb23 // @fivedicksinatrenchcoat // @missyoumaybank // @blameitonthenight21 // @s-r-16 // @knee-coall // @hamlewis // @twodirtymindedgirls // @peoplejustcanthandlemywierdness // @imdefinitelyfloating // @crazyloca06 // @gardenroses1 // @saspencereid // @enchantedlove90 // @sizzlingclamturtlesludge // @moondustmemories // @bambi-is-my-name // @beg0neth0t420 // @william-shookespeare // @pancake2603 // @ayo-cowbelly // @herbstmelody // @frnks-stuff // @mimischaos // @lilxnvm // @archiveofadragon // @burnin-passion // @oddobsessionbutotay // @chaoticdreamsss // @ghostly-ginger // @knittingstudyblr // @gorbagreb // @biafbunny // @ayo-cowbelly // @ellyseveronica // @saspencereid // @takethee // @ethereal-stark // @shirayuki1204 // @spencerreidspp // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @stinkykay // @exzidss // @ifuckinghatepinapples // @youhaveabadconnection // @kaseyjohnson04 // @vampiracontessa // @princesssmooshie // @gardenroses1 // @r0s3mm // @willyoulovemeinthemorning // @rrtxcmt // @softpeteparker // @littleiswhattheycallme // @hoeyadoingbitch // @emmariexx // @oops-all-ajs / @reidemandweep // @oliwisstephhh // @g0lden-cth // @measure-in-pain // @amesandpineapples // @spencerreidat3am //

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds one shot #Emily Prentiss #tara lewis #Jennifer jareau #aaron hotchner

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daisys-gard3n · 3 years ago

Note

Daisy that post abt Formaggio gives me babymaking brainrot guh I'm melty now. Maggi plz PLZ 🥺💖 He has those Good Dad vibes. Like sure he's a sick bastard on the job but so loving with his kids,,, god and he'd probably want quite a few. Lotta breeding for whoever's lucky enough to be his baby mommy,,, be still my fluttering coochie,,,

-@gunkierengines / Liz

@jellyluchi @hoestarave2

I guess we having maggi breeding thoughts today

Formaggio is the top dad in La Squadra, he gives off a very chill but caring and fun daddy. He'd be the kind of dad to have a kangaroo pouch with his kid in it as he goes grocery shopping (mostly to buy beer). He's top tier playing horsey with his kid and teasing them, giving them raspberries on their tummies and doing all the baby talk while they giggle and let their daddy put them on his knee and bounce them on it. He wants a lot of kids, so you better be prepared bc Formaggio isn't gonna be able to keep his hands off of you for long.

You could have greasy hair, wearing a stained shirt, cute fluffy pjs, or whatever - Formaggio's horny brain gonna want some of that. He doesn't even care if you didn't shower. He just thinks his Mama is sexy and wants them to sit on his fat cock. You'll definitely find yourself in the laundry room with your body propped against the washing machine as Formaggio pulls your bottoms and underwear down and rails you, a small quickie before the kids come in. You could be breastfeeding your latest baby, and he's gonna be like:

"Ayo...Let Papa have some of that-"

This man has the most fertile sperm ever - the one time he didn't have a condom on, you were pregnant. It's sooooo thick and filling, on the third round he's cumming in you and it spills out of your cunt and back onto him. He wants to empty his balls with you, and it's cute when you're so fucked out and filled with his cum. And when you're pregnant? He's definitely gonna see your swollen tummy and thing "...I can fit another one in there."

#not sfw #formaggio #'dilf jojo'#baby headcanons #gn reader #afab reader #jjba confessions

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bubblesuga · 4 years ago

Text

Once In A Lifetime

Summary: Yoongi is a pain in your ass, but sometimes that's okay. What's a cafe job without a little drama?

genre: college!au tags: smut, fluff, mutual masturbation, cream pie, dirty talk W/C: 4,740 a/n: i have a weak spot for blond yoongi

You seethe silently while you stare at the schedule on the pin board in the back room. You begged your boss, damn near pleaded on your knees in front of her not to schedule you with him.

Its hard enough to close with only two people but fuck, if it isn't impossible when you're with Min Yoongi.

Don't get it wrong, Yoongi has a knack for customer service and he's quite good at making coffee but for some reason-- when the two of you were completely alone-- he became unbearably annoying.

It's like the moment the open sign turns off, he forgets how to work. While you're in the back cleaning dishes, sweeping the kitchen, counting cash drawers, taking out the garbage and everything else involved with closing, Yoongi turns on his speaker and plays whatever song he's been working on recently.

Okay, sure. This job isn't the most important thing on the planet. You both are just trying to get a little extra cash while you push through college, but you'll be damned if you get paid the same while you do all the work.

"Kati!" you yell from the back, your arms crossed and your nails digging into each of your biceps. You hear footsteps behind you, causing you to turn around expecting to see Kati.

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi leans in the doorway with a smirk on his face, "Awe, we're closing together again!"

"Awe we're closing toget-" you begin to mock but end up giving up and allowing your frustration to take over, "shut up, Yoongi."

"Don't seem so glum, sugar plum. I promise I'll be a good boy and listen to you." His words were too sweet to be true, they were laced with his famous sarcasm which only made you want to yell at him more.

Before you have the chance to counteract his sarcasm, he taps your back lightly before turning around and walking back out.

If there was one thing you did enjoy about him, it was the view of him when he walked away.

As the hours pass, eventually you and Yoongi are the last ones there. When Seokjin said goodbye, you silently pleaded that he would stay for just a little while longer. He gave you a slight apologetic look, glancing at Yoongi before shaking his head and walking out.

A groan leaves your lips.

It's only 9:30, you still have half an hour until the shop closes and there's way too many pastries left over.

Yoongi stands behind you, silently wiping down the coffee machines and humming along to whatever song was playing over the loud speakers.

Leaning back against the counter, you cross your arms and watch Yoongi for a moment. In a dark denim apron and slim black shirt, it feels as though the uniform was made for Yoongi. You can tell he's been working out lately, his muscles are more defined beneath the fabric of his shirt. It's killing you that despite being as annoying as he is, he's still immensely attractive and he knows it.

The snapback rests backwards on his head, blond hair poking out subtly. He turns, meeting your eyes for a moment which causes you to turn away quickly. It's quiet for a while again.

"I don't think anyone is going to come in," Yoongi breaks the silence, "I doubt Kati would mind if we closed early."

"I think she would. She said she gets a rush in the last 15 minutes so we should be prepared for that."

"We're not going to get a rush, we're a coffee shop and it's almost 10pm on a Monday."

"I'm not disobeying Kati just so you can play your shitty music and do nothing while I close."

"Shitty," he scoffs, "my music is hardly shitty, and I do help close. Who do you think cleans the front?"

"Wiping down espresso machines isn't the hardest part of closing." Maybe you're being a bit too harsh. Maybe you're trying to cover up the fact that he caught you staring at him earlier.

Yoongi sets the yellow rag down on the counter, turning to you fully, "I also sweep and mop up here. It's kinda hard to do anything else when your coworker does everything else. Ya ever think of delegating, huh?"

You feel your eye twitch. Just as you're about to respond, the bell above the door rings and you instantly wipe away your anger and throw your best customer service face on.

"Hi, good evening! What can I get for you today?"

As you help the customer, Yoongi walks to the back.

You make her coffee, heat her Panini, and speak with her for a moment about the aromatics of the freshly ground coffee beans that you had become used to. You didn't have the heart to tell her that you didn't smell it anymore, so you talked about how that was your favorite part about working in a cafe.

When she leaves, you realize it's finally time to close.

Switching off the open sign, you open the cash drawers and begin counting. Anything extra goes into the safe, and it seems as though everything was in place tonight.

In the back, you can hear Yoongi moving around and you don't question what he's doing.

Cleaning, sweeping, and mopping... Eventually you finish the front and move to the back but you stop suddenly.

Yoongi isn't playing his music.

Raising an eyebrow, you push open the door to the back and see that the kitchen is completely spotless.

Yoongi puts the last of the dirty dishes away and turns to you, "Don't worry, princess. I did it just the way you like it."

"T- thank-" you stutter but you're not able to finish your sentence before Yoongi pushes past you and walks out the door. The bell rings and you realize that he's left. The two of you managed to close in under 20 minutes.

You can't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over you. You definitely we're being a bit too harsh, and it seems to have affected Yoongi more than you thought it would.

Sighing, you push a hand through your hair and walk out the door.

Your drive home is silent. You're not one to overthink, especially when it comes to Yoongi, but you feel the need to apologize.

After your nightly routine, you plop into bed and glance at your phone. It doesn't take much to make you open your contact list.

(Y/N) sent 10:55

hey. just wanted to apologize for calling your music shitty. for the record, it's not. you're pretty good.

Your phone dings quickly.

Yoongi received 10:56

no need to be sorry, i know i'm good.

You don't respond, rolling your eyes and tossing your phone onto the night stand.

~*~*~

Closing the next day was much more simple than before. Yoongi did the back again, but this time you could hear his music playing again.

The beats are much more incredible than you'd ever admit to him in person. His voice speaks melodically to the music, drowning out your thoughts. You find yourself tapping your foot to the beat as you finish cleaning up the front.

The song finishes and there's a sudden change of pace.

Instead of a strong bass line and incredible drum work, a piano plays through.

