#hes just salty honestly n god mood

[call-me-little-sunshine84]

Taking Control (Jim Hopper x female reader ~ 18+)

Characters: Jim "Chief" Hopper x female reader

Rating: Explicit ~ Minors DNI. Seriously.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Hopper works out some of his anger while in the bedroom with you

Warnings: smut, basically porn with no plot, oral sex, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones (kind of), orgasm delay/denial

A/N: This is probably the filthiest one shot I've written, and the first time I've attempted to do mean/dom Hopper vibes. I hope it's good!

You knew as soon as Hopper came through the front door exactly how his day had gone. Anger was etched on every line of his face; you could practically feel it radiating off of his large frame. "What happened?” you asked, concerned. “Same shit, different day,” he grumbled. This seemed to happen more and more, and you were worried that all the stress was going to eventually catch up with him. You had tried to get him to come up with something he could do to relax to no avail. For as long as you had been with him, the man had never had an off button. 

Today, though, an idea ran through your mind, a way to hopefully erase the bad mood he was in. You grabbed his hand and led him toward your bedroom. “Come with me,” you said, giving him that look, and he cocked his eyebrow at you and followed you down the hall. Once you reached the doorway to the room, you leaned in and kissed him, long and lingering. “It’s pretty simple. You need to blow off some serious steam. I want you to work out some of your anger. I want you to be in total control of me tonight. Tell me what to do,” you said. The look on his face, a mix of disbelief and excitement, was priceless. “What? We’ve never done anything like that. Are you sure?” he questioned. “Yes, baby, I think you need this. I want to give it to you. I trust you not to take it too far,” you replied. And you did. He would never do anything to hurt you. “Okay, if you’re sure. Just let me know if you want to stop,” he said, looking at you with those gorgeous blue eyes. 

It was like a switch flipped in him. He pushed you inside the room. He kissed you roughly, all tongue and teeth. He nipped at your bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. Something deep inside you seemed to wake up in response to this new side of him. You tried to wrap your arms around him, but he growled at you. “No touching. Not yet,” he said, his eyes darkening. Oh my God, this is so fucking hot you thought, feeling the slickness pooling between your legs already. “On your knees,” he commanded, and you did so immediately. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and dropped them to the floor. “Suck my dick,” he told you, putting one hand on the back of your head and pushing you toward him. You were more than happy to oblige, grasping his already hard length in your hand and licking a stripe up his shaft. You took him completely in your mouth, tasting the saltiness of his precum. You moved up and down rhythmically, taking him in as far as you could. 

"Look at you, blowing me like a good little whore,” he said, leaning his head back and grunting. You could feel your cunt clenching at his words. He had never talked to you like that, and honestly, you liked it. He started moving his hips, slowly thrusting into your mouth. It was almost too much, the feeling of him hitting all the way in the back of your throat. You dug your nails into his ass cheeks, trying to keep it up, to give him what he wanted. Suddenly he pushed you back, away from him. “You’re a little too good at that,” he said, and your body sang at his praise. 

He grabbed your hands and pulled you off the floor, then pushed you toward the bed. “Take your clothes off. I want to see your body,” he told you. You slowly took off your t-shirt, then your jeans, standing in front of him in just your bra and panties. He devoured you with his eyes, which were darkened and clouded with lust. “Lose those too,” he said. You did, tossing them off to the side.

“On the bed. Put your hands above your head,” he said. You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he growled. “Yes sir,” you replied, doing as you were told. He removed his shirt, now also completely naked, and grabbed his pants off the floor. He retrieved his handcuffs off of his belt and closed the distance between you. 

Oh shit you thought. This is about to get really good . He crawled toward you on the bed and adjusted one handcuff down onto your right hand. He ran the chain around a post on the headboard and closed the other cuff around your left hand. You squirmed, not liking that you still couldn’t touch him. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked. You could only moan in response as he started kissing his way down your body. He stopped at your breasts, alternating between pinching and biting your hardened nipples. You arched your back, trying to get some kind of relief for the constantly building need inside you. 

“Be still,” he instructed, and you whined. He licked a trail down your torso to your center, teeth biting at you as he went. You knew you would be covered in marks tomorrow, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more , to give yourself over to him completely. He roughly shoved your legs apart. “You’re practically dripping already, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy girl,” he teased. You could feel the heat pulsing through you and thought if he didn’t touch you soon, you might just die. 

Suddenly he shoved his tongue inside your slick folds, licking a slow trail to land on your clit. You ground your aching pussy against his mouth, begging for more. He licked and sucked, finally giving you what you needed. “Yes, Hop, right there,” you gasped, feeling your impending orgasm already right around the corner. He felt it too and abruptly pulled himself away from you. “You only cum when I say you can,” he said, and for a moment you wanted to hit him right in the face. 

“Then you better fuck me soon, or I will find a way out of these handcuffs, even if I have to break my wrists,” you snarled at him. He laughed at the anger and desperation in your voice. “Yes ma’am,” he said with a mock salute. "So impatient, you can’t wait to have my cock inside you, can you?” he asked. He lowered his body over yours, and you tingled with anticipation. He began to enter you, so very slowly. He put just his tip inside you and then removed it, over and over again, teasing you so deliciously. You whimpered and bucked your body against his, desperate for him to bottom out in you. Finally, he shoved himself all the way inside you, and you yelled his name over and over like a chorus, pleasure momentarily blinding your vision. He began thrusting at a frenetic pace, gripping your hips with bruising strength, sweat dripping down his forehead. He looked so damn sexy, and you didn’t think you could hold out much longer. 

He then took one hand and wrapped it around your throat. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was enough to make you realize this might be something you enjoyed. He squeezed a little harder, noticing the way you tightened your pussy down around him. “So, you like it when I choke you, huh? You’re my good little slut, aren’t you,” he asked as he kept one hand on your throat and moving the other down to make lazy circles on your clit, all while still thrusting in and out of you. 

“Please, Hop, can I cum now,” you begged, at least as much as you could with his hand still tight around your throat. Your body felt like it was about to explode; everything was electric. “Yes, you’ve been good for me tonight. Let go, baby,” he replied. He removed his hand from your throat, and you sucked in a deep breath, your entire body on fire. You could feel the pressure inside continuously building until you couldn’t take it anymore. That invisible coil inside you finally snapped and wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. 

“Oh my God, Hop, yes!” you screamed, trying so hard to touch him even though you were still handcuffed. He pounded into you relentlessly, seeking his own ending. It wasn’t long before he found it, thrusting as hard as he could as he covered your walls with his release. 

He quickly let you out of the handcuffs, and you began rubbing your wrists. He looked at you, concerned. “I’m fine, I promise,” you told him. He leaned in and gently kissed you on the cheek. “Thank you,” he said. “For what?” you asked, confused. “For tonight. You always know exactly what I need”.

 “I know,” you replied with a grin. “It’s a gift.”

[herotten-a-blog]

“i would rather watch you.”

  ❛  REALLY? don’t.  ❜

     A STRAIGHTFORWARD response for a straightforward statement.  /  PARAKEET EYES stay dangling on the catastrophe in front of you; same, stoic and expressionless expression dancing on freckled display.  /  YOU NEVER HAD EYES ON YOU and you’d rather never have them on you now. not anymore, at least. not anymore.

      LIGHTLY, LIKE THE FEATHER of icarus’ wings as he burned, a finger rose as you point to the scenery, ❛    WATCH them.   ❜   a demand in the tone of a request;  spoken lightly, but commanded quite harshly./  nothing but the same ol’ picture : villain succumbing to failure and hero rising to victory ( JUST AS ALWAYS, you think, just as fucking always.)   ❛    DON’T WATCH ME. watch them. THEM. isn’t it fascinating? these quirks? and how these people choose to risk their lives despite carrying such an oddity? they use it for good. for justice. for what’s right, for peace——–   ❜  YOU TUG that smile to the left a bit more, lashes falling on skin,     ❛  I personally think it’s fascinating.  ❜

    CHEERS EMIT FROM veracious crowds as the villain’s down. you remain as you are, boy with a face you cannot seem to read, eyes kept on nothing but the said scene.    ❛  I’LL BE HONEST. i wanted to be like them once, too. i wanted to be a hero too. i wanted to serve for justice and peace, too.  ❜   THERE’S THAT melancholic tone digging on the graves of your mourning voice, but no longer do you say these words with tears like you did before.    ❛  BUT THE WORLD’S UNFAIR. notice what i lack in comparison to these heroes? the dream to save people? i’ve got that. i’ve plenty of that. the determination to needed to render my dreams to a success? trust me when i say i bleed with that— i have everything they all have. except one thing. one damn thing.  ❜

    NOTHING BUT CRYSTAL CLEAR SILENCE. tension biting skin. booming yells and cries all diminish into thin air.

       ❛  i’m quirkless.  ❜

     YOU SAY IT LIKE IT MEANS NOTHING to you. like it’s far from a burden to you even though god, god, it fucking is.(  you can still hear those cries she unleashed as you sat in front of your monitor, ‘ I’M SORRY THINGS HAD TO BE LIKE THIS, IZUKU! ‘ and until now, like a ghost you’ve failed to put to peace, it HAUNTS YOU!  )/  but now? now? it really does mean nothing. absolutely fucking NOTHING.

    ❛  MEN AREN’T BORN EQUAL. i am very aware of such a fact. the world’s unfair, so i couldn’t do so much before but complain on why things had to be this way. i had everything to be a hero. except a damn quirk. is that seriously the only thing that’s stopping me? the reason why heroes won’t let me in their world? all because of my lacking of an ability? am i already that useless in their eyes?  ❜  THE CRYING BOY’S STILL WEEPING inside of you but you’ve plastered so many layers of a person you don’t even recognize to mute that weakling out.    ❛  IT’D BE my choice to want to be a true hero. but having a quirk? that was out of my control. is being a hero really all about needing to possess a power than it’s original meaning, which is to simply save those in need? that, i never understood. but oh well.  ❜

IF THE WORLD YOU’VE ALWAYS wished to live in keeps kicking you out of it’s door, then why not enter another? one that accepted you wholly, treated you as if their own, saw your true potential even though you lacked what majority of them owned.   TODAY AND FROM NOW ON, you’ll prove something. you’ll make sure the world will know that you, izuku midoriya,are able to make a difference, even without a damn quirk. 

❛  IF THE WORLD of heroes won’t let me step into their world,  ❜

  and you’re gonna start that by changing the same fucking picture God always seems to paint.

   ❛  THEN I GUESS i’ll just have to step on it and crush it under my foot.  ❜

                                                                       homeless bird. / accepting.

[babyboibucky]

Salt, Sugar and Viruses

Pairing: Office!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’ve been secretly making coffee for Bucky at the office.

Word Count: 1,962

Warnings: Two idiots just doing idiot things

A/N: This was done in a haste so I kinda hate it lol but I can’t get this story out of my head and thanks to @bitchassbucky for pushing me to write a full fic of this 🥰 luv u 🥺

MAIN MASTERLIST

"You have a crush on Barnes' grumpy ass?!" Sam choked out.

You angrily hushed him and frantically looked around the pantry to make sure that your secret was still safe. Fortunately, only you, Sam and Nat were inside having your respective afternoon breaks.

"What? He's nice. And cute." you told Sam as you stirred your coffee, smiling to yourself at the thought of your office crush, Bucky.

"How'd you even meet him, he works all the way at the IT department." Sam asked.

Nat snorted recalling the encounters she witnessed for the past few months. Some of which were unintentional but most of them? You had carefully planned out just so you could come up with an excuse to request for Bucky's assistance.

"She might have gotten viruses in her computer once...or twice. Or thrice." Nat teased.

The first time you met Bucky was when most of your files suddenly got corrupted. It was hella embarrassing because you didn't know shit about how computers worked and well, you've been illegally downloading torrents since the office's internet connection was a gift from the internet gods. Without a doubt, your computer was a nest for viruses.

Bucky showed up in your floor that morning and you almost sunk into your seat from shame. You'd heard the IT Department complain about everybody else in the office messing up their computer systems. When you turned around, Bucky greeted you with a charming smile and soft hello. You could still remember how he felt when he stayed behind you as you sat on your chair, bending over to take your mouse in his hand.

God, he smelled so good you almost turned your head to nuzzle your face into his neck.

He was very soft-spoken you realized; Bucky was kind enough to walk you through the process and to be honest, you couldn't recall a damn thing he said. Something about firewalls? And shields? Whatever, you didn't really listen. You just stared at Bucky as he explained everything, solving your problem in less than fifteen minutes.

Since then, your crush for Bucky grew bigger. You'd entered the elevator together a couple of times, shared small conversations that made your heart flutter. When those little moments didn't seem enough, you started your devious plan to fuck up your computer a bit. By the third time Bucky fixed your computer, he was already comfortable enough to tease you for being a "virus magnet".

"Hello? Young lady, come back to earth." Sam snapped his finger right in front of your face, interrupting your thoughts.

You clicked your tongue at him and swatted his hand away. "If you ever tell this to anyone, Wilson. You are dead." you warned, poinitng a finger at him.

Sam rolled his eyes, "It's so unfair how he's kind to you. Last time I requested for his assistance he got all smug and grumpy at me." he complained.

Nat shook her head in amusment, "That's because you've been downloading porn. You know the IT department can access our browser histories, right?"

You choked on your coffe, "WHAT?!"

Nat narrowed her eyes at you, "You been up to no good for you to react like that?"

You faceplamed, "I've been stalking his Facebook account."

Sam chortled, "What are you, in high school? Jesus, calm down. You're gonna be fine. Why don't you just tell him you like him?"

You made a face, "I'm not Nat to have the guts to do that."

Nat hummed, bringing her mug to the sink to wash it. "Why don't you start by making him coffee?"

"I don't know how he likes his coffee."

You received a pointed look from both your friends. You groaned in defeat, "Okay, fine. I know how Bucky likes his coffee."