Your interest is piqued, your legs carrying you to the back where Yoongi stands. He doesn't notice you, allowing the song to continue to play.

"This is gorgeous." you murmur, and a switch flips in Yoongi.

His hands, though soaked with water and soap, reaches up and turns off the speaker. He turns to you, panicked, "N- no one is supposed to hear that one. I didn't realize it was so loud."

"So you're telling me you just...listen to your own music?"

"Well, no," for the first time, you see a blush creep across Yoongi's face, "I play certain songs for you, and there's certain songs that are just for me."

"You play songs for me?" Any resentment you had towards the man dissipated in an instant. Instead, butterflies swarmed in your tummy. Butterflies for him.

He scratches the back of his neck, "Well, I don't play them for me. I want you to see how good I am."

"Humble," you hum, giggling slightly. Yoongi seems taken aback by the sound but doesn't get a chance to dwell as you continue to speak, "why can't I listen to this song?"

Yoongi sighs, "It's embarrassing."

"Let me listen," you begin to walk towards the speaker but Yoongi puts his hands on your shoulders to hold you back, "come on, Yoongi."

Yoongi doesn't give, but you manage to slip passed his hands and fall against his chest. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and waddling you backwards. In a last ditch effort, you attempt to reach passed him but his grip on you is surprisingly strong.

"No, no, Princess. That song is for me and me only."

The nickname has a stronger affect on you than usual.

"But..." you stick your bottom lip out in a fake pout, "I wanna hear the softer side of Min Yoongi."

Yoongi's eyes dart to your lips, licking his own. You're suddenly aware of just how close Yoongi is keeping you, his cologne filling your nose. He's cute from this angle, his nose is rounded and is tinged with red at the tip. His eyes, though dark, are brighter than usual. He smiles softly, a gentle giggle falling from his lips.

"I can't tell you how many times I've wanted you this close to me." Your heart melts at his words, and you look down to the way your chests are pressed against each other.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you question.

He smiles, "I did, you just didn't listen since you were so preoccupied with your little closing routine."

"My little closing routine makes the opener's life so much easier." you defend, trying to distract yourself from the way his hands sit at the base of your spine, playing gently with the hem of your shirt.

"I'm sure the opener is very concerned with the fact that you make sure you set the forks before the spoons and the knives right after." Yoongi whispers, his tone joking but his eyes glazing over. Even in the horrendous white lighting of the kitchen, he looks beautiful.

"Bite me, Yoongi."

Yoongi bares his teeth and scrunches his nose, "If you insist."

Without wasting a second, Yoongi's mouth latches onto your lips. You gasp into the kiss, but Yoongi's grip tightens and holds you closer.

To say your stomach exploded into butterflies would be an understatement. Your entire body lit up like a Christmas tree, heat radiating from your skin because Yoongi was everywhere. His hands were large, slipping underneath the hem of your shirt and resting on your lower back. He didn't stray any higher or lower, simply planting himself in one spot while his lips continued their attack on yours.

He smiles against your lips, taking them away only to begin his reign over your jaw line and down your neck. Then, he nips.

One.

Two.

Three.

By the fourth, his teeth are biting at your collarbones, but his hands have not moved from your back. You mewl above him, desperately clinging to his arms. Damn your neck for being so sensitive.

"Yoongi," you breathe, "touch me, Yoongi."

"I am touching you." He murmurs stubbornly against your skin.

You whine, "Your hands, Yoongi."

"Hmm," he hums, chuckling, "I like when you say my name."

Suddenly his hands drop down to your ass, kneading it through the thin fabric of your work leggings. He pulls himself back up to your face, planting his lips against yours again as you moan into his mouth.

Yoongi slips his hands between the two of you, hooking his fingers beneath the band of both your leggings and your panties.

"Are we really about to fuck in the kitchen?" You ask, your chest heaving.

Yoongi leans back, taking a second to assess the situation. "You're right, my apartment?"

"No, your car."

"Dirty girl," he grins, taking his keys out of his pocket, "I'll turn off all the lights. Go get ready for me."

You nod, grabbing his keys and walking out of the door. As you're about to reach the front door, it already swings open and Kati waltzes in completely unexpectedly.

Panicked, your eyes go wide and you halt just before leaving from behind the counter. Kati glances up from her phone, "Ah, perfect, is Yoongi still here?"

Swallowing, you nod carefully.

"Great, I need to talk to you both," she turns towards the kitchen, "Yoongi! Get your ass up here!"

Closing your eyes, you pray to god that he's composed himself a little more than you have. Sure enough, he walks from the kitchen and seems just as nonchalant as ever, "Yes, boss?"

"So, I need you two to close for the next couple weeks together. Jackson quit and Woojin can't work nights."

"...and?" Yoongi questions.

She seems slightly taken aback, "Well, I need to make sure you two won't kill each other."

Both you and Yoongi hold back laughter.

Resting his arm softly on your shoulder, Yoongi's skin is still hot against yours, "No promises, boss."

"I'm serious," she scolds, "It's only a couple weeks then I'll never schedule you two alone again."

"Yes ma'am." you put your hand up in a salute.

Working alone with Yoongi for 2 weeks? What could possibly go wrong?

Kati smiles, "Alright then. I'm gonna grab the money from the safe then I'll let you two get back to closing."

You two silently watch Kati unlock the safe beneath the register, taking out the deposits from today. Yoongi's arm hasn't left your shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against your collarbone. When you turn over to him, his face showing no emotion but his hands doing more to you than you could ever imagine.

Kati turns back, "Okay, be here at 2 tomorrow. Thank you!"

As she walks out, Yoongi's arm falls from your neck.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow as he wipes his brow.

"I was shitting bricks." Yoongi says, causing you to tilt your head. "Why?"

"You have hickeys all over your neck."

Your eyes widen, your hand flying to your neck, "Yoongi! Do you know how fucking bad that could have been?"

"I know, that's why I covered your neck." He explains, gesturing with just as wild eyes.

"No, no-" you shake your head, "We almost fucked in the kitchen, Yoongi. That's not okay."

"But we were gonna go to my car!" Yoongi's shoulders slump and his mouth is agape in confusion.

"Imagine if she had walked in when your tongue was down my throat."

"Well I would have asked her to join."

"Yoongi!"

"I'm kidding, you know I only have eyes for you babe." He steps closer, leaning forward to press a kiss against your lips once again. You pull away, shaking your head.

Despite the fact that it was taking everything in you not to kiss him again, not to giggle at his lighthearted jokes and just follow him to his car, you knew that you had to practice self-discipline otherwise no work would ever get done with Yoongi.

"Are you upset?" Yoongi seems hurt.

"No," you sigh, "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to do anything here."

Yoongi straightens his back, clearing his throat and adjusting his clothes, "Right. Wouldn't want anyone's coffee getting out late because we're in the back fucking."

"Right." you whisper.

Yoongi smiles softly, "Doesn't mean I won't imagine it."

"Such a gentleman," you roll your eyes, bending down to grab your bag, "I'll see you tomorrow."

~*~*~

"Can I get an Dirty Chai with oatmilk, Yoongi?"

It's the first time you had one of those late night rushes that Kati was talking about. There's a line out the door, drunk college students desperate for some sort of carbs to soak up the alcohol. Yoongi is running back and forth from the panini press to the espresso machine while you grabbed pastries and muffins for what seemed like hours.

It being busy hasn't distracted you enough from the past couple of days with Yoongi.

Yoongi has respected the boundary you set-- for the most part. Walking passed you in the small space behind the counter, his hands brush along your back, a trail of heat following his fingertips. Though it's not the most intense of touches, there's a sensuality of it that leaves you nearly a panting mess.

Your conversations have been more open, you continue to ask him about his music and he wonders aloud about your studies. He learned that you were a history major, specializing in paleontology. Ever since then, he likes to ask questions about random dinosaurs. It's certainly cute, because you can tell he's genuinely interested but he's only interested because you're the one telling him.

You still haven't been able to listen to that song that he started, and he insist its because its not good enough for the rest of the world to hear it yet. You're sure its finished, he's just not ready for you to hear what it's about. Something tells you you're getting close though.

Yoongi turns around a few moments after your request, setting a Dirty Chai on the counter. You call out the customer's name and smile as you hand it to her.

"Swap me, babe. My hands are shaking."

Oh yeah, the pet names have evolved as well.

"Shaking?" you question, but you don't have enough time to dwell as the panini press dings and you're rushing to the other side of the front.

Sure enough, as you glance back Yoongi's hands are shaking while he begins handing out pastries.

Finishing up a few more coffees, you call out customer names and the dining room begins to clear out. The line is gone and a few groups sit in the dining room, eating their food.

The second that Yoongi hands the last pastry out, he walks to the back without saying a word to you.

Glancing at the customers, you swallow and follow him.

When you enter the kitchen, Yoongi's taking deep breaths against the sink. He doesn't notice you, so you lean opposite him against the counter.

Leaning forward, you rest your hands on either side of Yoongi's face, forcing him to look you in the eye.

"That was a lot of people." Yoongi breathes.

"It was, but we kicked ass." you reassure him, but his breathing doesn't slow down.

"I think I'm having an anxiety attack," he explains, "can you hug me? P- pressure helps calm down the fight or flight response and-"

You don't allow him to finish, pulling him close to you and wrapping your arms tightly around him. His face buries itself into your neck, his breath fanning raggedly over your skin. It takes him a few moments, but his breathing slowly begins to calm, his heart rate slowing against your chest.

"If its ever getting to much for you just let me know and I'll fly solo for a little bit." you speak softly, your hand moving up to stroke the back of Yoongi's head.

"I can't do that to you," he sighs, "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"No, I get it," your nails begin to scratch his scalp gently, "a lot of drunk people wanting food is overwhelming, especially when their patience is non-existent. If you ever need to take a breather then I won't get mad."

"You already hate closing with me, I don't want to make it worse."

Your heart breaks.

"No, I don't hate closing with you. I think I was just trying to hide my feelings." You never expected to say this to him, but at this point you'll do anything to make him feel better.

He pulls away from your neck, a shy smile on his face. He has done a complete 180 from two nights ago.

"You have feelings for me?"

"Well, I certainly feel something." You look down, hyper aware of how close he is to you.

He grins, leaning down and pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips. Before the conversation can go any further, the bell dings open and both of you jump apart, moving to the front to help yet another customer.

The rest of the night went by much more smoothly than earlier.

Yoongi turns on his music in the front while you do the dishes in the back. He's playing his usual mix, and you find yourself humming along to the songs as they come.

It's not until you're almost finished do you hear the familiar piano notes begin to play. Peaking your head out of the kitchen, Yoongi holds the speaker in his hands and watches you carefully. Slow melodies play out underneath his gentle voice, the lyrics portraying the man's first love.

You cross your arms, soaking in the lyrics as much as you can. His face is red as more emotion plays out. It doesn't take you long to realize that what you're listening to is the personification of Yoongi's passion. A conversation is held between him and the piano, and Yoongi sets flame to it all.

When the song comes to a close, you don't move, or breathe, or speak.

"Oh my god, say something!"

You look up, meeting Yoongi's scared eyes.

"When you become famous can I sell your autograph on ebay?"

Yoongi laughs, "Yeah, you can sell it."

You don't think of a witty response. Instead, you walk towards him and hug him once again. Resting your head on his shoulder, you two sway for a moment, almost dancing with the air. The atmosphere of the empty cafe has become much more calming than it was before.

His hands dance along your spine, "You know, I've never shown anyone that song before."

"I'm glad that my insistence made me the first." you tease, inhaling Yoongi's cologne. He certainly knows how to smell good.

"Your insistence, yes," he starts, "but also your impeccable ability to strengthen my confidence."

"Awe, does Yoongi have a soft spot for me?" you try your best to hide the way his smile is making your heart flutter.

"Always have." He murmurs, his lips kissing the tip of your nose.

"We're not very good at the whole 'not-kissing-at-work' thing." you giggle, feeling his grip tighten.

"I don't want to be good at it."

He doesn't allow you to respond before his lips are on yours once again. Against them, he smirks, "Shall we go to my car tonight?"

"God yes."

With steamy windows and Yoongi's hot body on top of yours, you both completely forget about your surroundings. His back seat is incredibly comfortable, your head resting on his shirt while he nips along your stomach and down to your hips.

It didn't take long for the two of you to move, you listening to Yoongi's every silent demand as he taps your hip to signal you to lift them.

Smiling, he murmurs a soft, "Good girl." before sliding your leggings and panties off in one go.

Now fully exposed, goosebumps raise under your skin. Yoongi is slow moving, his tongue drawing circles on your pelvic bone before biting down harshly. You gasp, your back arching into him.

"How long have you been this wet?" Yoongi asks, his fingers moving forward to collect your arousal. He slips through your folds, pushing a single finger into your aching heat.

You can't formulate a response to his question, because he begins a tormentingly slow thrust into your head, curling his finger upward.

Dipping his head down, his lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks.

Your hips jerk against him, but the pleasure doesn't play out for long before his pulling away.

"I don't want you to cum yet," he chuckles when you whine, standing and unbuckling his belt, "I just needed to make sure you were ready."

"And what?" you bite playfully, "you gonna pull out a huge snake or some shit?"

"I don't think so," Yoongi responds, sliding his pants down his legs, revealing his cock, "it's alright."

It's more than alright. Your mouth waters over the sight, twitching slightly from his arousal. It's curved upward, the tip already a hot red and leaking precum. His hand wraps around the base of it, stroking it slowly. Out of habit, you slide your middle and ring fingers into your mouth, sliding them down your body and to your clit.

You eyes don't pull themselves away from the way Yoongi is skillfully touching himself, thumb running along the tip and a string of saliva falling from his mouth to the tip of his cock.

"You like watching me touch myself?" He asks, his voice significantly deeper than it was before. You nod, not looking away from his cock.

"Answer me." he takes his hand away from his cock and brings it to your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He's willing to sacrifice his own pleasure to get an answer out of you, and for some reason that only turns you on even more. You speed the movements on your clit, moaning softly while you look into Yoongi's eyes.

He clicks his tongue once he notices your movements, grabbing your wrist and dragging it up to his mouth. Licking your fingers clean, he grabs your other hand and holds both of your wrists against your pelvic bone, just out of reach of your heat. He likes playing games, and he likes to win.

"Yes," you finally manage, "yes I like watching you jerk off."

He grins, a gummy grin that makes him seem much more innocent than he is. The words are dirty falling from your tongue but it only seems to heighten the fire in Yoongi's eyes.

"Good," he says, gripping his cock again and thrusting into his hand, "should I let you cum just from watching me?"

Your wrists twitch in his other hand, "P- please."

"Okay, whatever you want princess."

He lets go of your hands and your fingers fly to your clit, desperately rubbing harsh circles while he continues to stroke himself.

As his pace speeds up, he begins to let out soft, subtle moans. Your chest heaves at the sounds, hands shaking while you push yourself even closer to the edge.

"Louder, Yoongi," you beg, "please."

Yoongi bites his bottom lip briefly, a small whimper falling from his mouth while you arch your back, the heat in your abdomen growing stronger and stronger.

Yoongi's hand stops suddenly, "Where do you want me to cum?"

You grin mischievously, gesturing to your core.

Yoongi's eyes widen, crawling closer to you and leaning down, "You want me to cum in your pussy?"

You nod frantically.

"Who would have thought my pretty princess was such a dirty girl."

"Just fuck me, Yoongi." you whine, pushing your heat towards him. Yoongi does just that, slipping his cock into you. You instantly clamp around him, causing his hips to stutter deeper into you.

He gains his rhythm quickly, not holding back as he holds your hips into his back seat and pounds into you harshly.

A deep growl erupts from his chest at your small whimpers, an almost primal instinct taking over him as he leans down to kiss you. The second his lips touch yours, you gasp and feel yourself release. A loud moan of his name falls from your lips as you come undone, pushing his hips into yours with your heels.

Yoongi follows suit quickly, his release coating your walls and his head collapsing onto your chest.

"Holy fuck." He says after a minute, his mouth agape while he tries to catch his breath.

"Better than you imagined?" You feel proud of yourself for having such a huge affect on Yoongi. It's not often does he seem caught off guard.

"Way better," he replies, "the best I've ever had."

You run your nails over his scalp again, feeling him shiver against you, "Maybe if you take me out, you'll be able to have it again."

Yoongi pulls his head up, "When, where, what time?"

"I'll leave that up to you," you smile, "let's just cuddle for now."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

#min yoongi x yn #min yoongi x reader fluff #min yoongi x reader smut #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader smut #yoongi x reader fluff #bts #bts x reader

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swbumblebee · 4 years ago

Text

“Stop it.”

Mace Windu was a Jedi Master, and as such had years of training resulting in near limitless patience.

A limit, however, that his closest companion and partner in time-travel was testing with his constant pacing. And huffing.

Plo Koon ignored his request. Mace sighed.

“Would you just sit down? You’re not going to bring them home any quicker and you’re wearing down my rug” he warned.

Plo looked at him, looked down at the rug, and continued pacing.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about” Mace continued, happily ignoring the sulky silence. “We know their mission goes well, we’ve done this before!” he exclaimed. “It’s a resounding success and half a planet ends up with a crush on Obi-Wan.” He said matter-of-fact.

He felt a reluctant pulse of amusement from Plo in the Force, as much as the man tried to keep it off his face. Mace could always tell.

He stood up, joining him in front of the sofa.

“Nobody gets blown up, nobody gets injured.” He reminded gently. “The Tume agreement is signed, as it is every year, and they both live to worry us another day” he said kindly.

Plo shook his head.

“I know how it went last time. I remember the debate” he corrected. “But things could be different my friend, we have changed the timeline. The smallest difference could be vital, and we have made a very large difference.” Plo explained, in his usual measured voice. “We have altered young Anakin’s temperament; Force only knows that he’ll do. And Obi-Wan has much less to prove.”

Mace frowned. His friend was making some irritatingly good points, but he remembered the two boys standing in the council room not one week ago; a familiar determined glint in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eye that, in the coming years, would move planets, and Skywalker looking up at all the Masters as if they hung the stars.

“They will not disappoint us” Mace said surely.

Plo stopped.

“I know” he sighed. “I just…worry. It is most unbecoming of a Jedi” the Kel Door admitted.

Mace smiled.

“We are no longer typical Jedi my friend, and you are not the only one.”