Nat smirked, "Stalker."

-

Bucky always arrived in the office half an hour before nine in the morning. This gives him time to settle into his cubicle, buy a sandwich at the stall downstairs and to make himself a cup of coffee. It was his daily routine and upon going back to his desk after buying his breakfast sandwich, Bucky was surprised to see a cup of newly brewed coffee on his desk.

He looked around but there were no signs of anyone. There wasn't even a note of some sort. Carefully, he brought the cup to his face and inhaled its scent. Shrugging, he took a tiny sip.

-

"How's the little secret admirer doing?" Nat asked, grabbing a chair and sitting down beside you.

You deadpanned, "I've been leaving him his coffee for an entire week now and nothing's happened yet."

Nat frowned, "Are you kidding me? Why would you expect for something to happen when you haven't been leaving any clues?" she said.

"I'm shy, okay?! Maybe I should hide somewhere, check for his reaction. See whether I have a chance." you shrugged.

It was stupid of you to leave the coffee on Bucky's desk. You never stayed to wait for him. You just left it there without a note or anything that would even give him a clue about you and your little crush on him. You knew the reason why, of course. You were afraid of rejection. Sometimes, you'd feel like you have a chance with him since he was always so kind and warm to you. Not to mention, everyone in the office knows him to be grumpy but around you, he was totally the opposite of that.

But then again, maybe he was just nice to you because you were nice to him too.

-

One morning after leaving Bucky his coffee, you finally decided to leave him a note. You ran back to your cubicle to get a post-it and a pen. Before you could even walk around your desk, you spotted Bucky headed over to the pantry, the cup of coffee in his hand.

"Fuck, okay. Maybe I should just directly ask him out?" you thought to yourself.

You quickly followed Bucky into the pantry and almost whined when you saw that Sam was inside as well. You widened your eyes at him, signalling for him to leave but Sam was preoccupied on observing Bucky who seemed to be in a bad mood.

"Rough morning?" Sam just had to ask as you awkwardly stood by the doorway, finding the right timing to butt in.

Bucky's forehead creased as he let out a huff, "Rough weeks, actually." he answered.

You opened your mouth to say something comforting, wanting to lift Bucky's spirits up but he turned around and glanced at you and then back to Sam.

"Does anyone hate me in this office?" Bucky asked.

You and Sam exchanged looks, both of utter confusion before shaking your heads in unison. "Why'd you ask?" Sam asked.

Bucky lifted the cup of coffee that you made, "Someone's been making me coffee." he stated.

You cleared your throat, "...is it bad?" you asked.

Bucky made a face, "Terrible actually."

Ouch.

"I mean, the first time I saw it I was actually flattered. And then I took a sip and it's just...salty." Bucky said, pouring the coffee into the sink before throwing it into the bin.

Sam's head snapped towards your direction, his face almost red from biting back a laugh. Your face heated up at the realization that you've been putting salt into Bucky's coffee instead of sugar. All this time. You wanted to disappear right then and there. And Sam had to be the one to witness your huge failure.

"I thought it was a mistake since the next day, there was another coffee on my desk. I tried it out and it's still salty. It lasted a week, you guys. And I was dumb enough to keep on tasting it in hopes that it might have been a genuine mistake. But now I'm starting to think that someone hates me that much to fuck my coffee up." Bucky explained, face scrunched up into a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

Sam failed to stifle his laughter and exploded, "Funniest shit I've ever heard." he told Bucky before standing up and making his way to the door where you stood.

Your face was red and if the salt and sugar mishap was already humiliating enough, Sam decided to make things even worse for you.

"You really need to check the labels before pouring shit into his coffee." and with that, Sam gave your shoulder a squeeze before leaving the pantry.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. When you opened them, Bucky was staring at you with an expression you couldn't paint.

"Did you...were you the one leaving me coffee?" he asked.

You secretly pinched yourself in the arm to check whether you were just dreaming. Fuck, you hoped you were having a nightmare but the pain that you felt made it clear that you totally fucked up.

You nodded in embarrassment.

"You hate me that much?" Bucky asked in disbelief, as if he was offended that out of all people, it had to be you.

You quickly shook your head, "No, God no! I just...it's because I..." you stammered, trying to find the courage to spit out the words you've been dying to tell Bucky.

Bucky tilted his head, "Because you...?" he urged.

Your hands balled into fists as you let out another deep breath. Bucky probably hates you right now, but whatever. This was your only chance and to hell, you were going to confess.

"Because I like you?"

You didn't think that Bucky's confused look could even turn more...well, confused. But he was looking at you incredulously as though you've grown a second head, or a third head.

"You like me so you decided to put salt in my coffee?" he asked again.

You honestly didn't know who sounded even more stupid now, you or Bucky. Because if he still didn't understand what was going on, he was dense as fuck.

"No!" you explained. "I wanted to make you a decent cup of coffee but I guess I was too careless and didn't realize that I've been putting in salt instead of sugar." you said.

Bucky didn't say anything after that. He just stared at you, but he didn't seem confused anymore. If any, he looked like he was processing the entire situation.

"You like me." he stated again.

Will your embarrassment ever end?!

"Yes, Bucky. And I messed up my chance and you know what? I'm just going to show myself out and leave you alone." you told him and forced a fake grin before attempting to walk out.

A hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back into the pantry. This time, Bucky was the one who looked embarrassed.

"I might have...done something pretty stupid too." he said, avoiding your gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You eyed him suspiciously, "What do you mean?"

"I uhh...I did something to your computer...the day before you requested for my assistance for the first time." Bucky admitted shyly.

It was your turn to get muddled at Bucky's confession. "But why?" you asked.

Bucky offered a shy smile, "Because I've been seeing you around the building and thought you were cute."

And then everything clicked. It was a light bulb moment for the both of you.

"Oh. Ohhh okay. I see." you said before suddenly breaking into laughter.

Bucky joined you and scratched his head, "I guess we're both idiots." he said, placing his hands inside his pockets as he stared at you.

"This went...way more interesting than I thought." you said with a nod.

There was a pause before you decided to speak up, "So, do you want coffee?"

Bucky beamed at you as he nodded, "As long as you'll use sugar this time."

-

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[forthehpfanboys]

can you do being harry potter’s first boyfriend headcanons?

I adore these!!! They're so cute-

Warnings: homophobia mention, a few sexual mentions because I can't stop myself.

§×§×§ §×§×§ §×§×§

Ok, so we know Harry is kinda emotionally.............. Dull.

And very obvious.

HOWEVER

When he knows he likes something, or someone in this case, he. fucking. KNOWS.

And it probably happens at like 4am when he realizes it.

So we know he gets nightmares and such, and he clearly talks in his sleep (thanks Ron) and he probably wakes up super early in the morning after a nightmare.

He woke up in a cold swear with the past flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks and his stress keeps growing and growing when suddenly he's crying silently in his bed.

And suddenly the bed is dipping down next to him.

And your scooting closer and pulling your knees to your chest and his brain goes quiet and he's if he woke you or if you had a bad dream like him and he's just so worried about you.

And then your whispering to him and he wants to talk to you forever.

"So.. Um.. Bad dream?" "What are you doing up so late?" "I just needed some water. Why are you up so late?" "I don't wanna be a bother to you." "As if my best friend could be a burden to me."

You pulled him close and Harry was wondering if you always smelled to fucking amazing.

He kinda realized you genuinely care about him and it made him giggly.

... He also realized he really wants your shampoo.

Anyway, back to you. So, you care about him and he no longer wants to he just friends with you.

And that's it. He trips on the floor and falls in love with you right there.

From then on, you have this tiny, angry wizard making sure your safe and if anyone says something even a tad negative, he's throwing hands.

Literally everyone notices he has a crush on you.

Hermione gets it first, naturally.

She notices when he just kinda stares at you during lunch and literally sprays his drink all over Ron when you look at him and wave with a smile.

Ron notices when their going up the steps and your going down and you say "Hey Harry" and Harry being Harry goes "hI (Y/N)!" then trips UP the stairs after you walk by.

Everyone in Gryffindor (and Y/H) finds out when he rasies his hand quickly and shouts that he'd be your partner at a Professor.

But imagine like Harry and Ron laying on their beds one afternoon and Harry's like 'give me flirting advice' and Ron's like '.. You see literally asking the worst person-'

Oh my God- Fred and George being his wing men tho. Imagine that shit. They basically follow you around the school telling you about how great Harry is, but like 56% of it is probably kick ass lies that they clearly made up.

Anyway.

This poor chaotic idiot tries so hard to not make it obvious but oh my god it's so fucking obvious.

You probably confront him, too. Like "Why do you almost die during meals if I sit near you or look at you? Are you alright?" and he's already sweating.

Harry is literally so awkward; please save him from himself.

Honestly, Ron probably tells you. Like he looks up from his plate and is just so casual about it. And then proceeds to get his shit rocked by Harry and Hermione at the same time.

So your probably giggling and finding this adorable because Harry's bright red- like redder than his tie and it's the cutest thing and you make a comment on his pretty eyes and he chokes on his saliva.

Anyway, so you guys start dating and he treats you like a king.

He buys you anything you look at for a second too long. Into painting? Get ready for the best paints galleons can buy. Into galaxy shit? Get ready for a whole ass telescope. You get it.

At some point, you put a budget on him because, Jesus.

Your dorm is filled with stuff and it's almost all from him.

Hi, he's so the kind of guy where if you play with his hair, he genuinely shivers.

HI BUT HE LOVES TO CUDDLE INTO YOUR CHEST. AAAA.

Harry definitely gets into more fist fights than before because people (*cough*Draco*cough*) can't keep their... Opinions to themselves.

You teach him healthy coping mechanics. Please. He needs them so badly.

And please patch him up after fights. Kiss his bandages like a dad because he needs one Jesus-

OH SPEAKING OF DAD-

Sirius being so supportive and approving of everything, but definitely threatening to throw hands if you hurt him (because fuck jkr).

Remus also supporting you guys because I said so.

Oh my God- but Harry totally doodles stick figures of you guys like in a field of grass on his homework and he gets yelled at by Snape but you give him like a star sticker snd he's happy.

Please, he's so simple to me, I have no idea why.

OH BUT I STAND BY HARRY CLIMBING OVER HIS DESK TO THROW HANDS WITH SNAPE IF THE GREASY BASTARD SAID SHIT ABOUT YOU.

Yo, if you play quidditch, his first date with you two is playing together and it's so laid back snd it's late at night and he brings a blanket to lay out on the grass after and look at the stars.

If you don't play quidditch, he's just gonna do the blanket thing. Yes, he got the idea from Hermione, shh.

More quidditch shit because I'm obsessed with this dumb ass sport-

If he loses a game, please prepare your ass. And I mean that. You will be limping (if your into that).

I kinda see him as a switch, to be honest, but leaning more towards a dom, but he can be a bratty sub if he's in a salty mood.

If he wins, I just kinda imagine locker room shower sex after so go wild with that image.

Oh, those late might cuddles with comforting him because a major thing by the way. Poor kid has been through so much.

~Taglist~

@catboyazula

[sharkbait77]

Stung (Lifeguard!Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Rating: E

Warnings: Physical pain, language, mentions of past fem masturbation, touching, yearning, thots, heavy makeout session 😏

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: Alright so listen, I was going to write this a long long time ago & chickened out of it but then I saw this week's Writer Wednesday & I knew I had to go for it. This lovely idea comes from this & this between @djarinsbeskar & I about Swimmer!Din last month (thanks babes for the idea of Lifeguard!Din 🥵) & honestly he has haunted me ever since. Also, I know the shack says "No lifeguard on duty", but here he is, on duty & in charge 😂

Thanks to @autumnleaves1991-blog & @clydesducktape!!!

Masterlist || Taglist

It had been the perfect beach day. A once-in-a-blue moon type of day where you and your girls all happened to have the day off, in the middle of summer, the weather not scorching, but definitely nice enough that you all felt the only way to spend the day was at the beach.

So you all packed up your towels and tanning lotion, along with some flasks disguised as cream bottles filled with everyone’s choice of liquor to mix with the juice bottles in the cooler. It was perfect. The large beach umbrella was set up and each of you laid out your towels right next to each other to lie down on and cook in the sun.

After some drinks, not enough to make you inebriated, but enough to have you feel comfortable getting in the water, you stand and shake the sand off your butt and invite the girls to come with you, only one of whom agreed, leaving the other two to continue working on their tan.

The two of you walk along the shore, laughing and catching up on work stories, and the water just feels so nice, a slight chill, but warm enough that you decide to walk further in, letting the water splash around your shins. You revel in the way the sand squishes under your feet, a slight fascination with Moon Sand coaxing the child in you to sit down and play with it.

“So I heard there’s a really cute lifeguard here,” your friend says as she glances at the closest lifeguard tower, hoping to spot said ‘cute lifeguard’.

“You just can’t take a day off from man hunting, can you?” You joke, kicking the water around you with your foot.

“Please babe, that’s one job I will happily continue for the rest of my-”

You scream. A sharp pain shoots from your ankle, up your calf and thigh, your whole leg seizing up and causing you to fall on your ass, the water around you splashing up to your face. Even through the pain, you get irritated at the salty seawater that manages to hit your lips and enter your mouth, the sour taste not helping your mood.

“Oh my god!”

Your friend yells and carefully steps closer, afraid of what could be lurking where she can’t see beneath the murky water, and she hooks her arms under yours, dragging your body through the sand until you're away from the water. The drag of the sand under your thighs irritates you, but not nearly as much as the sight of the damn jellyfish that stung you being carried away by a wave.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Are you fucking shitting me?!” You yell through the pain, unconcerned of any families and children playing nearby that can hear you.

Your brain zeroes in on the pain, the throbbing and stinging around your foot the only thing you can seem to focus on as tears prick your eyes. Everything around you sounds muffled and you don’t even realize that your friend is speaking. To you or to some concerned passerby, you couldn’t care less.