It was true. Despite his words of reassurance, waving the two off in the hanger had brought a distinct clench in his stomach, and the training droids in the dojo had had a very long week.

Both froze, two very familiar force presences making themselves known, and not a moment later Mace’s commlink chirped shrilly.

They grinned at each other.

“Windu”

“Master, Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have just requested permission to land” the unidentified voice on the other end of the call informed them professionally.

“Thank you, Windu out.” He closed the link without a second thought, already grabbing his cloak and joining Plo, standing impatiently, by the door.

“Wait – we can’t both go!” Mace exclaimed, the thought suddenly occurring to him as Plo reached for the door control.

The other Jedi looked at him, clearly irritated.

“Why not?”

Mace rolled his eyes. One of them had to be sensible.

“Plo, how’s that going to look? Two senior council members waiting for a new Knight and a Junior Padawan? People already think we’re too close” he exclaimed, frustrated with his friend.

Whilst they both had a wildly different attitude towards the A Word (developed over the course of the war and in their new situation) appearances were something they had to be mindful of.

Whilst his expression did not change, the Force around Plo expressed just how much of a toss he gave about appearances.

His friend folded his arms.

“Alright, we can re-convene at the flat later. I will meet them in the hanger.” He said calmly, as if it was some kind of compromise.

Mace raised one eyebrow.

“Any why do you get to welcome them home?” he asked archly.

“You waved them off” Plo said simply. “It is my turn.”

“Ah that’s not how-Plo!” he cried out, outraged as Plo quickly opened the door and strode out into the corridor, pushing Mace gently back with the Force whilst he made his escape.

Leaving the Master of the Order spluttering at the injustice of it all, in his wake.

---

Plo was working hard to keep his happiness behind his shields as he strode into the hanger just in time to see the temple shuttle land. He ran a critical eye over it, having a sudden vision of Skywalker’s battered old ship in that first timeline. As liable to explode as it was to put the wipers on.

Thank goodness that was a bridge to be crossed in the future. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for Anakin adopting ships.

Obi-Wan ruffled young Anakin’s hair, laughing as the boy tried to squirm away, as they descended the ramp. The playful scowl on Anakin’s face transformed into excitement as he sensed Plo and turned to him, held back from running over for his usual hug by his Master’s lightning quick reflexes, grabbing a wrist and holding him back.

Plo sent a wave of welcome over to them both in the Force as they came closer, a genuine smile on Obi-Wan’s face and Anakin practically buzzing with excitement.

Obi-Wan bowed deeply in respect, clearly nudging Anakin through their training bond to do the same, and the boy hastily followed suit.

Plo held a hand up and nodded at them both as they rose smiling. Both looked absolutely fine, perhaps Obi-Wan a little tired, but Plo had a feeling that was more to do with the energetic ten-year -old he’d just spent a week with, than the challenge of the mission.

“Welcome back” Plo once again pushed his pleasure at them in the Force. Predictably, Obi-Wan’s eyes slid away from looking him in the face, but he smiled gratefully all the same as Plo plucked the bulky pack out of his hands and shouldered it. Anakin nearly skipped as they all headed towards the exit and made for the Kenobi/Skywalker residence.

“Thank you Master, it’s good to see you-“

“Master Plo, it was so wizard we went in a hyperlane and the pilot let me sit up front and Chose was awesome Master it was hailing when we got there, like really hard rain! And they had massive beds and loads of puddings and me and Master Obi-Wan went to a play with singing-“

As the child rambled excitedly on, Plo shared a bemused look with a resigned Obi-Wan, sending him a wave of amused sympathy at him in the Force. Received with a dry raise of the young man’s eyebrows.

It must have been a long week for the twenty-three-year-old.

Content to let the child’s happiness wash over him, and Obi-Wan appearing to enjoy the lack of expected contribution for once, the journey to the flat was mostly uneventful, only a few Jedi casting them amused looks at Anakin’s wild gesticulating.

“Anakin, Obi-Wan!”

They were stopped from keying in the door code by Mace’s cry of greeting as he rounded the corner towards the little group. Ignoring Plo he went straight up to the boys, Anakin beaming at him and Obi-Wan bowing once again.

“Master”

“Hi Master Mace! Guess what? We saw hail on Chose and-

“Anakin” Obi-Wan blissfully interrupted before the whole recount could begin again. “Why don’t we get inside and get the tea on and then you can tell Master Mace and Master Plo all about our mission” he suggested firmly, in a way that was definitely not a suggestion.

“Yes Master”

Obi-Wan keyed in their code and stepped inside, Anakin following happily kicking off his boots by the door.

Mace, still giving Plo the cold shoulder, stepped inside first. And made a distinct noise of surprise. Plo followed curiously looking over his shoulder.

“Obi-Wan – what happened?” he asked, aghast.

Plo held back an unseemly laugh.

The flat was a tip.

There were robes on the floor, he spotted two pairs of boots sticking out from under the sofa and a discarded pack under the table. What looked like the entire Temple’s supply of mugs were scattered on almost every surface, alongside precariously stacked datapads and flimsy piles on the tables and on the floor, some of which had fallen over.

As he picked his way across the room, avoiding random bits of droid and one or two power tools, Plo could spy a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter when he peered inside, and about three days worth of washing up. A laundry basket was sitting next to the washing machine, overflowing with brown and beige.

The two young Jedi stood awkwardly in the middle of the flat.

Obi-Wan flushed a little.

“Ah, we left on quite short notice” he offered.

“I don’t think it’s that bad really” Anakin offered with an awkward shrug, slyly kicking something further under the sofa.

“This is….” Mace was lost for words. Whilst Plo hadn’t spent much time in Master Kenobi’s home the first time around, he had always thought the man to be fastidiously clean, and what he had seen had been very tidy.

Anakin however, was no surprise.

Plo could sense Mace doing the same thing he was, adding “domestic help” to the Obi-Wan Support List. They’d been so focussed on studies and their boy’s personal development they completely forgot that the Knight had never lived by himself before, never mind taken care of a youngling!

Obi-Wan apologetically shoved some pads and an old robe off the sofa to make space and disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

The two Masters sat down gingerly. Anakin on the floor opposite.

“Your mission was a success?” Plo asked conversationally as Obi-Wan reappeared with the mugs of tea. Plo caught Mace peering at the rim for signs of prior use, and gave him a look.

“Yeah” Anakin answered before Obi-Wan could get a word in “the Chosians didn’t like me at first but they really liked Master Obi-Wan and they spent ages talking. And people kept giving him stuff.” The boy explained with a disgusted expression. “Flowers and cakes and-“

“Yes thank you Padawan” Obi-Wan interrupted loudly, his ears turning a rather bright shade of pink. Mace smirked at him and Plo sent his partner a mental swat.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“The mission was a success and the Tume Agreement has been updated and signed.” The Knight took a sip of his tea. “We will not need to go back for a while, it should be valid for another ten years” he finished casually as if accomplishing something no Jedi had managed before, on his first mission, was an afterthought.

Mace and Plo shared a look.

Just like last time.

It was a huge relief that their presence had had no adverse effects on the Negotiator’s skills. As Plo sat and listened to Mace congratulate the blushing young man he had a thought.

What could these two, The Team; the best Jedi of his generation and the most powerful force user ever, accomplish with the support of Mace and Plo this time around?

The Sith had better pack their bags. He thought smugly.

---

To get a feel for the whole set up of Obi-Wan Anakin’s first mission when they were assigned it “the first time around” read this Snippet Of Nothing, which is the mission being discussed, and is from the councils point of view.

#Space Dads Go Time Travelling #plo koon #mace windu #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #Bby anakin #fluff #Old married couple Mace and Plo #surprisingly messy Obi-Wan #bit long this one #obi-wan fanfic

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parkersbliss · 4 years ago

Text

Daisies | Newt

pairing: newt x female reader

wc; 1.6K

warnings: swearing, angst

synopsis: newt knows it’s his fault wicked has you, which is why he has to be the one to save you, to tell you how sorry he is... for everything

a/n: no I’m not sorry for this :D

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Newt knew you were strong.

If he were being honest, you were probably strongest out of all of them.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared for you.

He was so scared, he had no idea what they were doing to you but he knew what they were capable of.

That’s what he was scared of.

What happens if by the time he gets there it’s too late?

Then it’s his fault. He’d have to live every day of his life (not that there was much left) knowing that he wasn’t strong enough to save you.

He didn’t want to live like that, no one did. But he had to prepare himself for the worse, he had to be strong for you, but he was already weak. He could feel the virus itching at him, slowly making its way through his body.

But Newt was determined to see you again, he only needed one more time.

One last time to hold you in his arms, one last time to tell you how much he loved you.

That’s all he needed, that was the only thing that was keeping him going as he leaned against the wall and listened to Thomas try and shoot off the guards. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think this might be the end.

“Shit,” Thomas said, shaking his gun, “I’m almost out.”

Newt purses his lips, trying to think of a way out or anything that would buy them some time.

Thomas pokes his head around the corner, continuing to fire his last few rounds at the guards. Newt can hear the gun begin to jam, signaling the loss of ammo.

Newt lunges forward and grabs something from the guard's pocket. It looks like a grenade of some sort, but there’s no time to really figure it out before he grabs Thomas by the shoulder, “Get back!” He orders, tossing the device and praying it does some kind of damage.

For a brief second, nothing happens and Newt begins to panic, but then it explodes, successfully electrocuting all the guards who fall to the ground in a heap.

Thomas turns toward Newt, patting him, “Nice.”

He nods his head, rounding the corner, they pause waiting for someone to pop out and start firing at any second, but it never comes.

“You go that way, I’ll go this way,” Thomas said, nodding over to the opposite end of the hallway.

Newt nods his head, quietly heading down the hallway. He doesn’t have a weapon anymore so he’s more cautious, heightening his hearing for footsteps.

Or maybe even you.

Or Thomas in case he does something stupid, which was likely knowing him.

But it’s quiet, he can’t hear anything besides his own footprints and his frantic breathing. Newt rounds another corner and now he can hear voices.

They’re distant and he can’t make out anything they’re saying, but knowing WICKED it wasn’t anything good.

Then there’s a loud crash and screaming.

“Let go of me!”

“It’s been six months, just give in.”

“I said let go of me!”

Newt freezes on the spot, he knows that voice.

It’s you.

He’s between being impressed and concerned, he knows you wouldn’t have ever given up fighting but in a place like this, he can only imagine what happens when you fight back. Newt peeks his head around the corner, trying to see a way in, a way to save you.

But there are too many people for just him and no weapons.

He has to go and get Thomas, which means leaving you alone.

That’s the last thing Newt wants to do, but he has to remind himself that you’ve been alone for the past six months, five more minutes won’t kill you.

Hopefully.

He doesn’t take any longer thinking about it and takes off toward the other end of the corridor, his feet pound against the metal of the hallway and he’s grateful there isn’t anyone else around, otherwise, he’d surely be shot down.

“Thomas?” He shouts, hearing his voice echo around. “Thomas?”

The said boy comes running around the corner, hair disheveled as he pants, “are you trying to get us killed?” He hissed.

Newt looks him up and down, ignoring his question, “What happened to you?”

Thomas rolls his eyes, tossing Newt a gun, “I found us some weapons, that’s what happened. What about you?”

“I found (Y/N),” He said, tucking the gun into his belt.

Thomas’s eyes widen, “and did you get her?”

Newt rolls his eyes, “Don’t you think she’d be here if that was the case?”

Thomas mumbles something under his breath but Newt isn’t really listening to him, “I didn’t have anything to take the guards down with so I came to get you.”

Thomas nods, loading his gun, “well let’s go get her back.”

The determination in Thomas’s voice makes Newt feel a bit better, despite the feeling of his lungs closing in on him.

It was getting harder to breathe, and incredibly hot, but Thomas didn’t seem to be sweating.

Newt leads Thomas back down the hallway, taking a left to where he last saw you, but no one’s there.

He’s about to turn away when he hears it, screaming.

Both boys flinch at the sound, Newt so much as going to cover his ears. It breaks him from the inside out because he knows it's you and it’s his fault for not saving you that day.

He blames himself every day for what happened, he knows he deserves whatever this virus does to him.

He just needed to tell you how sorry he was, and then, he could finally rest in peace.

Thomas turns his head around the corner, counting the people in the room and trying to strategize.

He comes up empty-handed, pursuing his lips together as he weighs the risk of just barging in there and shooting everyone. He looks down the hallway to make sure no one else is coming and runs forward, crouching under the glass pane blocking him from you. Thomas gestures for Newt to do the same and the blonde follows, scurrying under the opposite window.

“They’re not looking at us so on the count of three we start firing.”

Newt nods, holding his gun to his chest as Thomas starts counting. He tries to block out your screams, hoping he can forget them and that he doesn't die with that ringing in his ears.

“Three!”

Newt spins around, pointing his gun at someone through the glass and firing. The glass shatters, pieces cutting at his skin but most of it bouncing off his suit as he continues aiming at the people in the room.

They seem to all be doctors as none of them are carrying any weapons of sorts and are all dead in a few minutes.

The two boys wait for thirty-seconds before jumping into action and sweeping off the broken glass and entering the room.

Thomas is quick to start messing with buttons on the computer as Newt grabs your shoulders.

“(Y/N)?”

“I really hope none of these are instant kill buttons,” Thomas mumbled as he pushes the big red one.

The machine goes dark and he begins slowly pulling off all the wires attached to you as Newt slowly wakes you up.

Thomas makes no comment to go faster, though he should.

“Newt?” You asked softly, adjusting to your surroundings.

“Oh thank god,” He exhales.

Your eyes are dark as they scan over the room, Newt gently takes you in his arms but you’re quick to push him away, scrambling out of his grasp.

This was WICKED, it had to be.

It was like all the others, where Newt would save you, only to turn into a crank and drag you away.

“Stay back!” You shout, putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

“(Y/N)?” Thomas said, grabbing your attention.

Was he real?

Thomas was never in any of your nightmares, but that didn’t mean WICKED didn’t add him for some extra effect.

“It’s us,” Newt said, “You remember us, right?”

“You’re lying,” You scoff, “I know it’s you WICKED.”

Newt’s heart sinks in his chest in realization, this is what they’d done to you?

“It’s us,” Thomas pleads, trying to think of some way to convince you. If WICKED had gotten in your head, how do they bring you back?

You wanted to believe them, you really did, but you’d grown so used to the games and tricks and it was never worth the pain.

“Prove it,” you said, looking to both of them.

Newt’s first to speak up, “Daisies!” He blurted, “you always said if we ever made it out of the maze you want to start a flower garden at that the first flower would be a daisy.”

He’s choking on his words as he sees denial still flash in your eyes, “You also said you wanted to name our future daughter Daisy.”

It’s hard to say those words knowing it would never happen, Newt knows he doesn’t have enough time left. He knows he’ll never give you that, and for that, he’s sorry. He’s more sorry than you’ll ever know.

“Daises,” You whisper under your breath. Your shoulders drop when you realize that it isn’t some trick anymore.

“You’re real,” You said, running forward and hugging Newt.

Relief washes over him as he grabs the back of your head and pulls you as close as possible. “I’m so sorry,” he said, the words falling from his lips faster than he can process them, “I’m so sorry for letting them take you that day, for everything, I should’ve been stronger.”

You don’t say anything just hug him tighter.

“I love you,” He said, pulling back to gently cup your face. "I love you so much."

You’re not sure why, but Newt looks paler, his eyes duller… almost sickly.

“I love you too,” You said, not questioning the sincerity and the pain in his voice.

Newt blinks, tears running down his pale cheeks, “I’m so so sorry.”

If only you knew the other half of what he was apologizing for.

— END —

🏷 Newt Taglist: @lozzypoz321 @emeliii1 @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @remusflirts @sonnydoesrandomshit

#newt #tmr newt #newt x reader #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt imagine #newt one shot #newt the maze runner #the maze runner x you #the maze runner x reader #the maze runner headcanon #the maze runner imagine #thomas the maze runner #thomas tmr #the death cure #the scorch trials

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itrytowrite-things · 4 years ago

Text

Murder podcasts

Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: Y/N has a tendency to listen to murder podcasts while doing chores, one day Spencer comes in unannounced scaring Y/N into action. (This summary sucks but it’s fluffy)

A/N: shout out to @with-paint, she helped me form some of this fic so check them out.

The eerie background music and narrator filled the kitchen as I scrubbed diligently at a plate. I blinked down at it, trying in vain to remember what the hell I used it for that would cause such a stubborn stain of food. Sighing, I squeezed the soap bottle some more and ran hot water over it. Maybe soaking it would help?

Grabbing a few of the cups I had washed, I spun around from the sink to a towel I had laid out earlier. I scrunched my nose as cold soap suds ran down my arm, hit my elbow and fell to the floor in a sticky mess I didn’t want to deal with right now.

I was so engrossed in the podcast playing over the Alexa that I barely even processed the grueling chore that was longer than normal. I was lost in the words, that an hour longer scrubbing at dishes seemed almost fun. The dishwasher had completely died a couple of weeks ago.

Normally Spencer would speed read the manual to figure out what was wrong with the stupid machine. But unfortunately, his case in Michigan was taking longer than he anticipated. So, he hadn’t been home to look into it, leaving me to hand wash the dishes. I didn’t mind, it was a mindless task and allowed me to catch up on my favorite podcast.

“They found her body a week later, twenty minutes from their house,” I shook my head at that, case freaking solved. Her husband obviously killed her. I mean there’s no way the police didn’t solve this case, come on.

I moved from the towel back to the sink, sticking my hands back into the soapy water. I always believed that I should be a detective. I could solve these cases easily, Spencer claims that suspicion can only take me so far and the reason that they don’t catch the guy is not because they don’t suspect it, but because they don’t have hard evidence. I normally just scoff and give him a kiss knowing that I would get the bad guy in the end, “hard evidence” my ass.

“Two months later the police came in and found Jeff’s disembodied head laying on their kitchen counter.” My jaw dropped and I turned around furiously, bringing a wet butter knife with me, on instinct I pointed the knife at the device.

“Oh shit.” I said to the speaker, as if it were relaying the case itself. Well turns out I was wrong. I cleared my throat and lowered the stupid knife. I placed it down and tried my best to look less scandalized. We all make mistakes. So I might have been a little off in my husband theory, but I mean I had only heard half the case at that point so it doesn’t speak anything of my amazing detective skills. I nodded at that and tossed the knife into a little stack of silverware. The metallic sound echoing around the kitchen. I smirked at my good throw and turned back to the sink.