“Excuse me?” A deep voice breaks through your concentration. “Miss?”

You look up to the man, and even though you’re ready to chop your leg off at this point, you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips at who you see kneeling down next to you. You can’t be serious. Behind his sunglasses, you can see his brow furrowed as he looks your leg over, most likely checking to make sure the tentacles didn’t stick to you.

The cause of your heavy breathing quickly shifts from pain to nervousness. The only other time you’ve been this close to him, he had muttered words with a hidden innuendo in such a gruff, sensuous voice, but now his voice is riddled with concern for your well being.

“I’m gonna have to take you back to the shack, okay? I have everything to help the pain there. Can you stand?”

You don’t have the strength to speak, but your mouth stays gaped open, still marveling at your luck. Good or bad, you have yet to decide. You nod at him and he holds his arms out to you, letting you grip onto him and you plant your good foot in the sand and pull yourself up with his help. Your ass is probably covered in mushy and dry sand, but you get so lost in the way his muscles tense under your palms that you just don’t care. Oh yeah, plus the pain in your foot.

“Can you put any weight on it?” He asks.

You test some pressure, but a bolt of pain shoots through your leg again and you yelp out, unable to stop yourself from falling into his bare chest as you lift your leg up in the air slightly.

“Okay, that answers that,” he softly chuckles. “I’m going to carry you; is that okay?”

You nod again and as he prepares to lift you up bridal style into his arms, you turn to your friend and she mouths ‘That’s him!’ with an amused look on her face, no doubt jealous that she wasn’t the one to get stung. You tell her to go back with the group and let them know what happened and that you’ll be back soon.

The lifeguard carries you the short distance to the vehicle he left parked nearby and he gently sets you down in the seat, careful of your injured foot. He slightly jogs around to the driver’s side and digs in his pocket for the key. As he climbs in and starts the car, you wave at your friend and notice the crowd that had gathered around you during the whole debacle.

As he drives you to the lifeguard shack, where you assume they keep emergency medical supplies, he grabs his walkie talkie and murmurs to the other lifeguards about the jellyfish and to put out a warning to the other swimmers. He quickly parks, rushing to your side to help you. You carefully swing your foot out of the car, the sea breeze brushing the affected area and making you wince as it stings again.

He carries you inside the shack, your bare, heated skin sliding against his own, the sunscreen you both had dutifully applied making you slick between each other. The muscles in his shoulders tense up as he lifts you up the stairs and you have an overwhelming urge to massage them for him. It’s the least you could do after all this work he’s putting in.

Once inside, he sets you down on the small medical bed resting along the wall and, after making sure you’re comfortable, he removes his sunglasses and turns to gather everything he needs to treat you, returning to your side with a bucket of water, a can of...something you can’t quite tell what at the moment, and a large gallon of another liquid.

“Okay, this is seawater, I’m gonna go ahead and stick your foot in it,” he says as he looks at you.

You can’t bring yourself to do anything else but nod, the deep pools of brown in his eyes drawing you in, but once he sees you agree with his procedure he shifts his gaze back down to your foot, placing the orange bucket on a stool to reach your foot better and carefully lifting your leg up and into the water. It slightly burns and you suck air through your teeth, causing him to look up at you, gauging exactly how much pain you’re in by the look on your face.

“I need to put shaving cream on it and scrape it off with a card. It might hurt, but it’ll help the pain.”

He pours more water on your ankle to rinse it, then lifts it out of the bucket, pulling his small chair closer to let your leg rest on his thigh. He grabs the can – that you now know is shaving cream – and pops the lid off, pressing the nozzle until the white foam spurts out onto your ankle.

He spreads it around carefully, muttering apologies as you wince. After a few minutes, he grabs an old hotel key card – which you wonder exactly how he came into possession of – and he scrapes the shaving cream off your skin, like he’s shaving it. It feels irritating and you jerk your leg a few times at the pain.

“Sorry,” he frowns. “I’m going to pour vinegar on it now. It’ll help stop the burn and release any toxins that might be lingering.”

“Vinegar? I’ll smell like a pickle,” you snort at your own joke. He releases a breathy chuckle through his nose, no doubt just so you don’t feel bad.

He rests your leg back over the bucket to catch the liquid as it runs down your ankle and, thankfully, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as before. Once he’s done with this step, he has you reposition yourself on the bed so your leg can rest up higher.

He takes the bucket away, setting it to the side for the time being, and then grabs a new bucket, taking it over to a spout in the wall and he opens the faucet, checking the temperature before filling the bucket.

You watch him, still in complete disbelief that one, you got stung by a damn jellyfish, and two, that the ‘hot lifeguard’ your friend mentioned just so happens to be the hot swimmer you caught at the end of his workout a couple of weeks ago.

It’s all yours.

His words haunted you that night and every night since, in the comfort of your shower or bed as you let your fingers roam along your body, imagining his chiseled, yet soft form above you, failing at mimicking what you think his thick fingers would feel like instead of your own.

Your heart skips as he walks to you again, carrying the bucket of water like it’s as light as a pillow, and your eyes rake over his tan body, glimmering with sunscreen and sweat, gazing down to his lower half. You saw the shape of him beneath his spandex swim trunks, and his red lifeguard shorts do nothing to derail the illusion.

“Here,” he coaxes, pulling you from your train of thought and you shift your body to let your leg dangle off the side again. “Now you just need to let it soak for about twenty minutes,” he pulls out an old kitchen timer, turning the dial for twenty minutes and setting it off to the side on a nearby table.

“Okay,” you reply softly. “Th-thanks for this.”

“Just doing my job, miss,” he flashes a crooked smile, a faint dimple appearing in his cheek and you have a quick thought to run your tongue over it.

You nod again and let your head hang, letting the warmth of the water soothe your ankle while you twiddle your fingers in your lap. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re practically naked, regretting the lack of consciousness to grab your coverup before coming here.

He had seen you in your swimsuit already, but that was the one piece you keep handy for your workouts. Now you’re wearing a two piece you’ve reserved for the beach, feeling confident enough to wear it now after your workouts in the pool. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, not having put on a shirt himself.

“You won’t be able to workout at the pool for a while,” he says suddenly and your head snaps up to meet his gaze. So he did recognize me. “The chlorine, it won’t be good for it,” he says and points to your leg.

You sputter, unsure of exactly what you could or should say. He remembered you from the one time you saw each other and that sends a chill down your spine, a thrill coursing through you and making you forget all about the dull throbbing in your leg.

“I uh… I wasn’t sure if you recognized me,” you say softly.

“But you recognized me?” He smirks cockily and heat flushes your face. “Of course I recognized you.”

“What does that mean?” You ask curiously. Your breath hitches as he steps closer to you, slow and cautious in his movements.

“It means…” He stands by your side now. “That I never forget a face. Especially one as beautiful as yours.”

You swallow thickly; he thinks I’m beautiful? Your breathing quickens along with your pulse, your mouth slightly gaped open, and you sit straighter as you look up at him. He licks his lips as he stares at yours, but you can’t bring yourself to pull your gaze from his eyes, once again hypnotized by the mahogany hue, nearly black now from the way his pupils have blown wide.

“Can I kiss you, pretty?” He whispers as he runs the backs of his fingers along your arm, smirking some when you shiver under his touch.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly as you nod.

He instantly leans down and captures your mouth with his plush lips and you sigh contentedly, fighting the giggle that wants to surface from his mustache tickling your lip. He bases his moves off of your reactions, waiting for you to show further interest before deepening the kiss or backing away, but when you lift your shaky hands to grab the strong column of his neck, he takes that as your approval and grabs your waist in one of his large hands, the other grazing up along your spine until it meets the back of your head.

You open your mouth slightly, inviting him in which he gladly accepts, letting his tongue jut out to tangle with yours. You whimper; the overwhelming power of his kiss certainly would have made your knees weak and you thank the comfort of the bed underneath you for preventing you from falling to the floor.

You shift your leg to the side, moving one hand to his side and pulling him to rest between your legs. He moans, grabbing the creases of your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer into his body. His hardening cock beneath his swim shorts jabs into your belly and your desire for him begins to pool in your bottoms, cunt throbbing and fluttering as you imagine the large girth you know that rests beneath stretching you.

He lifts your thigh to rest on his waist, groaning wantonly as the heat from your core rests against his cock, shooting enough blood south to make his head spin. You angle your hips, teasing him with a quick grind and slightly smile proudly at the loud moan he releases. You want him, need him closer, and you move your injured leg, no longer irritated from the sting, to wrap around his waist and lock him in.

“Ah, ah,” he chides against your mouth, pushing your leg back down. “Keep your foot in the water.”

“But I-”

“No ‘buts’, I still have to follow my job and make sure you’re okay.”

You grumble, ready to speak in defense of how your foot feels better, but he presses his lips to yours again and any words you thought of saying vanish from your brain, getting lost in the way his mouth slots against yours perfectly. How is he such a good kisser? He squeezes your thigh, assumingly to keep it in position so you don’t try to lift it out of the water again, but it doesn’t hinder you from rutting your hips against his again. And again.

He moans, hesitating to meet your pace, the brain in his cock screaming at him to rip your bottoms down and take you here and now, but the brain in his head reminding him of his surroundings. You catch on to his hesitancy and find the courage to make that move between you, reaching for the strings of his shorts to loosen them and running your knuckles ‘accidentally’ over his hard cock. He groans and grabs your wrists, preventing you from continuing.

“I can’t. Not here. I’m still technically on duty,” he pants.

“I’d say you’re doing a wonderful job making sure I’m all better,” you say and he grins, showing off that dimple and you give in to your desire from before, leaning forward to lick and kiss the small dip in his skin. “I’ll tell your supervisor that you went above and beyond to take care of me.”

You place a hand on his stubbled cheek to keep him in place while you begin ravaging his neck. He tastes of sunscreen with a hint of salt, both from sweat and the sea, but it’s an intoxicating flavor coming from him and you can’t get enough. He wraps his arms tighter around your back, leaving you space and allowing you to pleasure him this way.

“Not today, pretty. Another time,” he mutters, finding it difficult to focus when you’re running your lips and teeth along his neck. You move your mouth to his earlobe and bite down gently.

“Pity,” you say sensuously and you smirk at the way his cock jumps against you.

“You’re not as shy as you make yourself seem, you know,” he points out while he pulls away to look at your face.

“Just takes the right person, is all,” you grin with lust filled eyes.

He breathes out in shock and pleasure, leaning forward to press your lips together again. You shove your hands through his brown locks, soft and curly from the sea air, and he moans loudly into your mouth as you tug softly, using your fingernails to gently scrape his scalp.

He lets his hands roam along your bare torso, across your ribcage and just under your breast, letting the weight of it rest in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. He moves his mouth to your neck now, nipping your pulse point, licking and kissing soon after to alleviate the sting.

He runs his thumb teasingly across your breast, stopping to circle the hardened nub of your nipple over the polyester of your swim top. He smirks as you keen into his body, placing your hand on his ass to bring his hips as close as possible to your heated center for any sort of relief. Time seems to slow down and speed up and stop completely all at once, but before you know it, the shrill ringing of the timer he set pulls you both from your passionate session.

“Time’s up, pretty,” he pants into your ear as he rests his cheek against your temple.

He chuckles at your groan of disappointment, placing a quick kiss to your lips before separating your bodies completely, readjusting his impossibly hard cock in his shorts before taking a seat back onto his small chair. He pulls your leg out of the bucket to examine it, the site of the sting still a little puffy and red, but the appearance of it looks a lot better than it had before. You glance down at the lashes of red along your skin from the jelly’s tentacles, but thankfully it doesn’t hurt as bad anymore.

“How does it feel?” He looks up at you, lips swollen pink and cheeks and nose flushed.

“Much better. Thank you,” you smile and reach your hand out to him.

He half grins and removes the bucket to let your leg hang and air dry, meeting your open embrace and grabbing your head in his hands to pull your lips back to his. He kisses you deeply for a moment, but before he can lose himself once again, he backs away and grabs a bottle of aloe vera from one of the drawers next to him, returning his attention to your foot and applying the cool gel to your leg in a thin layer.

His fingers work expertly and proficiently to soothe your pain and you feel your heart in your throat at the gesture. Sure, he’s probably done this for lots of other people, but you allow yourself to believe he’s only being this gentle and caring for you.

“There,” he says, closing the cap of the bottle and putting it down, grabbing a rag to wipe his fingers of remaining gel. “You should probably head home now, being exposed to the sun won’t help it. If you start feeling it hurting again, you can soak it in warm water or use a cold pack. If you notice it swelling up really bad or it gets really painful, you gotta go to the ER.”

“Yes doctor,” you smirk and he snorts a laugh.

“Not by a long shot. I’m just telling you what they told me,” he stands from his chair again and slots himself back between your legs, caressing your face in his hands. “By the way… What’s your name?” You laugh as you realize you just had a full blown make-out session with a man whose name you don’t even know. You comply, officially introducing yourself to your savior.

“Yours?” You ask.

“Din. My name’s Din.”

“Din,” you repeat; one syllable has never sounded so beautiful to you before. “My knight in shining armor.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you once more. Twice more. Three times until, finally, letting himself get lost in the moment with you again. Ah, well. The other lifeguards won’t be missing me too much, he thinks to himself as he presses your back flush against the bed.

~

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360 @wardenparker @librariantothejedi @fan-of-encouragement @javierpinme @writeforfandoms @ew-erin @you-got-me-starry-eyed @quietpainter @beskarboobs @andiesturgss @maryfanson @princessxkenobi @castleamc

Din Djarin Tags: @rebel-fanfare @quietpainter

[shemarmooresfedora]

hi baby congratulations on 300!!!🥳 i’m so glad to be here ! 💗🤍💗🤍✨⭐️

you know i’m obsessed w ur fics so, i am gently begging you to write something w prompts “can i paint your nails” “i’m going to steal this from you” and “people don’t compliment you enough” (sorry i forgot the numbers :( ) pleeeease? 🥺🥺

(sorry if it’s too much) thanks, i love u <3

It’s a Love Story

Summary: It’s senior skip day and you’re determined to pull your best friend of 10 years (and secret crush) out of his comfort zone.