I quickly got into the true grove of washing the dishes, listening to the more gruesome details of the case. Turns out the killer did quite a number on old Jeff. I was halfway done with the remaining dishes when I felt a tap on my shoulder sending my heart into a frenzy.

I whirled around quickly bringing the closest item with me as a weapon. The plastic spatula slapped the asalint straight in the face creating an awfully loud twack sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. I blinked in horror at realizing who exactly was standing in front of me.

Spencer's cheek turned red immediately.

“Oh my god! Spence! I am so sorry!” I dropped the spatula and brought my other hand to his face trying to soothe his skin. My hand was covered in water and soap suds, and it dripped down his face onto the already wet floor.

“I am so so sorry. You scared me.” I rubbed my thumb over the spot, feeling his heated skin. Jesus, I felt awful. I didn’t hold anything back when I hit him. I figured I was fending for my life, not greeting my boyfriend.

“It’s okay.” His much larger hand cupped mine removing it from his face. The redness had died down a little, making his skin a rosy pink instead of the previous bright red. He looked adorable which only made me feel worse. Who looks that cute after getting slapped in the face with a spatula?

Spencer startled me yet again when a chuckle came bubbling out of him. His laugh was like someone bottled the sound of happiness. It made my own laughter arise every time without a doubt even if I didn’t understand what was funny.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about you protecting yourself.” A loud squeak sound emitted from my body unexpectedly followed by more laughter. I slapped him very lightly across the chest, kissing his unharmed cheek.

“You're lucky I wasn’t cutting vegetables.” I said, rustling my way into his arms pulling his body against my tightly, loving the way his laughter shook my entire body. I felt the short press of his lips against the crown of my head before tucking my head into the nook of his neck. I inhaled deeply, taking the scent of him with me. The apartment had started to lose its scent with him being gone for so long. I was beyond eager for the apartment to smell like us again.

“I think those podcasts are giving you wild ideas.”

“They would never find your body Dr.Reid.” I teased, poking gently at his side making him squirm in my grip. Another round of laughter filled the small space, it was only when it died down that I realized my podcast was still running in the background.

“Alexa, stop,” I shouted into the air stopping the podcast. “The neighbor did it.” I said with coincidence knowing that my answer was correct this time. Spencer let out a belt of laughter, nodding his head, a big grin on his face.

I pulled back from Spencer taking in his features for the first time. He looked tired, his eye bags had doubled creating a skunk in effect. I could see the trouble in his eyes, the case was hard. It killed me to see him after a hard case, he looked more and more defeated after each one. However, it was what he loved doing and my job wasn’t to erase the trauma of his job, but to ease him back into daily life. I thumbed his eye bags lazily, a pout taking over my face.

“You wanna take a shower and I’ll start us some dinner.” I asked gently. Not wanting to completely destroy the quiet we created. He nodded slightly looking younger than ever. I quickly pulled him back into me taking all of his weight. “I love you bub.” His hair felt silky against my fingertips as I disentangled the curls.

“Love you too.” He mumbled, his heated breath warming my skin. I waited a few comfortable minutes rocking our conjoined bodies in the cozy silence of our kitchen, I took a deep breath and said what was on my mind.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I don’t ever ask Spencer for the details of his cases. He either goes into a tangent without prompting or doesn’t feel like talking about it. I used to think that talking to Spencer about his job would be like listening to my murder podcasts. It honestly was one of the things I was excited for, but I soon found out it’s nothing like that.

When Spencer spoke of cases it was personal. He felt every death that was caused and saw every killing through the eyes of monsters. He held so much emotion in his voice when he spoke of the victims, that I often can’t help but cry. How a person can hold that much pain and still continue to do it everyday, is beside me.

He shook his head, squeezing my torso before finally pulling back and placing a soft kiss to my lips.

I continued the dishes, washing the last few. I left the podcast off, listening instead to the shower from down the hall. I scrubbed off the last of the grime before starting the oven. A simple dinner was always best in these situations. I pulled out a pre-made chicken pot pie from the freezer and placed it in the oven.

As I moved to dry and put away the dishes while waiting for pie to finish. Spencer emerged from the bathroom freshly bathed. He wore a thin gray shirt paired with some soft looking sweatpants. My upper lip jutted out automatically. God I love him.

“Feel better?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to startle any peace that the shower might have brought him. He nodded slowly.

“What did you cook?”

“A chicken pot pie, I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.” He smiled and returned to my arms, kissing my neck once before tucking his head into my neck. The edge of his wet hair scraped against my skin in an uncomfortable way, yet I only moved enough to rub circles into his back.

A loud beep emitted from the oven caused me to jump in Spencer's arms. He let out a small chuckle.

“Pick us something to watch and I’ll plate us some food.” I hummed turning my back to him. I heard him walking towards the living room as I bent to retrieve the hot food.

Spencer sat criss cross on the couch, Les Enfants du Paradis was displayed on the TV. I handed him the steaming bowl and sat down, sitting close enough for our knees to knock together. I have no idea what Les Enfants du Paradis was, but I would watch literally anything he wanted as long as he was here.

“It’s in French, but I figured I could whisper the translations to you while we watch. Or I could pick something else?”

“No! This is perfect Spence. I love it when you translate, you tell the story better.” He let out a little blush highlighting his previous slap mark. I bit my lip and winced slightly, “How’s your face?”

He touched the spot faintly, he didn’t wince when his fingers made contact which was a good sign. However, I have an inkling that a small bruise would form in the center of the slap which was going to be a fun story to tell his colleagues Monday.

“I’ve had worse, but you wield a lot of power with a cheap piece of plastic.”

“I am professionally trained in the art of spatula wielding Spence, don’t try that at home.” I stared at him, my face blank before a blast of laughter came out of both of us. One can only be so serious when you are talking about slapping people in the face with kitchen utensils.

Spencer started up the movie, and we remained there for the rest of the evening. Laughter and dramatic sighs followed by even more dramatic translations from Spencer. At some point he went so off script that even I could tell his story was bullshit. I didn’t call him out though just allowed him to spit nonsense, I would let him create fake French stories until he was blue in the face if that meant we got to stay in this happy bubble forever.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #doctor reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #reid fluff #spencer fluff #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds #dr. spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid fluff #x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #y/n

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hesgunnalovethis · 4 years ago

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Act of Guilt

Summary: Your actions planetside begin to interfere with your daily life and Leonard McCoy, struggling to see you this way, wants to help.

TW: Teen rating for mature themes, we’re talking through some sleep paralysis, we’re having bad dreams, we're absolutely full of angst but we end on a high besties <33

This one goes out to all my homies that are overworked and underappreciated :’) whether it be school, college, uni, careers or general life; you are seen, you are valid and I think you’re doing a great job and so does our homeboy Leonard McCoy.

Masterlist!

Word Count: 1855

You were used to waking up against the frigid grey of the Enterprise. Even as a high ranking officer you were each assigned the same internal quarters, uniform in presentation. Glutted, you often heard a little more than you wanted to on either side of your walls. You feared that perhaps they heard a little too much as well.

You were used to waking up with frozen limbs. With the same familiar feeling washing over your head before rushing down to tighten your chest. The same reluctance to open your eyes to reveal whichever heinous scene your subconscious displayed within your familiar raw walls.

Every night played out the same: the face of someone you loved in front of your pointed phaser switched to kill, heaved awake by the thud of their lifeless body, held a frozen prisoner forced to endure whichever fear felt most prominent that morning.

Recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to near the bed. You’d return from shifts to sit on the bitter floor and recount the enemies you’d killed in the name of Starfleet. You’d think of their lives, their loved ones, their dreams.

You were brought to Starfleet to be a doctor; now it seems they’d have you do anything but.

It was Thursday. You made your way to the medbay to be briefed on the rota for this week. You weaved in and out of a sea of uniforms who stalked towards their own respective bases for their own respective rotas.

Your week often looked the same - another sense of routine you couldn’t seem to escape - five days with the ground team, one shift in the medbay, one day off. Your medbay shift was always the same too. Sunday shift: the biggest influx of causalities, highs of inpatients with the longest turnover time, most surgeries performed and somehow always understaffed.

Moving towards your, makeshift, office you picked up your PADD and looked for the rota that Leonard always sent to you prior to the briefing. Seven days of ground work. You almost doubled over from the thought of it. Your entire body felt hot as you took deep breath convincing bodily fluids to stay put.

With frantic pace you arrived at Leonard’s, very much real, office and found him turned away finishing his notes for the day.

You dropped the PADD in front of him with force, “Explain.”

“You know that if I had it my way you’d be here seven days a week.” Leonard spoke as if rehearsed, he’d obviously anticipated your visit.

“You have jurisdiction here, Leonard. Surely there’s something you can do? Something you haven’t tried?” You scrambled out as Leonard put his pen down and held his head in his hands.

“I’ve tried everything darlin’. You don’t know how important it is to me that you’re here.” Your mind flicked through your conversations in the medbay that went on a little too long as you stood a little too close. Stolen moments through the day you’d fill with genuine laughter and escapism. The fresh flowers that would appear in your crooked office that he’d never let you thank him for. You remembered the shifts where Leonard would let you take the lead while he caught up on sleep on his couch. The days you’d both stay behind and drink away the sourness until you met the sweetness of his lips on yours. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Tell them we’re understaffed. Tell them I’m indispensable. Tell them-” Your voice broke. Leonard head lifted at the sound revealing a deep hole in his cheek unmistakably driven in by a phaser shot.

You gasped, stumbling back through his office tripping over the coffee table centre piece of the room. Leonard moved towards you. Unable to take your eyes off the hole in his face as your hands dripped with blood and guilt you expelled your body weight willing the pull door to push open. Leonard’s hands levelled either side of the door frame his face close to yours. Ears muffled and knees giving way you pressed your eyes shut concealing the scene.

“Y/N?” Leonard asked after a few moments of stillness before lifting one of your eyelids shining his torch in each eye. As you readjusted to the light you saw Leonard’s face again, clean of everything but concern. You glanced round the room to find the coffee table the only thing out of place and your hands sweating but clean. You reached for Leonard pulling him in towards you. His hands swept round your back and he pressed a kiss into your temple.

“What” he asked, “the hell was that?”

“Felt like my dream.” You said performing exercises to convince Leonard you did not have a head injury without him asking.

“And you often have dreams of murderous me?” Leonard dissolved, guiding you towards the seats in the middle of the room, straightening the coffee table.

“No. I often have dreams of murderous me.”

Curious and cautious Leonard sat opposite you and reached for your hand. He pulled back sharply at first “You’re iced.” He clasped both your hands in his and puffed a long warm breath between them. Slowly your anxiety began to melt. The breath was real. The warmth was real.

“Every night I have a dream, eerily like an away mission, only the faces are swapped and I know who I’m killing. And then, I wake up and watch them die on my floor and my body screams at me to wake up and help them but I’m frozen. I can’t move.”

“Sleep paralysis?” Leonard asked still rubbing your hands between his own.

“That would be my guess. Every morning. Some nights I can’t face it.”

“What do you do those nights?”

“I stay up. Sit on the ground and think about all the lives I’ve taken in a job where I’m supposed to save them.” You stood up and walked towards the window in Leonard’s office, poking open the blinds to view the busy medbay. You sighed at the internal architecture of the ship. “It’s like I’m not real. I exist within grey walls or as a killing machine.” You slumped back down in the chair.

Leonard leaned forward slipping his hand round the back of your neck, scratching the base of your hair line. He held eye contact with you and sincerely stated, “You’re quite dramatic.”

“Week after week, Leonard. Every time I shut my eyes I see you or Jim or- or Chekov lifeless because of me! Makes you think of what those lives I’ve ended meant to someone else.” You stood up again walking towards the blinds, poking them open slightly hoping to see a different landscape. “And why does this ship have no exterior windows! Would it kill them to let me see the stars? Remind me where I came from.” Spitting the end vehemently towards Starfleet architects.

“Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while?” Leonard placed a hand on your shoulder, his other hand working the blinds out of your fingers before you broke them. “A change of scenery might do some good.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I need to work through my guilt and reconceptualise my relationship with my job?”

“You’re a damn fine doctor Y/N. You don’t need me to tell you that, you just need a clear head to realise it for yourself.”

Leonard led you out of the medbay shouting a mere, “I’m a doctor, not a motivational speaker damnit.” In place of his weekly briefing.

Together you walked the length of the ship. Leonard asked you more about your dreams presenting it as conversational but you could see the medical cogs in his brain turning. “You’ve never had psychological training?” Leonard asked at one point with a startled stopping of his feet.

“Psychological training? What med school did you go to?” Scoffing at his faith in The Academy.

“Not med school, but I did a fair whack before I joined Jim’s ground team. You’ve never had- my god! No wonder you’re wracked with guilt darlin’ that is- that is- how did you ever end up planetside?”

“I don’t know I’m just pretty handy with a phaser I guess.” You said as you arrived at a door with the letters C.M.O emblazed on the front. “Nice door. How come I’ve never been here?”

Leonard shrugged “ ‘s not my fault you prefer the desk.” He stated opening the door to his double sized room.

Smooth navy covered the walls, beautifully contrasting the deep wooden furniture and shelves of brown bottles. Surrounded by whiffs of comforting warm fires and cheap rum you watched as Leonard ordered on the lights and followed him through to the next room. There was no doubt that Leonard lived a full life back home. His living space was full of southern knick-knacks and photographs of people you’d never known. There was a small collection of silver neck chains on show, thoroughly worn although never while on shift and nine or ten small stacks of crime novels strewn across the floor.

“This might cheer you up sweetheart.” Leonard tossed his PADD onto his cracked brown leather couch and made his way to the back wall which was entirely concealed by a deep purple curtain. Taking a bundle of the thick fabric in his hands, he eyed you before trudging it across the room revealing a vast ceiling to floor window. You caught your reflection in the glass and clapped your mouth shut looking to Leonard in shock.

“Bit of a sick joke for an aviophobiac.” Leonard physically shuddered at the open black, “But if it makes you happy it’s worth it.”

Bounding over the top of Leonards sofa to get a better look, you gazed out over the space you’d called home for past three years. Something about the infinite expanse always grounded you. The lack of endings and the billions of possibilities that presented made all of your worries and problems seem positively insignificant. It left you searing with luck to be living regardless. You moved even closer letting your breath fog up the glass. Leonard moved behind you hugging you round the middle and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Look at it Leonard. Isn’t it just-”

“Horrifying?”

“Do you really look at that and feel nothing?” You were aghast at the thought.

Leonard sighed “I appreciate the sentiment of it.” He concluded. “It reminds me of a Jorge Luis Borges quote.”

“I didn’t realise you were so well read.” You both shared another moment of genuine laughter, “What’s the quote?”

“He says, ‘I’m not sure I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people I have met, all the women that I have loved;” He squeezed your arm as he spoke “All the cities I have visited.’ Reminds me of you actually. All the lives you’ve saved in the medbay and planeside. You leave a part of you everywhere you go; that’s what I think is beautiful, doll.”

You turned to him. He held your gaze firmly and you knew he meant the words he’d spoken. You rested your head against his chest silently thanking him for his kindness, you knew he’d never let you say it out loud. This wasn’t your home, but Leonard smelled of home for we all leave a part of ourselves in those we love.

Together you turned the couch to face the window and under Leonard’s duvet slept a full night of dreamless sleep woken only by a PADD dropped on your chest with the same force you’d dropped at Leonard yesterday.

“Five days in the medbay.” He gestured towards the open rota displayed on the screen, “Two days off. Including Sunday.”

#leonard mccoy imagines #bones imagines #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #mccoy x reader #mccoy imagines #dr mccoy x reader #bones star trek #star trek fanfiction #star trek imagines #star trek fic #doctor mccoy #doctor mccoy x reader

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gamerartistfan08 · 2 years ago

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Space Goofs fanfiction Chapter 1 part 1

It was a wet evening as rain continues to pour down, showing no stop whatsoever, the city is as quiet as a big city can get.

We then got a view of an old house that sits on a small hill, untouched by any construction.

We zoom into a window on the top floor, inside is a lab and in it was Etno, a purple alien with a big red nose and pink lips, he’s the leader of the other aliens who are sound asleep in their beds (except Gorgious, a big blue alien with a single tooth out of his bottom mouth, who sleeps in a bathtub).

Etno has been busy drawing up blueprints for a new spaceship for him and the others to return to their home planet Zigma B, it’s been decades since they have been stuck on this planet, many times Etno tries to build ships and tries to send out sos to other life forms in neighbouring galaxies.

Alas, they both end up in failure, sometimes some of the spaceships do work but then some humans would end up accidentally riding one or gets destroyed, it frustrates Etno to no end.

He dropped his pencil because he just finished the blueprint, looking at the design and believe that the next ship will be a success, but after looking his belief was washed away from a doubt forming in his head.

Etno then turns the print into a ball and throws it across behind him with other paper balls piled up.

Etno place both his hands on his face and sighed, the consent failures are taking a toll on him, for he has the faith of his friends to return home, and as the leader, he promises them they’ll be at their lovely home world.

Another problem with building ships is human technology is way underdeveloped compared to theirs, and also Etno wished he paid more attention in spaceship class, for his younger self pushed it aside and said he’s not going to need it in the future, if Etno could only build a working time machine he goes back to find young Etno and tell him to study, heck if he can travel that far back there won’t be a need to tell him because he can always go back to the day they left for their holiday and warn them what will happen at that date.

Alas, again it’s impossible to do so as if the universe is playing jokes on them, even probably the Earth as well.

Etno removes his hands and looked out outside the window as the rain keeps running down from the sky, he then looks up to his wall clock above him and both the hands are pointing at two, it’s 2:10 am, he’s been so busy coming up a plan he didn’t realise how late or early the time is.

Turned his head away and sighed again as he sits up and carefully place his things inside the drawer of his table, Etno walks out of the lab, flips the light switch and closes the door as he gets ready for bed as he walks to the bathroom.

After brushing his teeth and a drink of water from the bathroom Etno begins to walk quietly to his (temporarily)room and lays down on his bed with the sheet and blanket covering him. Etno stares at the ceiling of his room thinking to himself if he’ll be able to get everyone back home, for years have gone by, more than they like and humans advance slowly but are still stupid and still fret about them.