Pairing: High School Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (but imagine Spencer is 18 so he is the normal high school senior age)

Content/Warnings: fluff, swearing, bullying

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: this fic is very self-indulgent because my senior skip day was yesterday! :)

Masterlist



“Hey, Spence! Wait up,” you jogged down the hall to catch up with him.

“Hey, Y/N. How’d your math test go?” Spencer asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you groaned, “Thank you for trying to tutor me last night but I think I’m a lost cause at this point. It’s too late in the school year to care.”

“Did you know that ‘senioritis’ can actually be categorized as situational depression? In 2009, 22% of colleges decided to revoke some admissions offers after students began to slack off at the end of their senior year,” Spencer stated.

“Oh, trust me, genius, I may not be as smart as you but I’m not dumb enough to lose my scholarship to UCLA. I did the math out and even if I completely bombed this unit test, I can still maintain my A average,” you replied.

“I never said you weren’t smart, I was just warning you. I don’t want you to lose your spot at your dream school,” Spencer explained, “People don’t compliment you enough for all the hard work you put in to get accepted there.”

“Well, thanks for looking out for me, Spence,” you smiled, taking a seat in the back corner of the classroom.

Spencer sat right in front of you and turned around in his seat, “Do you have any homework?”

“Nope. My study hall is wide open just as expected. The teachers are losing just as much steam as the students,” you grinned, unzipping your backpack and pulling out nail polish.

“Can I paint your nails?” you asked.

“Y/N, don’t you think I get made fun of enough?” he whispered back.

“Girls love when guys paint their nails and if any guys try to give you shit, I’ll personally kick their ass. I took a self-defense course but I’ll use those moves I learned however I see fit,” you said.

“Fine,” Spencer relented, extending his hand out to you.

Spencer was honestly sold once you said that girls love it. That must include you, right?

“It’s purple too. Your favorite color,” you smiled, shaking the bottle up and then beginning to paint his nails.

Spencer thought it was cute that you picked up on his habit of sticking your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you were concentrating.

“Isn’t it pretty?” you beamed as you worked on the second coat of polish.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, not looking at his nails but the girl directly in front of him.

You gently blew air on his nails to dry them, “All done!”

-

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the teacher’s pet?” Brad, the captain of the football team, smirked as Spencer passed through the hallways after his math team practice ended.

“Wow, nail polish? And to think you couldn’t become any more of a loser?” he sneered as the jocks began to encircle around Spencer.

“Spence, there you are! I’ve been looking for you all over. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” you walked right into the crowd of boys, paying no mind to them and grabbing Spencer’s hand, pulling him towards the exit.

“Don’t look back,” you whispered.

“You know one day your little girlfriend there is going to realize what a pathetic nerd you are. I’ll be ready to show her what a real man is,” Brad called after you.

“Oh yes, Brad, a real man goes to community college to hang on to the scraps of his mediocre football career that is his only reminder of when he peaked in high school,” you laughed.

“Y/N, he’s going to kill me for that,” Spencer groaned after you exited the building.

“Relax, we have three days left and then we won’t ever have to see that dick again,” you assured him.

“We have four days left,” Spencer corrected you.

“No, three because we’re not going in tomorrow,” you walked into the diner and took your seat in your usual booth, “It’s senior skip day.”

When Spencer didn’t respond, you looked up from your menu, “Spencer Reid, please do not tell me you were going to go in on senior skip day.”

“Why would I want to miss school?”

“Because you already know everything they could possibly teach you and you can spend the whole day with your best friend instead?” you fluttered your eyelashes to persuade him.

“I don’t want to go to the beach with all the popular kids. I’ll get shoved in the sand,” Spencer grabbed some of the fries that the waitress dropped off for you and popped them into his mouth.

“That is why we are going all the way to Santa Monica. We’ll just get up a little earlier and drive a little further but then we won’t run into anyone from our school,” you proposed.

“Fine but you’re driving,” Spencer huffed.

“Well, I’m certainly not letting the guy drive who hasn’t driven since he got his license just to prove he could pass,” you giggled.

“Why do I need to drive when my next-door neighbor can be my personal chauffeur?” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7 on the dot tomorrow.”

-

You honked outside of Spencer’s house. He came scrambling out with a big canvas tote bag, a tan sweater, and lilac swim shorts that ended at his mid-thigh.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to the beach,” you rolled down the window.

Spencer furrowed his brow for a second before opening the door.

“It’s just a reference to a popular movie. I wasn’t actually calling you a loser,” you assured him.

“My mom made us blueberry muffins for the ride,” Spencer pulled a ziploc bag out of the tote.

“Oh that is so sweet of her! Please tell her I said thank you. She must have been having a good night then,” you smiled, accepting one of the muffins from Spencer.

“Yes, she has been having a good week overall,” Spencer affirmed.

“That’s so great to hear. Okay, we’re stopping for coffee but then we’ll get on the highway.”

The opening notes of Love Story by Taylor Swift began to play on the radio.

“Oh my god! Turn it up!” you screamed.

Spencer grinned and turned the volume knob up.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’,” you sang.

-

You rolled down the windows as soon as you exited off the highway.

“Do you smell that, Spence?” you inhaled deeply, “Something about the salty air and sunshine just makes me feel alive.”

“You know it’s probably your increased exposure to the sunlight leading to an increase in vitamin D which can keep your energy levels up and enhance your mood,” Spencer stated.

“Well, whatever it is, I still love it,” you grinned.

You and Spencer made your way along the sandy coast. You parked in the beach parking lot and got out of the car, grabbing your mini cooler and chair.

Spencer grabbed the other chair and his tote and you headed down to the beach, walking a ways before settling on a spot in a less crowded area.

You took off your big t-shirt revealing your light blue bikini.

“Can we go in the water please?” you begged.

Spencer dug into his tote and tossed you a tube of sunscreen.

“Not until you put that on,” Spencer insisted.

“Fine,” you huffed.

“Sorry I don’t want you to be sunburnt for graduation,” he chuckled.

“Can you do my back?” you asked.

“I-um-yeah-yes I can do that,” Spencer scrambled to stand up from his beach chair.

His breath hitched in his throat as he applied the cool lotion to your back.

“All good,” he cleared his throat.

“Thanks, Spence! Do you need me to do your back or are you all set?” you asked.

“Nope, I’m all good. My mom did it before I left,” Spencer said.

“Can we go in the water now?” you pleaded.

Spencer gave a reluctant nod as you let out an excited squeal, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the tide.

You dove right into the cool waves, instantly relieving your body of the southern californian summer heat. Spencer was a bit more hesitant.

“It feels so good, Spence. Trust me,” you smoothed your wet hair back.

Spencer inhaled deeply and then sunk beneath the water as a wave passed by him.

“Yay! He’s actually having fun, people!” you cheered as he emerged from underneath the water.

Spencer playfully splashed water at you and you gasped.

“Oh Spencer Reid, you are so on,” you laughed, splashing water right back at him.

Spencer shielded it from his face with his hand and then started chasing after you. You shrieked in a giggle fit as he lifted you up in the water so you could no longer splash him.

“I surrender! I surrender!” you laughed along with him.

-

You and Spencer were walking on the basically deserted boardwalk by this time of night, licking your ice cream cones.

Spencer noticed you were shivering and pulled off his sweater, handing it to you.

“No, Spence. I can’t, then you’ll be cold,” you said.

“I really don’t mind,” Spencer insisted, wanting to have your scent on his sweater forever.

“Thank you,” you slipped it over your head, “I’m probably going to steal this from you because it’s super comfy.”

A reminder alert buzzed on your phone, “Oh shit. We have to sign up for tickets to go to prom by midnight,” you spoke.

Spencer shot you a guilty look.

“You’re not going?” you sighed defeatedly, trying your hardest not to tear up.

“Y/N, I don’t dance. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“And I’ll be right by your side making a fool of myself too,” you urged, “Spence, it’s going to be no fun without you. I was going to ask you to officially be my date, you know? I had this whole complicated equation that I was going to have you solve and graph and the line spelled out ‘Prom?’. It’s stupid thinking back on it now, I won’t make you go.”

“I was going to ask you,” Spencer smiled softly, “but then I chickened out.”

“How about this? You give me one dance right now and then we’ll decide if we’re going or not,” you opened your phone and started playing Dancing by Mellow Fellow.

Spencer extended his hand and you accepted as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You waltzed around the boardwalk in perfect sync as the neon lights from food stands and rides were shining down on you.

Spencer twirled you around and caught you in a dip. You let out a shaky exhale as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please do. I’ve only been waiting 10 years for it since I moved in next door,” you smiled softly.

Spencer leaned down further and connected your lips. You pulled him even closer with your hands cupping his cheeks.

“I’ll go to prom with you under one condition,” he grinned, pulling away, “we go as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Absolutely,” you beamed and stood on your tippy-toes to give him another kiss that was long overdue.

A/N: i took a note out of my dear friend @samuel-de-champagne-problems ‘s book by naming the title after a Taylor Swift song

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @rem-ariiana

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Nine / Café con Miel

W/C: 3k

Warnings: [in a dream: blood, violence, lots of scary nightmare stuff, guns, threats of violence], language, sexual innuendos and jokes, tears, angst, voices being raised

A/N: hi I wanted soft but also wanted angsty so here’s a good half and half mixture!! I have this plot point I SO want to get to but I want to show you more of their relationship so that’s what the next few chapters may be more of

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Cafe con Miel (Spanish Coffee With Honey) is made of espresso, honey, and whole milk then finished off with a heavy sprinkle of ground cinnamon.

“No, no,” Javi groans in his sleep. “Please.”

It’s dark. So dark, he can’t see anything, but what he can see is cast in red light. It’s almost like a medieval dungeon, wherever he is. He can’t smell but he knows the air is filled with something disgusting.

It’s a coke plant, that’s what it is. There are laborers upon laborers, working in this dark wherever-the-fuck-he-is, producing cocaine that he somehow knows is for Escobar. Dream logic. Escobar is still alive and he’s very much a threat.

Then there’s a weak cry. Dream-Javi spins to find you in the sweatshop. You’ve fallen to your knees, clinging to the table in front of you, and there stands who but the bastard himself, with a gun to your temple.

The red light emphasizes the blood dripping from your face, from where he can’t tell. There’s dirt and dust caked on your beautiful skin, on the cheekbones Javier traces his fingers over nightly now. There’s a wedding band on your finger and it matches his. It makes his eyes turn to your body and note the torn white gown on your figure- a wedding dress. The worst thing is the fear in your eyes, the agony with which you look at him.

Your voice is strained. Broken. Ruined from shouting. One word croaks from your lips. “Please.”

Then Escobar morphs into Tie Guy and then into Murphy for some goddamn reason, just smirking at Javier with the gun to your forehead. When he speaks, he’s the three men at once: “Not so fucking tough, huh?” He asks, cocking the pistol.

He can’t move. He wants to, he’s desperate to, but he can’t speak or move or breathe either: something is stuffed in his mouth and preventing it. “Javi,” you whimper, but it just makes Murphy-Escobar-Tie Guy crack the pistol down against the crown of your head.

The worst comes next: the man becomes Chucho. Javier’s own father, holding a pistol to your head. “Mijo,” the man says, his voice disappointed but soft. “What have you done? Bringing her here?”

Javier wants to shout at him, ask what he’s done because certainly this can’t be his fault, but of course it is. This is what would happen if Javier brought you to Colombia. A fate like this for you and for him.

Then your voice is strong again. “Javi. Javier. Hey, Javi-”

He gasps desperately, air filling his lungs and making him sit bolt upright. His breaths heave, drawing in as much of the cool oxygen as he can possibly take. He sounds like a drowned man arising from the water. His first sign that he’s gone from the sweatshop is the smell of your skin, of your lavender pillow spray in the room. Then it’s the fact that the room is cast with soft blue light, not with red. Then it’s you.

“Javi?” You ask, voice timid and quiet. “You were having a nightmare.”

Thank fucking God. Thank God it was a nightmare and not the terrible fate he’d been spinning in his own head. “Yeah,” he mumbles, lying back in bed.

Your hands, your warm fingertips, trace across his bare chest slowly, splaying your fingers over his racing heart. It grounds him, centers him to the fact that he’s here, you’re here, you’re okay. You kiss his skin softly, with soft lips that leave a trace of balm behind on his sweaty body. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

His breathing slowly comes down. His heart rate does too, as he plays the dream back in his head and deconstructs it all. You rest your head on his chest, fingers softly running up and down his sides, and it anchors him to reality. Your skin is clean and smooth, not broken or bleeding anywhere. Your hair smells fresh and warm and your chest rises and falls against his own. It’s a checklist of your vitals and you’re acing it.

When his heart rate resembles something closer to yours, you kiss his skin again. “You okay?”

He nods, swallowing hard. His face is tight, salty tears drying on his cheeks. “All good, yeah. Thanks for waking me,” he murmurs, his own voice strained.

You’re quiet, allowing him to breathe and recuperate and think it over. Your curiosity gets the best of you. “What happened?” You ask.

He takes a deep breath, in and out and then another, making himself think properly. “You were in one of Escobar’s coke plants, and you were all beat up and in pain. And I couldn’t move, or talk or breathe or anything.”

“Oh, baby,” you murmur and nuzzle your face into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not real,” he assures both you and himself, “so it’s fine.”

“Do you have nightmares often?” You ask him, looking over at the clock to discover it’s about 4 A.M. He’s slept with you for four nights now, but he’s yet to wake you with a nightmare.

The sweat slowly dries, leaving his skin cooled and smooth again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

There’s not much more to say. You’re already tired, eyes drooping from the heavy sleep that encased you before Javier’s whines and moans woke you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, honestly and gently. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll try to avoid it,” you muse sleepily, mind floating into the melatonin haze. “Love you too, Javi.”

There’s a soft smile on your face, and it puts Javier at ease. You’re here, whole, safe and sound. He has you in his arms, and the both of you feel that nothing can go wrong when the two of you lay like this. It’s all over, that dream. It’s not a premonition or a memory; just a random stimulation of the sleeping brain that creates chaos.

Before long, you’re snoring softly on his chest, a circle of your gentle and warm breath passing through your parted lips onto his pec. It’s so relaxed and warm that Javier feels ready to sleep again too. Usually, he takes at least an hour or two to fall asleep after a nightmare, but you’ve soothed him more than any of his usual remedies can. With one last heavy breath, Javier drifts off to sleep again, hoping his rest is as peaceful as yours tonight.

-

You wake before him in the morning. It’s the first time such a thing has happened. You’ve rarely had the privilege of seeing him sleeping peacefully or sleeping at all, and you wish you could take a picture without disturbing him.

In your sleep, the position switched. You’re lying on your back with Javi’s head resting on your breasts, using you as a pillow. His mouth is slightly parted, his breath ruffling the lowest hairs of his mustache. His face holds none of the lines it usually does when he’s awake. He’s just Javier, resting, and he scoots closer to your body when you unintentionally move.

It’s hard not to be truly consumed by love. He’s so beautiful, and so trusting to fall asleep like this. You’ve never met Colombia Javi, never seen him in the heat of his job, but you’ve felt that he rarely lets his guard down. To see this is a symbol of how much he trusts you. You watch him with an adoring smile, your heart fluttering at the love it feels.

With your fingertips, you scratch at the nape of his neck softly, massaging his skin as he sleeps. Your fingers barely touch his skin, drifting across the surface and drawing little circles into him. With one finger, you write your signature on his upper shoulders, as if it can mark him as yours.

Time passes slowly like this, but you’re thankful. You want this to last as long as possible, so you can spend all the time you need with Javier cuddled into your side. Your mind wanders, watching Javier’s sleeping face. Wondering what the future holds for the two of you.

He’ll have to go back to Colombia. You know it. He knows it. A tiny bolt of panic races through your body at the fact that he’ll be down there, investigating another cartel and certainly putting himself in danger. The idea of him being hurt makes you terrified.

When he finally wakes, you kiss his forehead and brush his dark hair from his face. “Hi. Did you sleep better?” You ask him gently.

His eyes remain shut as he lets out a groan, rubbing his face. “Sorta. No dreams.”

“Good,” you mumble and stroke his cheek, tracing soft circles with your fingertips. “I found a fun place we can go tonight.”

Javi’s eyes flutter open to look at you, smiling softly. “I’m not really awake yet, querido.”

“Querido. I like that one,” you chuckle and kiss the bridge of his nose, feeling his sleep-warmed skin beneath your lips. “I might use that on you. I’m going to go make us coffee. Take your time waking up.”

Javier nods and rolls over, nestling into the blankets and pillows. You, on the other hand, get up from bed and do exactly that: make a pot of coffee.

The morning is spent lazily in bed, with breaks for coffee and bathroom runs. The apartment is warm to contrast the cold outside, the frost collecting on your windows visible even from bed. Javier doesn’t say much and neither do you; both of you have lots on your mind. As much as you want to talk with him about your thoughts, you figure he isn’t in the mood to talk or he’d be talking.

You drift in and out of sleep on Javier’s chest, your ear over his slowly beating heart. After a while, when you’re half asleep, Javier chuckles and wakes you. “You can fall asleep even after a cup of coffee, huh?” He teases, letting his fingertips brush across your face.

The noise that comes from your vocal chords is something between words and a hum. Basically, it’s a noise of affirmation. You cuddle closer to Javi and he kisses your head. “I love you,” he mumbles into your hair. You mumble it back, fully content in the moment. Whatever the future brings will be alright, because you have this now.

The afternoon is spent mainly in the same fashion, simply lazing around the apartment. Javier picks a Elton John vinyl from your closet and turns on the small record player in the living room. “Never pegged you as the Elton John kind,” you tease Javi from your position on the couch.

He just shrugs and looks the sleeve over, reading the contents. He removes one of the large, flat discs from the paper sleeve and sets it down, turning on the turntable and watching the record move.

The music that floats from it is soft and instrumental: Your Song. Javi turns back to you with a small smile and offers you a hand. “Let’s dance.”

Taking his hand, you stand and he wraps his arms around you. “Thought you’d be more of a sexy dancer,” you murmur into his ear, wrapping one arm over his shoulder while his hand takes yours.

“Shut up for once,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your face.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh and rest your forehead on his chest.

He sways along to the music, pulling you with him. To your surprise, he knows all of the words. His lips barely part as he sings them to you, in a low and raspy voice you can tell he doesn’t often use. The tenderness nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way he just buries his face in your hair and breathes in your scent.

“Querido,” you murmur, testing the name out. You like it, and so does Javier; he pulls you tighter against your chest as the music of the chorus swells and drops off. “What’s this all about, huh?” you ask in a whisper.

Javier takes a deep breath. You can feel it press against your chest then fade. “Just… needed to hold you.”

“Javi,” you chuckle and kiss his neck gently, innocently. “You did all night and all morning.”

He shakes his head. “Like this. It’s different.”

You nod too. You suppose you can understand it. The two of you have made a little circle around your living room, around the coffee table across from your couch. The song ends, four minutes of being pressed to Javier’s chest and feeling the full force of his love in the way his arms enveloped you.

Breaking away, your worries have escalated, the ones that kept you up after Javier’s nightmare last night. Swallowing hard, forcing yourself not to cry, you look into Javier’s eyes. His brow furrows and he immediately pulls you back into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

Shaking your head, you try to talk but it comes out as a watery squeak. “Nothing,” you whine.

“No, it’s not nothing,” Javier insists, leading you to the couch as Rocket Man begins from the record. He sets you down and sits next to you, both arms still around you. “Talk to me.”

The words just can’t come out, especially as the tears begin to fall from your eyes. You shake your head again and bury your face in Javier’s chest, letting them fall. You manage to finally whimper out your words a minute or so later. “I’m scared for you.”

Javier’s face falls and he lifts your head, forcing you to look at him. “Why?”

“Be-because, you’re going back to Colombia soon and you’ll be in more danger and I won’t be around and I know you, Javi, I know you put yourself in more trouble than you should, and-”

Javier cuts you off, speaking as he stares into your eyes. “Stop. Stop that thinking. It’s going to be okay. Escobar is dead.”

“But the new cartel you’re chasing isn’t, Javi!” you practically wail, body collapsing into his. “You’ll be in danger as long as you work in that damn job, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m just so scared. I’m scared for you.”

Javi takes a deep breath and nods, wiping the tears from your face. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Your eyes dart from his and Javier grips your chin a little tighter. “Listen. This new assignment is a new job. I’m going to be in the office a lot more. These men are nowhere near as violent as the Medellín ones. This is going to be much safer. If you want, I can call Steve and you can talk to him. He’ll tell you. I’m safe on the job and I’m about to be in less danger.”

The words sink in as he talks. “Okay,” you whimper, sniffling the tears back.

“And I promise that even when I’m in Colombia, you’ll be the only thing on my mind. We’ll get those motherfuckers and I’ll come back to the States, okay?” His voice is softer now. Gentler.

“Okay,” you repeat and let your body melt into his.

Javier’s mind wanders through the options. “We could live up here. In D.C., and I could work at DEA headquarters. Or we could move to Laredo, live there. My dad would love you. Or somewhere else entirely. When I get back, we can do whatever we want.”

His words are a hidden promise; I will come back, and we can get married and have a life. “You’d better not take too long then,” you try to joke, though your broken voice ruins it a bit.

“For you, I’ll get it done in two days flat.” It makes you laugh, and Javier kisses your head. “What did you say you wanted to do tonight?” He asks you.

“Th-there’s a Christmas market in town,” you sniffle. “Since that’s coming up. I thought we could go.”

Javier nods, wiping your tears and snot with his sleeve. “That sounds great.” He rests his head on top of yours, one arm draped over your shoulders. You nuzzle into his side, feeling somewhat relieved but far from entirely.

“You could bring me with you. To Colombia,” you shrug, looking up at him with big eyes.

Javier shakes his head. “No. It’s nowhere near as safe for you. We’ve been over this, I-”

“I can hold my own,” you protest, crossing your arms.

“Not against the Calí Cartel,” he refutes you, stroking your arm. “As much as I love you and would love to have you there, it’s not happening. It’s just… not feasible. Not a good idea.”

This makes you frown deeper and your body tense. Javier kisses your head, which negates some of the stiffness in your body. “Trust me. Please. It’s not worth the trouble we’d find. Plus, you wouldn’t like it.”

“I speak Spanish,” you try to argue.

“Classroom Spanish,” Javier reminds you. “Listen. You can’t make me change my mind on this.” While his words are somewhat harsh, his tone is gentle. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, but you’re not coming with me.”

Sighing, you nod. “Then we have, what, two or three weeks until you leave?” He nods. “Then we’ll make the best of them. Get your ass up, Agent Peña. We’re getting dressed and going to the Christmas market and then we’re going to come and you’re going to rail me,” you laugh, kissing him once he’s standing.

“That’s fine with me,” he chuckles before kissing you once more. -

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[goldentournesol]

The Receptionist and The Profiler (Three)

Chapter Three: Minimal Loss

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/N: as a heads up, a large part of this chapter is a flashback, separated by ~~~. angst of minimal loss, buckle up y’all it’s getting serious!

Some cases don’t require the whole team to go investigate. Sometimes a few members go out to consult on something and come right back. Apparently, a 911 call had been received from a 15 year old girl saying that a man was sexually assaulting her and other girls her age. The call came from inside a cult’s base and now Spencer and Emily were sent to the ranch to investigate the leader, Benjamin Cyrus. Y/N selfishly wanted to tell Hotch to send someone else in place of him, but she knew Spencer was the least intimidating of the bunch and so it made sense for him to go undercover as a child victim interview expert alongside Emily.

Y/N watched as JJ zoomed straight past her desk and stood behind Derek’s desk, “Morgan.” she said, flicking the volume button of the TV across the room, panic fighting its way through her voice.

Morgan and Y/N’s attention went straight to the news reporter on the TV, “--what is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a French religious group known as Separtatian sect. The raid--”

“JJ, that’s not the ranch Prentiss and Reid--” Morgan said, standing from his desk.

“They’re still inside.” JJ informed.

“HOTCH!” Morgan yelled across from the bullpen, sending panic and goosebumps to every nerve ending in Y/N’s body. All she could think was, not again, please, God, not again.

Suddenly, all the phones of the bullpen began ringing. Y/N was absolutely frozen in her seat, not even aware of the phone on her desk ringing its wire off. It was like the air was heavy and she couldn’t breathe. She was vaguely aware of JJ’s outline as she approached her and placed her hands on her shoulders.

“Y/N. Y/N!” JJ called out as if she’d been calling her name for hours already, for all she knew, she had. Y/N unexpectedly felt a salty bead of water enter her mouth through her lips, she was crying.

“JJ...not again, JJ.” She practically whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief. The blonde’s heart wrenched in her chest as she thought back to the events of Georgia.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re on our way to him right now. We’re going to do our best to get them out. I need you to stay strong for me now, alright? The phone’s going to be ringing a lot, we need you here.” JJ attempted to comfort her and Y/N was quick to compose herself, nodding.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ve got it.” She sniffled, rubbing her cheeks. JJ pulled her into a quick tight hug, well, as tight as she could with her growing belly between them. Y/N squeezed her tight, “You get him back to me safely, JJ.” She whispered and the blonde nodded before taking off with the rest of the team.

“Is she okay?” Morgan muttered to JJ as they speed walked out of the building, secretly wondering if that’s how friends should react to hostage situations.

“I’m not sure.” JJ answered honestly and the two shared a pointed look. 

It was no secret that there was something going on between Y/N and Reid, they knew they held intense feelings for each other, however the team decided to stay out of it...for the most part. Derek, on the other hand, was very good at not missing opportunities to mess with Reid and tease the hell out of him.

It took Spencer a while to get back on his feet, especially after Gideon had departed, but Y/N helped him every step of the way. She drove him to NA meetings whenever she could. She helped him take his mind of things when he was having cravings. She finally, finally agreed to learn how to play chess, even though she was positive she was destined to lose. She’ll never forget how excited he got when she’d offered.

~~~

“Wait--what?” Spencer stopped mid-sip from his morning coffee. The team hadn’t filed in yet, but he was hanging around her desk like he usually did when she told him.

“Yup, you heard me. I’ll let you finally teach me how to play.” Her eyes twinkled with playfulness and he could have sworn his heart swelled twice its size. He was aware that he was gaping at her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop. The thought of sitting across from her so closely and for so long as he tried to teach her the moves was enough to make him forget his words.

“Hello? Earth to Spencer?” She laughed, waving a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of it, blushing.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll teach you! We’re going to have so much fun!” He exclaimed, his face practically splitting in half from his grin. She was about to make a comment about how it wouldn’t be so fun to lose to him (the whole point of not wanting to learn it in the first place), but she decided the genuine excitement on his face was worth more than winning ever would be. 

~~~

She also remembered him practically fangirling to her over David Rossi’s books. He was so excited when the other founder of the BAU joined the team in place of Gideon. Of course, Spencer had read all his books and was more than ready to recite them to her if she wanted him to but she preferred to keep the crime and the gore at a minimum, preferring to hear about Victorian love stories and obscure children’s stories that are told in African villages she’d never heard of before. Rossi was a fairly nice man, much warmer than Gideon but was still somewhat cagey upon joining the team. She didn’t really blame him, he’d left the job only to come back to it years later and find a bunch of younger hotshot agents in the unit he created. At least Rossi took the time to learn her name and smile at her in the mornings. 