His red iris eyes began to get heavy and finally closed them for the night or early morning, Etno begins to dream a dream where both he, Bud, Candy, Stereo and Gorgious are back home, hoping it is real.

Elsewhere location unknown.

Meanwhile, somewhere far, we see a view of a closed-off area with electric fences surrounding some small buildings, with signs saying DO NOT ENTER and THERE ARE DESERT SHARKS OFF LEASHES ROUND THIS AREA. Out front of the gate are two soldiers standing guard against any intruders, following the view we see inside a secret base with some people on computers, and others working on machinery, they seem to be robot parts as they put the parts together to complete bulky and tall robots. We then view on top to see rows of the said robots, they are not active for they are still a work in progress but one of them seems to be nearly complete as the mysterious men who's identity are covered by the shadows are around said robot. A sliding door opens and steps in another shadow cover man but he is probably someone of higher rank than the others as they stopped talking and give a salute. The higher rank man walks in front of the robot to look at the progress so, he turns to one of the men and says “The machine is finished I take it?” “Nearly sir.” replays a man, “We just need to finish installing a program and it is ready for service.” The higher rank’s mouth turns to a smile, a devilish smile for he is pleased upon hearing the work is almost done. “How long until it's finished?” “It will take probably a few more working days to complete as the programs are coded to be affected enough to do automated.” The higher rank turns and walks to glass that sealed off the rows of uncompleted robots. “With these advanced robots, we'll be able to track down criminals to unwelcome invaders. Then governments around the globe will stockpile them all, ready for action when needed, but most importantly we’ll be seen as ‘heroes’ while we are in the next phase of conquering, and our enemies will beg on their knees for our great might and power!” The man then begins to chuckle as the view changes back to the outside of the base.

Hello, everyone, it's me GamerArtistfan08, in the last post I talked about writing fanfic and I just finished one, again I'm not a writing expert and with help of Grammarly I think I did an alright job, also the parts,where both Etno is in class, failed it and being depressed, is based on a short comic by gingacd on Tumblr, thought it be interesting for the story ( poor Etno), gingacd artwork is amazing and credits go to her, please let me know if what I wrote is decent and to gingaced, please let me know as well should I have asked first, bye!

https://gingacd.tumblr.com/tagged/space%20goofs

(Update: just realised that Etno’s lab is now in the basement since season 2, opps.)

#space goofs #space goofs fanfic #etno polino #oc #writing #les zinzins de l'espace #stupid invaders

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mongooseblues · 4 years ago

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Well folks. Here it is. The horniest thing I’ve ever written. CW for some mess, as you might expect for a piece about someone in a shower with a running nose, but I’m not super into mess myself so it’s more implied than described for the most part. I couldn’t get the idea of shower sneeze out of my head so I’ll put it into yours.

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

The first thing he does upon getting home is turn the faucet to the highest setting to start a shower white-hot enough to be appropriately described as scalding. That would help, that would probably help.

He undresses as hissing steam gradually fogs the room, his peaky reflection becoming little more than a blur in the mirror. It’s cloudy and dreamlike, almost some fevered unreality by the time he steps into the spray, the temperature change provoking an instantaneous smattering of goosebumps and a good hard shiver. It takes all of maybe one minute for the steam to depressurize his sinuses and leave him with a remarkably runny nose and a tickle so sudden and overwhelming that he’s sneezing before he realizes he’s going to.

He snaps forward into the gushing water with an urgent, “HihYISSHHue—” hard and sharp in the acoustical bounce-back from tile and porcelain, an echolocation of resounding decibels that’s loud in his own ears. One isn’t enough because it never is and especially not right now so of course he’s going to—

“IIXSHHOO!” Sneeze again, “hih!” and—

“ISSHHyue!!” Again.

One after the other and depleting what feels like all of the air in his lungs, mandating a gasp like he’s coming up for air which technically speaking he is, pulling his head from the discontinuous curtain of water, sputtering post-baptismal. He slides his hair back from his forehead, two separate streams now running down his face, and wipes at his upper lip with a sigh.

He supposes it’s not unhygienic, to use his hands to blow his nose into, considering he’s able to rinse them off immediately. It does feel a little gross, even though it’s basically clear and barely viscous, undergoing quick liquefaction in his hands and erased by rushing water. And the obscuring steam makes this an even more private unraveling. It’s okay here, to be sick.

His only objective is to rid himself of every milliliter of it, forcibly empty his sinuses as much as he can, fingers folded over his nose and pressing closed one nostril at a time. It begins, the hopeful emptying, in effortless production, but eventually after dwindling relief crosses some line where it starts to feel aggressive and there’s a stinging burn that reminds him of breaching the surface of a swimming pool.

His nose and sinuses are warm and swollen and ever tendering with his continual abuses. He really should be more gentle or at least pace himself over the course of this cold because there’s plenty more of it to come, so this is the last time he’s going to blow his nose for now. This final go however buzzes so intensely against oversensitive membranes that he has to wrinkle his face and perform a little head shake that actually just makes him want to sneeze again.

Which he does in short order, a stabilizing hand finding purchase against the tiled wall, drawing a tremulous breath, small droplets of water slipping their way into his parted mouth and very temporarily pooling there.

Wet but richly voiced and made louder by ringing echo, “HihIIDSHHoo! —HIISSHHuu!!”

The briefest possible cycle of inhale-exhale-inhale leads into a higher pitched and very breathy, “Hih’IIHHH-hoo!” that almost makes him stumble and causes a few wetted locks of hair to tumble forward.

The groan afterwards is rather dramatic. He blinks to refocus through wet lashes and lets the pressure of the water gently recline his head backward. Letting go of the wall, finally, to rake his fingers through his hair, other hand occupied with an absent swipe under his nose at the resulting not-so-fluid trickle until it becomes clear this effort requires both hands and the whole production of blowing his nose over and over and okay just once more.

It does again tickle terribly at one point, and for a few unsteady seconds he thinks he might sneeze three goddamn more times but then miraculously doesn’t, just squints vaguely toward the corner of the shower with gaping lips and widened nostrils, a wavering look of white-flagged surrender. It’s almost meditative to close his eyes and concentrate on the distorted rhythm of indecisive breaths waxing and waning, and the patter of water against his skin. But then the feeling dissolves into a huffy exhale and he remembers he does have other things to do in here besides sneeze. Wash his hair and body, for example.

He works soap into a lather and allows himself longer than usual, letting the water pound and pulse against his shoulders and the back of his neck, which feels particularly tight. Self-soothing, his typical brisk and efficient shampoo scrub lengthening, softening into indulgently slow kneading.

He takes a minute to rub at his face, pressing the heel of a hand between his eyebrows to massage an oval into the ache building there and emits an involuntary moan falling somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. Employing his shriveled fingertips to travel along the lines of his sinuses beneath his eyes and above his cheeks, palpating the places where it hurts. He’s unable to make it through his routine to the point of rinse much less repeat before he’s pulled out of it and into yet another crashing crescendo he grits his teeth against.

“HrrRISSHue!” The sudden velocity of the motion sends suds jettisoning from his hair, combining with misty spray.

“hih!YIISHHoo! IIZSHH-shuue...!” It concludes with a deflated release and leaves him an overall streaking and streaming mess.

Blowing his nose in here is starting to become a very tiresome chore. He’ll reach a point where he feels like he’s done and then the steam and heat inspire a new round of melting congestion he goes on trying to rid himself of, in an almost mechanically continuous loop and okay it’s probably not going to stop on his account.

Finally he rinses himself of all remaining foamy traces of soap and shampoo, enveloping his entire being into the disorienting rush of frenzied water, for a few moments feeling that uncomfortable washing machine nausea. Frankly he can no longer tell whether or not his nose is still running. This is probably as clean as he’s going to get and that’s fine by him because he’s starting to get dizzy and this is no place to be dizzy with its hard slippery surfaces.

He turns off the faucet and leaves the sanctuary of steam, suppressing a shudder as he pushes the shower curtain back into its accordion folds and steps out onto the much colder floor. He’s toweling his hair off when niggling irritation stops him and somehow he can no longer do anything else but just stand there, forestalled, waiting. His chest swells with need and his breath catches on a jagged-edged inhale and oh apparently he’s just going to sneeze into this towel because there wasn’t really enough warning to be thoughtful about towels—

“ErrRIISHHue!” directed into scratchy terrycloth, hands folding the entire thing around his face but he’s never been very good at muffling anyhow “—IIXXSHHuue!” He pulls back for a second to draw a bated breath through curling lips before his still-wet shoulders seize him into the third act of this exhausting display.

“hehh’YISHHHOO!!” ...Wow. His face feels loose and fuzzy in the aftermath. He never thought a shower could leave him so spent. A single quick wet cough crackles and breaks in his throat, bluntly foreshadowing worse yet to come. He sighs heavily, manages a slushy snuffle. Waterlogged and goosefleshed and dripping over the ground. Feeling naked in more ways than one.

He really is about to be quite sick isn’t he.

#cw mess #imagine whoever you'd like u sweet little goblins #twelve snz in 1200 words which is by far the highest ratio I've ever written #mongoose writes sometimes #snzfic #sneeze fic #sickfic #i'm sorry i can't stop writing about someone who always sneezes in threes it's endlessly sexy to me & I may never get sick of it #I got a lil... overdramatic with prose here

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