Sometimes he’d sit and watch the two interact from his office. He’d assumed they were together when he’d first joined the team, almost a year ago now. Seeing how they leaned into each other when they spoke and maintained such intense eye contact, it just made sense to him. That and the fact that he’d noticed the way Reid was so much more comfortable around her than he was with his team mates. He’d note the not-so-subtle lingering hand touches on arms and the way they chose not to move their knees away from each other if they bumped. But, most of all, what he thought was a dead giveaway, was the way they smiled at each other; they smiled with their whole faces. Spencer’s mood seemed to brighten around her and even though he hadn’t known the young genius for long, he knew that that was a good sign. If he hadn’t seen Y/N and Anderson getting in the same car together, he’d never have guessed that they were together, much less engaged. You don’t need to be a profiler to know what the longing glances across the bullpen meant, though. Or the sad eyes she gave him every time he left for a case. Or the hug she gave that was obviously tighter than anyone else’s when they came back.

Hopefully, he’ll come back this time.

Y/N was practically a mess at her desk after they all left. She was glad that Anderson was currently not around, then she remembered she should be wanting his presence. That is...assuming he brought her comfort. He didn’t. She took calls to try and distract herself from her panic but she found herself freaking out in between them. Her eyes traveled to the far corner of her desk where the book she was currently reading sat. She smiled as she saw the tassel fall from in between the pages of the book. The book felt heavy as she opened it, she slipped the bookmark from in between the pages, and pushed the book aside. The raised letters of her favorite poem felt familiar as her fingertips touched them. She touched the words as if they could seep into her bloodstream and finally calm her. She remembered the day he gave her the bookmark.

~~~

After years and years of participating in the office Secret Santa, Spencer finally got Y/N. He was overjoyed, in fact, he couldn’t wait to give her her gift. He had it meticulously planned out. He was ready. He poured out his heart and soul in a letter first (this took the longest). Turns out, confessing your undying love for someone wasn’t as easy as it looked on screen. With all the letters he’d written in his lifetime, he was positive this one would be no different. But, man, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

 Then, he made the bookmark. Store bought would never impress her. He struggled with finding the right kind of paper and the right kind of string for the tassel, but thankfully Garcia had his back. She even helped him laminate it so it could last, for years and years. The way he wanted to last with her. He printed the words of her favorite poem. One that he’d never forget, and not even because of his eidetic memory. He chose a shiny gold string to represent the strings of fate. He had told her once the ancient Greek myth of the Moirai, the three women responsible for fate. Although he’d gone in way too great of detail, she hung onto every word. He knew she’d remember the story whenever she saw the gold string. He hoped she might pick up on what he was trying to say.

That fate would always bring them together. 

That he knew that she was it for him, but if he wasn’t it for her, that’d be okay, too.

She’d also complained all too often about the nasty coffee at work, claiming that she wished she never tasted the “vile bean juice”. It was enough to shift her off of coffee completely, unless it was from the coffee shop on the corner of Spencer’s street (he took her there a lot and he liked to bring her her favorite drink in the mornings when he wasn’t rushing in). But she’d recently gotten into teas, and was annoyed at her teapot at home because she said it just tasted weird. So of course, he researched the best kind of teapot possible and hunted every single kitchenware store in DC down until he found it. She’s gonna love it.

To top it all off, he decided to get her a necklace. While looking for the teapot, a small silver necklace caught his eye in one of the shops. A small birthstone hung by two chains, he recognized it as her own, and it was perfect. 

He placed the gifts and the letter inside the teapot carefully and placed two pieces of tape to ensure the top doesn’t come off in the box before making his way to Garcia’s apartment. It was really no surprise she decided to host the Christmas party, considering her love of all things Christmas. He was buzzing with nervous energy as he set the gift box under the tree. He was the first to arrive, which meant he had to endure Garcia’s endless questions about the finished gift. She pried it all out of him, even the letter. Garcia was practically jumping up and down as he told her about the contents of the letter. He didn’t know he and Y/N were such a hot topic around the office. A few minutes later, the team flowed in, one by one. Y/N and Anderson were the last to arrive.

But something felt different as they entered the apartment. Her smile was brighter than usual and she seemed extra comfortable around her fiance. He thought maybe he was reading into it too much, but then even Emily noticed.

“Woah, Y/N! You look literally radiant, what’s going on?” She asked as the couple struggled to find places to sit. Anderson found a seat on the couch and offered her his lap. Spencer watched as she blushed and pursed her lips shyly, leaning into her fiancé as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Spencer practically had a nervous ugly green creature growing inside of him. He’s decided to name him Carl. Might as well name him, you know, since he seemed to be around a lot lately. He shifted in his seat a little, which made Morgan glance over at him.

“Well, we were going to wait until later to tell everyone, but I guess that’s the downside to being friends with profilers.” She laughed and shared a look with Anderson, whose hand was grasped tightly in hers. 

Spencer noticed her change in vocabulary, she said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. He grew more and more nervous as the pause lengthened. He had to physically put his hands on his knees to keep them from bouncing.

“We finally set the date! Next August!” She exclaimed and Spencer’s heart absolutely combusted in the same exact moment. 

He immediately drowned out the cheers of congratulations and kisses on cheeks. The sinking feeling in his chest seemed to strive for more. More destruction. 

He was vaguely aware of Morgan grabbing his shoulder and giving him a pointed look, reminding him of his silence. Morgan felt bad for the kid, but didn’t want to embarrass Y/N. Spencer snapped out of his trance and swallowed heavily.

“Congratulations, guys.” He mustered a smile and she beamed at him.

“Thanks, Spence!” He barely registered it.

It was finally happening. 

The wedding. 

And he’d have to go.

And see her.

And smile at her like his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest and placed at the altar for everyone to see as it beat for absolutely no reason.

Seriously, what was the point of his heart beating if it wasn’t beating for her?

Except, he knew it’ll always beat for her, even if she didn’t want it.

He’d have to watch her marry another man.

Watch as she walked away from him rather than toward him.

Everyone pretended not to look at Spencer but he could feel the glances anyway.

Oh no.

The letter.

The letter that was in the teapot under the tree! 

Spencer didn’t know his heart was capable of beating as fast as it was. He sent a panicked look to Penelope, hoping she’d get the message, but she was too busy coming up with wedding ideas. Spencer could feel panic oozing out of the pores of his skin. Morgan took him aside and into the kitchen.

“Kid, you alright?” Morgan asked, watching as his younger teammate squirmed in the kitchen.

“This is bad, Morgan. This is bad.” Spencer paced around the kitchen, hands in his hair.

“I know, kid, I know. But you need to calm down.” Morgan tried to reason with him.

“No, Morgan! You don’t understand!” Spencer whisper-yelled as he gripped his shoulders and Morgan saw his wild eyes, “You don’t understand! The letter!”

Morgan steadied Spencer, “Reid, breathe. What letter?”

“I’m her secret Santa. I wrote her a letter, Morgan. I wrote her a letter, a letter which contains very sensitive information that she cannot read right now--o-or ever!” Spencer’s hands flew to his hair again and Morgan had to think quickly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll help you, we need to think of a way to get the letter out of the box.”

“Morgan, it’s inside the teapot-- which is taped shut by the way-- inside the box, under the tree!” He flailed around nervously.

“Damn, man. Okay, just follow my lead. When she opens her gift, I’ll distract her and Anderson and you have to get that letter out.”

Spencer nodded and when they joined the rest of them outside, people were already opening their gifts, one by one. Spencer waited anxiously as she began to unwrap her gift.

“Oooh, I’m excited!” She said, carefully unwrapping the wrapping paper and opening the box, still seated on Anderson’s lap. She gasped, “It’s a teapot!” 

Spencer grimaced as he watched Morgan fake a trip and spill his drink all over Anderson’s shirt, getting some on Y/N’s back.

“Shit, man! I’m so sorry!” Morgan glanced at Spencer and Spencer jumped into action as the couple were distracted by the spilled drink. He quickly unstuck the tape on the teapot and lifted the lid enough to squeeze his hand through to remove the letter. He stashed it away in the pocket of his cardigan. In fact, he planned on burning it when he got home. He successfully restored the gift to how it was before they returned from the bathroom.

“No one says a word.” Reid warned the rest of the group, who were watching the whole debacle like it was a spectacle. They all undoubtedly figured out what was written in that letter, therefore they understood and nodded.

“Not a peep.” Garcia said, locking her lips with an imaginary key.

“Anyway! Now that that’s all sorted out. Back to the teapot.” Y/N came back to her gift and her seating arrangement.

“Um, you should...you should look inside. There’s um, bonus gifts.” Spencer was absolutely beet-red in the face. 

But Y/N knew the gift was from Spencer the second she saw the wrapping paper, which was full of adorable snowmen dressed in Christmas clothing. She grinned, remembering the argument between them which started by her telling him how cute she thought snowmen wearing clothes was and him getting frustrated trying to explain to her how snowmen wouldn’t need protection from the cold. She opened up the teapot and pulled out the bookmark. Spencer watched her eyes soften as they roamed over the words of her favorite poem. She toyed with the gold string of the bookmark as she reached into the pot again and pulled out the small pouch that contained the necklace. She pulled it out and gasped.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s all so perfect. Thank you.” She moved the gifts aside and wrapped him in a hug. Spencer stopped listening to the persistent ache in his chest as he hugged her back. He let all his senses be consumed by her, just temporarily. He found peace in that moment and he tried his hardest to hold onto that peace as he watched her fiancé clip the necklace onto her neck. 

Oh, what he’d give to be in Anderson’s place.

~~~

She smiled at the memory the bookmark brought. She found her fingers weaving themselves through the gold strings gingerly. That seemed to calm her nerves enough for now. Garcia had convinced her to go home finally after promising to call her and let her know if anything changed.

2 days.

It was 2 days before she heard any news. She had been cooped up with Garcia in her batcave for emotional support. Also she wanted to know about any advancements as soon as possible. Garcia and Y/N were currently watching a live feed from some news channel.

“Damn, how did he know there were FBI agents in there? Word travels--” Garcia began but the explosion on screen cut her off. Y/N stood up from her seat abruptly.

“What was that?! Garcia, was that the ranch?!” Y/N all but screamed with panic, “Penelope! Answer me!” Garcia’s stunned face was paired with teary eyes as she turned to look at Y/N. Garcia frantically called Hotch and Rossi, but no one answered.

“No, no, no. NO! This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, Penelope. Are we sure Spencer and Emily were still inside?” Y/N’s voice wavered as she held her hands to her chest in disbelief. Garcia shrugged honestly and wordlessly.

“NO!” She began sobbing uncontrollably, falling to her knees, mumbling nearly incoherently, “I never got to tell him...I never got to tell him.” 

Garcia fell to the floor, holding the sobbing woman as best as she could without falling apart herself. Y/N gripped her tight as she felt the walls closing in on her. Her chest felt tight and she suddenly felt as if the air was ripped from her lungs. She could hear strangled sobs, but wasn’t even registering that they were her own.

It was too late.

She’d never see his smiling hazel eyes again. She’d never hear his hearty laugh once more. She never told him. She never told him how deeply her love for him ran. What was she waiting for? She’d waited too long. How utterly stupid of her. And now there’s no chance. He’s gone...he’s pulverized into bits and pieces--

The phone rang and Garcia leapt to it ungracefully, “Sir?! Reid and Prentiss--”

“They’re okay, Garcia. They made it out in time. With Morgan.” Hotch said sternly.

“Morgan was in there?!” Garcia screamed into the phone.

“Yeah, but I’m alright, babygirl, don’t you worry ‘bout me.” Morgan’s silky voice was heard from farther away. Garcia was about to reply when Y/N snatched the phone from her.

“Spencer?! Spence, are you there? Are you okay?!” She half-sobbed into the phone, not wanting her voice to give her away completely.

“Yes, yeah, I’m here. I’m alive.” Spencer choked out, relief flooding her system as she heard his voice. He was very much still alive and breathing, albeit with difficulty. Y/N didn’t register the rest of the conversation between Hotch and Garcia. She lay back in her seat and buried her face in her hands, trying to control her breathing. Garcia hung up and rested a kind hand onto her shoulder.

“Whew, that was a close one.” She said with a small smile. Y/N took her hands off her face and met with her warm eyes, “You know you’ll have to tell him eventually.” Y/N froze in her place again. She suddenly avoided her friend’s gaze. She was really hoping she hadn’t caught onto that. “It’s okay, pumpkin, we can all see it.”

She was right, oh my God, she was right.

“No, I don’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong, whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.” Y/N felt bad saying those words but there was nothing else she could do to protect herself. Garcia stayed silent, but gave her a look that shook Y/N at her very core.

Later, on the jet, Morgan took a seat next to Reid and stared at him intently before speaking.

“So, a little birdie tells me your girl was pretty heartbroken…” He trailed off, but not without an obvious wiggle of his dark brows.

“Morgan, for the last time, she is not ‘my girl’, she is engaged. She is very much someone else’s girl.” Reid rolled his eyes, attention going back to his book, although he tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the thought. He didn’t know if his heart was fluttering because of what Morgan called her, or because she was so torn up about the thought of him dying. He knew he shouldn’t ever feel good about someone else’s pain, but what did her pain mean?

“So what? Engaged ain’t married, pretty boy.” Morgan shrugged, saying it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer shook his head at his friend.

Back in the bullpen, Y/N waited for their arrival ever so anxiously by the glass doors across from the elevator. She was rolling onto the balls of her feet and bouncing with anticipation. It didn’t even matter that it was half past 3 in the morning. She had to see him. 

The ding of the elevator was the most comforting noise she’d heard in about a week. There he was, way in the back of the elevator, lifting his gaze from the floor to meet with hers. They both broke into the largest grins they’ve ever seen. She practically pushed Morgan out of her speedy way as he stepped off the elevator and slammed into Spencer with enough force to knock the air out of the both of their chests. Spencer caught her gladly and spun her around, laughing.

“I thought I lost you.” Y/N whispered into the embrace.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer replied softly into her hair.

The team all watched the reunion, adoration clear on their faces.

Emily was caught mumbling, “Damn, I wish I had someone to greet me like that after almost dying.” This, of course, resulted in a full blown bear hug from Garcia.

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[setterspirit]

play date with raden

tw; some more serious topics; mentions of drinking, teen pregnancy, etc.

❥ ‑‑‑‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑

“unless raden and you want to go to the park, that was the plan, yes,” you reply, nodding slowly and eyeing your son who seemed unfazed by your look of... disgust.

“unless raden and you want to go to the park, that was the plan, yes,” you reply, nodding slowly and eyeing your son who seemed unfazed by your look of... disgust.

“unless raden and you want to go to the park, that was the plan, yes,” you reply, nodding slowly and eyeing your son who seemed unfazed by your look of... disgust.

“unless raden and you want to go to the park, that was the plan, yes,” you reply, nodding slowly and eyeing your son who seemed unfazed by your look of... disgust.

“unless raden and you want to go to the park, that was the plan, yes,” you reply, nodding slowly and eyeing your son who seemed unfazed by your look of... disgust.

“then i can wear these!” eito declared, punching his fist in the air in triumph, heading over to his legos.

“no, absolutely not,” you insist, shaking your head vigorously and shooing your son back into his room, this time following him to pick out the outfit he would wear today.

“but mama, i want to wear these,” the five year old pouts, a frown on his face as he looks anywhere but at you.

“and i’m saying you cannot,” you reply firmly, placing the clothes you’d picked out on his bed. “i’m amending the rule i made concerning those-” you gesture to the pants he’s wearing, unsure what to even call them. “monstrosities,” you settle on. “you can wear those only around the house if it’s just the two of us.”

“what if uncle kei, uncle kenji, uncle kanji, uncle taka, uncle ken, or auntie mai are here?” the young boy questions, knowing he doesn’t have to look so nice with them.

at “uncle ken” you freeze, eyeing your son curiously. kentarō had only recently allowed for eito to call him uncle, and you still weren’t used to it. he had been so uncaring in the past, often shaking you off or ignoring you whenever you would invite him to join you and the rest of the group in an outing or dinner with eito. but recently, he’d been more willing to go, and at first it had thrown you off, but you eventually got used to it, often enjoying his company when he would join your group.

“yeah, those are the only exemptions,” you finally answered with a tight lipped smile. “now please be a good boy and change before raden gets here,” you finished, turning around and walking out of eito’s room, closing your eyes in exasperation once you’d reached the livingroom. god, sometimes being a mother was difficult, but you honestly wouldn’t change it for anything.

before you can get too lost in your thoughts, a knock at the door sounded, signaling that raden and his parents had arrived. eito, having changed into the clothes you’d picked out for him, raced to the door, excitedly pulling the door open to reveal the smiling face of his best friend and his slightly tired looking mother.

smiling at the woman as she watched her son race away to start playing with the legos eito had abandoned earlier, you offered to let her in, smiling and leading her to the dining room when she accepted your offer.

you were so thankful to the nishimura family, who’d been skeptical about leaving their child alone with you at first, but had soon warmed up to you when they realized just how much you loved and cared for eito. you didn’t blame them for having their skepticisms, it was only natural the family get to know you better before they leave their child in your care. you were, after all, only 20 when you’d first met them. leaving two toddlers with a 20 year old single mother was nerve wracking to any parent, young or old. so they hung out with you, invited you over to have dinner with them, observed how you interacted with their son and your own. for a 20 year old, you were quite mature, probably due to the fact you were raising eito alone.

“so, how have you been, l/n-san?” she questioned, fully turning her attention towards you.

“i’ve been good! i recently reconnected with an old friend, so that’s been keeping me in a happy mood,” you replied with a bright smile. the woman across from you observed your shift in features, from your usual soft smile to a bright, genuinely beaming smile.

“really? who is this ‘old friend?’” the woman questioned, interested to know what kind of person could make your mood shift so much.

“suna rintarō,” you replied excitedly, watching as nishimura’s eyes widened upon the realization of who you were talking about.

“hold on, suna rintarō, as in ejp raijin’s middle blocker suna rintarō?” she questioned in disbelief, with you nodding your head excitedly in response.

“yeah, we used to live next to each other and we went to the same elementary school before i left japan,” you responded, nishimura’s full attention now on you. “i don’t know how he found me, but he did, and we’ve been catching up since that big msby vs adlers game.”

“how do you mean, big?” the woman questioned, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“oh, you didn’t know? that game was like a huge one for old rivals,” you replied. she knew you knew a few famous volleyball players, she did follow your twitter, after all, but she didn’t know that you pretty much knew all the big names in the volleyball world now. “kageyama, ushijima, and hoshiumi used to be rivals, not just with each other, but also with four of the starters on the jackals team, too. sakusa, bokuto, miya atsumu, and hinata. that game was hinata’s welcome back to japan, in a way, and he was playing against his high school setter, kageyama tobio.”

nishimura nodded, intrigued. “and you know them all because?” she wasn’t trying to say you were lying, she would never call you a liar, she was simply curious to know how you knew all of this.

“i was a manager for date tech,” you replied with a small laugh. “and my cousin plays on the sendai team, the frogs, and he played on the same high school team as kageyama and hinata.” let’s just chalk it up to the fact you had a lot of connections to professional volleyball players.

you continued to talk a bit, pausing to watch your sons before nishimura received a text from her husband, asking where she was. it was nearing noon when she finally had to leave, so you bid her goodbye before preparing lunch for yourself, eito, and raden — mac & cheese because what 5 year old didn’t love mac & cheese?

the rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, eito and raden continuing to play with the legos tsukishima had bought eito, with you going around the house tidying things up or cleaning little messes you found they’d made. often times, you’d find yourself texting suna, too, catching up with him during his breaks between practices.

by the time dinner came around, raden had been picked up and taken home, the boys promising they’d see each other again at school. once he’d gone, you had eito clean up his toys that he and raden had missed, helping your son out so you guys could hurry over to mai’s for a dinner and game night with the boys.

TALK ABOUT SURPRISES

[ masterlist | eight | nine | ten ]

word count; 1.5k+

fast facts;

fact #1; there’s a HUGE difference between the way y/n acted in elementary school vs how she acted in high school. she was always the more timid between her and suna, so hearing her say she would willingly go to parties threw suna for a loop.

fact #2; futakuchi was a semi-bad influence in high school, but he mellowed out more in third year because of his newfound title as the vbc captain. that didn’t stop y/n from partying, though, as she sometimes needed to blow off steam and parties were the easiest way.

fact #3; y/n has only had one relationship, the one person being eito’s sperm donor. he walked out on the relationship when y/n told him she was pregnant, so now she’s worried about getting back into a relationship, especially because now she also has to think about eito’s feelings.

fact #4; the nishimura’s have been a huge help to y/n as she raised eito. they’ve given her helpful tips and watched after eito when she needed a babysitter and aiko was busy.

✨) summary; l/n y/n is a single mother living with her 5 year old son in sendai. suna rintarō is a professional volleyball player, the middle blocker for the ejp raijin. the msby black jackals vs the schweiden adlers is a game between two of japan’s v league division 1 teams that bring together many old rivals. y/n is dragged to the game by her cousin, tsukishima kei, claiming she needed to get out and do more than just work and take care of her child. reluctantly, she goes along with the usually salty blond — leaving her 5 year old with a babysitter — to watch the game between two of tsukishima’s ex-teammates. suna makes the executive decision that he will be going to the game to support his former teammate and setter, miya atsumu, with komori asking if he could accompany the middle blocker so he could support his cousin, suna readily agrees and they also invite washio to go with them, knowing he’d want to see bokuto as well. a chance encounter at the game of old reunions brings together two old friends and feelings start to re-emerge. follow y/n and suna as they get to know each other again, fend off any unwanted attention, and work through parenthood in “talk about surprises!”

a/n; some suna x y/n content in the beginning, mama y/n and eito content at the end. i’m really sorry if you want more suna content! i just wanted to show y/n and how she is as a mother. next few chapters should be a rollercoaster, you’ll see. 👀 see ya in the next update, loves! 🤍✨

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[achubbydumpling]

(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66

Rating: Mature Words: 1901 Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Public stuffing, Roadtrip, Chubby Stiles

Summary: Stiles and Derek enjoy their first vacation together. Stiles suggests they take on various food challenges to save money while on the road. However, Derek's werewolf metabolism deals with the excess food a lot better than Siles' strictly human one.

(I tried a bit of a different approach to a stuffing, a bit more focused on the way it makes Stiles feel. Hope you enjoy it!)

“It winds from Chicago to LA More than two thousand miles all the way”

“Oh, my God. This is such a good idea! We’ll save so much money.” Stiles was waving the menu around while he talked and almost knocked over his glass of water.

“Right, Derek?”

“Right. Awesome,” was his clipped answer. Derek looked like his usual grumpy self, but with his hand on Stiles’ thigh and with how close he was sitting, Stiles didn’t worry about the slightly pained expression on his face. He’d soften up once the breakfast crowd died down a bit and there weren’t this many people around.

Read on AO3

“We just have to finish those three pancakes and then the food is free! Even if we can’t finish it’s 15 dollars to try and we can take the leftovers on the road.”

Stiles didn’t want to throw in the towel before the challenge had even begun, but it was probably for the best to not go into this completely blind. While waiting for their server to return Stiles looked up eating competitions online.

They did have 90 minutes in total to finish all the food, but Stiles hypothesized that eating as quickly as possible would be the best strategy. Derek argued that they should take advantage of all the time they were given. Now that Derek could focus on something else than his surroundings his hunched over posture slowly relaxed.

The banter eventually escalated into a bet that whoever finished first got to choose a punishment for the loser. Stiles was almost certain he would lose out against the werewolf metabolism, but he didn’t think Derek would go for a particularly harsh punishment. He would have never agreed to this with Scott because he always chose the most embarrassing punishments.

This was his and Derek’s very first vacation on their own after finally sorting out their mutual pining. The road trip had been planned for close to year. However, the exact date had always been pushed back by another monster of the week ruining their plans. Instead of making a round trip they had flown up to Chicago and rented a car instead of taking the Jeep like Stiles had initially planned. The old girl probably wouldn’t have made it anyway.

Another consequence of pushing their vacation back was the weather. Instead of driving in late spring or early summer, when the heat would have still been bearable, it was August—the hottest month of the year.

The AC could barely keep up and all the people that had just eaten breakfast here had heated the small diner up even more. Stiles poured himself another glass of ice water.

He was looking forward to when they would get far enough south to where diners started serving real sweet tea. Boyd had shared a few stories with the pack about the summers he had spent on his uncle’s farm in Georgia. How the only thing that could chase the sweltering heat away for a moment was the ice-cold sweet tea his auntie always kept in the fridge.

When their food finally arrived at the table the server could barely fit both plates on the small table for two. Each pancake was twelve inches in diameter, the stack was piled high with maple syrup, banana, and whipped cream.

“Wow, these are huge!” Derek stifled a laugh.

“There was a picture in the menu.” The server cleared his throat to get their attention before they could dig in.

“When this,” he held a tomato shaped kitchen timer up, “goes off and you have not finished the challenge you will be—” he sighed and made an unenthusiastic buzzer noise “—disqualified.”

“Thanks, pal.” Stiles grinned back. The server glared at him for a second before he wound up the timer and left the table.

“Man, that guy is in a bad mood.” Stiles tried joking around with Derek before they got serious about this challenge.

“You haven’t worked in hospitality before.”

“And you have?” He took another sip of water and waved the glass around threatening to spill all over.

“Summer job.” Derek shrugged and finally picked up his fork.

“Wait, you can’t just drop something like that and not tell me more details.”

“If you don’t want to pay for this mountain of food you better dig in.”

Stiles whined Derek’s name annoyed, but also picked up his fork.

“On three,” Stiles said, but Derek was already chewing the first bite.

“Cheater,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

These were a lot flatter than the standard-sized pancakes. Probably deflated by their own weight, but the mixture of flour, sugar and oil tasted great all the same. Stiles hadn’t had banana pancakes before, but he welcomed the fruity sweetness in contrast with the straight up sugar of the rest of the meal.

Stiles surprised himself when he managed to keep up with Derek all through the first pancake. When he got started on that second one, he even pulled ahead for a bit, but he hit a wall as soon as half of it was gone. It felt like his stomach had suddenly closed down shop and he felt almost nauseous when he thought of eating even more sugar.

However, when Derek pulled ahead and finished off his second pancake without any trouble Stiles doubled down. He knew it was a loosing battle, but he wasn’t about to give up this easily. Yet, as willing as his mind was, his body failed him. With about three quarters of the last pancake left his determination flagged.

The food weighed heavily in his stomach. The vague nausea from eating way too much sugar curled up into his throat and had him sipping water to try and wash it down, which only made him feel even fuller.

Stiles could picture exactly what he looked like right now. He’d done this in front of his bedroom mirror. His stomach rounding out, like half a beach ball taped to his front. The curve of a belly looking out of place on his thin frame.

He had always loved to eat, not only for the sake of taste, but also because of how it made him feel. Sated. Heavy. Tethered down and not constantly in danger of floating away in his own mind. That moment when his thoughts finally ground to a halt and all he could do was to be overwhelmed by that feeling—almost on the wrong side of too much to handle.

However, he wasn’t at that point yet. This was more of a mental block. Unlike Derek, he didn't really have a sweet tooth. Stiles preferred salty, greasy substantial meals over dessert any day.

Stiles had been sat staring at his plate before Derek leaned against him to whisper, “You ok?”

Stiles groaned but picked up his fork again. Derek didn’t seem affected by the amount of food at all. Then again, the wolves always had to eat a lot just to keep their mass up. They leaned out quickly without enough food, preserving energy.

“Just taking a break.” Stiles could see Derek shifting in his seat, the wolf always craving closeness. They’d talked about this, whatever it was, after Derek had accidentally seen Stiles once afterwards. Stiles had tried his best to explain while still caught in that blissed out state. He didn’t know how but Derek had somehow understood.

Derek finally put that last bite in his mouth and then moved closer to Stiles. The entire side of his body was pressed up against Stiles. He was carefully draped over Stiles shoulders offering support, but not crowding him in. Stiles was still steeling himself for the next bite when Derek’s hand slipped under his shirt. Knuckles dragging against bare skin.

Stiles yelped and grabbed at Derek’s wrist. “What are you doing?” he whispered urgently.

“Helping,” Derek answered and furrowed his brows. Like always. Except they were in the middle of a restaurant and not locked in Stiles’ bedroom.

“Stop. Someone is going to see you,” he paused to search for the right word but then just flicked his eyes to where he was still holding Derek’s wrist.

“We’re not coming back here. You wanted to do the challenge.” Stiles wanted to whine and complain at Derek, but he was right. Stiles had suggested doing the food challenge. He’d honestly just thought about getting free food, only when they had already ordered, did he even think of this possibility.

“Plus,” Derek almost purred into Stiles’ ear, “winner gets to choose a punishment, right?”

Stiles’ “not really a punishment” died in his throat when Derek pulled him almost into his lap and his knuckles started digging into the roundest part of his stomach. They probably just looked like an overly affectionate couple, but that didn’t keep that searing hot shame from bubbling up. Stiles wanted to hide his burning face against Derek’s shoulder. He wanted to push Derek away. Stiles wanted to cram the rest of the pancake into his mouth to keep himself from thanking Derek out loud for getting his hands on his stuffed belly.

Derek hadn’t seemed interested in participating in Stiles’ peculiar activities but every time they had somehow ended up in that situation again, he had gotten more and more affectionate towards Stiles and his bloated middle.

“You’re gonna finish that, aren’t you?” Stiles shook his head, but he stabbed his fork into the pancake, nonetheless.

“Are you?” Derek asked again, a teasing edge to it. Stiles didn’t trust his voice and just nodded.

“Yes, look at yourself. The first chance you get to stuff yourself full of some food and you run headfirst into it.” Derek cupped his bloated stomach and lifted it up a bit.

“Look at that. All the food you stuffed in there making a nice little belly. Do you want to eat like this every day?” Stiles pushed another bite past his lips almost all whipped cream.

“Do you?” Derek prompted him. A whine caught in Stile’s throat, and he pushed it down with another forkful of food. He nodded and hummed agreeably.

“You’re just so greedy to be stuffed full.” Stiles was burning up but instead of reaching for his glass of water he gathered the last bits and pieces on his plate.

“You know what’s gonna happen if I let you eat like this every day?” Stiles was fast approaching the simple state of mind he was craving. He couldn’t decide whether to nod or shake his head. The motion of Derek’s hand on his stomach softened. Rubbing large circles into the stretched skin.

“You’re gonna get fat if you eat like this every day.” With that last mouthful Stiles had finished the challenge, but all he could think about was what Derek had just said.

“Feels so good,” Stiles said. Words slurred and a dopey smile on his face while he turned further into Derek’s body.

“Feels too good to stop, huh? Never had all that food just for free. That’s why you dragged me out here, off the highway. Not because you cared about what you’d eat, but because of how much. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. “Every day.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’ve got four weeks on the road and me to take care of you.”

“Won't you get hip to this timely tip When you make that California trip Get your kicks on Route 66”

[bonktime]

Weather The Storm

Chapter 2: Hand Over Fist

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Previous // Masterlist // Next

Art by the incredible @honestly-shite​ I’m so blown away 🥰💘

Summary: Ezra settles into life in the north but he can’t seem to wrap his head around the keeper. As they dance around each other a clash with another local brings some truths into the light.

Warnings: Language, violence, a boat load of sexual tension, a bunch of victorian sexism, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort? (smut will come)

Note: Written in the 3rd person so i guess you could read as oc? but I never name or describe her, except being short. I had loads of fun writing this! Loads of descriptions of the weather because that’s who I am and also touching. Next chapter will probably be a little late but please forgive me!

Wordcount: 3630

~~~~~~~~~

The wind was like nothing else. Four days at sea and Ezra was fairly sure it was making him deaf. It roared and screamed through the wood of the boat like he's never heard. Rattling anything loose and merging with the groans of the beams and the waves into a great cacophony of noise.

There was a knack to sailing in winds so strong, one he was very glad he'd got the hang of previously else he would probably have been tossed overboard that first morning. Even so the violent movement of the ship beneath him had been a surprise. Any time he put anything down he had to keep a close eye or it would end up on the other side of the room. It made sleep exceedingly difficult when being tossed out of the hammock was a possibility, so he was lucky to get a couple of hours between shifts.

The work was hard and one particularly malicious seagull had made off with a biscuit he had been about to take a bite out of, combined with the lack of sleep and the rolling waves, it had made him irritable at best down right foul at worst. Still, the rest of the crew were likable and only jibed in a good humoured way at the newcomer. And, whenever the bite of the cold got too much, he had a new memory to warm him up. Even so as they came into port on that forth morning, he was picturing that warm bed and the flickering firelight. 

On the walk back along the sea something caught his eye. He stopped to pick it up.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Ezra arrived just as the keeper was leaving the lighthouse. She saw him crossing the causeway, as the sun peeked over the horizon, turning the sky every colour from deep blue to the brightest pink. He waved at her as she waited for him to approach, unable to help but admire her. Dressed in blue, she contrasted against the sky and its reflection in the water. She positively shone. As he got close, he smiled.

"It would appear I was wilfully incorrect about something"

"About what?" She cocked her head at him

"There is colour here. But to witness it you must have patience. "

He took a step closer. holding out his hand "I discovered this on my meander back to your charming abode, I believe you would appreciate it." In her hand he gently placed a chunk of sea glass, worn soft by the sands but still bright deep blue. He stayed close as she held it up to let the sun shine through. She could smell the sea on him, salty and something else. Looking up at him she wondered why he had been so thoughtful. "It's beautiful, thank you" he smiled at her, eyes creasing warmly.

 ⧫⧫⧫

A week passed and they talked in the mornings but their days never seemed to line up so they could only see each other for meals. Ezra spent his evenings in the living room, reading by the fire whenever he was home, and his mornings wandering the coast to distract himself from the woman in the water. 

Once on his walk he met the other keeper. The man had looked exhausted as if he was carrying a weight on his shoulders. He didn't say much, just to give his thanks to the other keeper and then he'd hurried away.

Further down the shoreline he liked to watch the market get set up. Watch the women waiting for the fishing boats to get in, preparing to gut and fillet and sell. He chatted to them sometimes, offering a hand carrying out the tables if they needed it. One girl always gave him a cup of tea after, laughing at his jokes and smiling. She was pretty and definitely would have caught his eye before. But now? He was friendly enough, and polite, but just couldn't work out why he was so uninterested. It wasn't like him. She made a nice friend though, and it was pleasant to get to know someone apart from the keeper even if he wasn't staying too long. And even if he didn't know the keeper all that well.

Ezra mentioned a woman he met at the fishery to the keeper. As much as she knew and liked her, it stung in a way the keeper couldn't quite identify. She was kind and soft and pretty and just the opposite of her. All of her hard edges and bitterness and isolation. But she didn't have any good cause or right to feel envious. Still, she thanked him for the warning, should she come across them together at least she wouldn’t be surprised.

 ⧫⧫⧫

There was another week of only seeing each other in the wee hours before both Ezra and the keeper had a shared day off.

He offered to come with her into town and help carry things. Mostly he just wanted her to show him around which she knew but she agreed anyway.

The sun showed itself as they walked together warming their skin. He watched the keeper raise her head to bask in it, smiling as she tried to explain what she needed from town with him interrupting after every item to ask questions.

She was glowing and it was starting to affect Ezra. Her skirt was pinned up a little above her ankles so it didn't dip in the sand and she'd forgone her usual headscarf and shawl to enjoy the sun. She had laughed at him as they'd left, at all his layers, called him a southern pansy. He'd grinned "Not everyone is so accustomed to this frigid weather. The cold bites those who it has not made an acquaintance with. Not unlike a wary dog."

"If you stayed a few winters here and swam in the North Sea you'd end up as hardy as any of us I reckon" he'd just smirked.

 ⧫⧫⧫

The keeper decided Ezra spoke just the way he did just to confuse people. Every time she’d asked him what a word meant he had grinned, but he did explain without condescension. He had spent nearly an hour chatting away to the grocer when she’d gone to the butcher and the baker. Upon asking, it turned out he had been trying to find a fruit he was fond of, but all the frills in his speech had led to a debate between the owners about what he had meant which he had then stayed quiet during just for enjoyment. When she had gone back to find him he was grinning ear to ear as the two men bickered. She had suppressed a laugh and sorted it out quickly before they had gotten even more irked by the outsider. Ezra had seen the laugh in her eyes though.

The final stop was the bookshop. A small place, stacked floor to ceiling and owned by the keeper’s oldest friend. She was sitting outside in the sun and jumped up wrapping the keeper in a warm hug. 

"Lass you work too fucking hard. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in Christ knows how long!" 

She grinned; the first time Ezra had seen it. He should make her grin more.

"Aye I'm starting to agree, how're the bairns at this rate they'll have grown a foot before I can see them again. Oh, shit sorry.” She gestured to him “This is my lodger Ezra, Ezra this is Amelia."

He wonders vaguely if everyone the keeper knows can give looks that pierce the soul. He gives the shopkeeper a nod and her face breaks into a smile. As they headed into the shop, clouds began to gather overhead.

"Come on pet, I've got something new I just know you'll love."

The shop seemed ready to burst at the seams. Ezra paroused but couldn’t stop himself listening into their conversation.

“How have you been, really? I worry about you all alone up there.” Amelia asked her eyes full of concern. Ezra subtly rounded a bookshelf so he wouldn’t seem nosey.

“I… Well I’ve been worse like. Every day is easier and I’m not alone at the moment as you’ve seen.”

“You seem to collect sailors, you.”

The keeper laughed “I just like the company! And I like being alone the rest of the time as you well know.”

“Oh aye the company. Nothing to do with,” Amelia lowered her voice “I divn’t nah… the roguishly good looks? You always loved a bit of trouble, dafty that you are”

“Hey! He just rents the room, we’re… friends I guess.” Ezra wished he could see her to gage how she really felt.

“Sure you pet.”

 ⧫⧫⧫

20 minutes later they left, a copy of Great Expectations wrapped carefully in tissue paper and stowed at the bottom of her bag, surrounded so it would stay dry should it rain. As they stepped out a woman seized the keeper's arm, she was accompanied by the vicar and glaring viciously. The keeper swallowed and introduced Ezra, he saw how uncomfortable she was, how her mood had changed since just minutes before.

"The ever elusive keeper shows herself yet again" the vicar speaks, face impassive, "I thought you might have died since you don't attend church, perhaps you'd met god's reckoning after… being so loose with your commitments." 

Ezra watches her jaw clench "I have told you before, when I work the night, I cannot attend in the morning."

The other women smirked "Work the night is one way of putting it." She eyed Ezra.

The vicar sighed "It is disappointing you disobey god's will. Your father should have married you off while he had the chance. Then your husband would keep you in line. If he could see you now, he'd be so ashamed"

Ezra froze but before he could react, he saw the rage pass over her face, fiery and passionate. She couldn't help it, she saw red, couldn't stop herself. She punched the vicar square on the nose.

The other woman shrieked. "What is wrong with you? You've hurt him!" Indeed, blood did start to drip out of his nose but he straightened himself up and grabbed the keepers arm pulling her close and raising his fist to strike.

"You're nothing but a worthless little whore. It's no wonder your sailor left as soon as you-" he was cut off by Ezra's fist, catching his jaw and sending him sprawling.

"I will not abide you speaking to the lady in this manner." He shook out his hand, and stepped over him, bending to seize his hair and pressing his blade to his neck "And to strike her?" He scowled down at the man who was opening and shutting his mouth like a fish. "What is that mantra you holy men spout? Turn the other cheek." The keeper's jaw dropped, she had known Ezra was rough around the edges but to strike a man of God, to threaten him, for her?

Against the incoming storm, it was as if he'd grown. Become huge and monstrous and brutal in a way she hadn't seen, a glimpse of what lay beneath all his beautiful words and pleasant disposition. It moved something in the keeper, something dangerous. Not many people would far defend her, let alone in such a way. 

Lightning flashed overhead forking down to meet the sea, in the light she could see the hard glint in his eye, the one he'd worn when they'd first met, even as he smiled. This was a man who had done far worse and all she could feel was grateful. It squeezed around her heart.

"I suspected as much. You must have forgotten yourself for a moment." Ezra stood and pulled the vicar to his feet, squeezing his arm harshly still baring that viscous grin as he pulled him close and murmured "I'd truly hate for you to suffer another grievous lapse in judgement, who knows what may become of you."

The keeper looked at the other woman "Judge not lest ye be judged? You had better pray for forgiveness.” She stepped forwards shoulders back as thunder rumbled around them “There's a storm coming and your husband works the water. I'd hate for the lord to compel me to make an error." The woman gasped at her a cold glare. Ezra looked at the keeper as she straightened out her dress. He could have laughed at her nonchalance, it gave him pause, how he saw her quiet power. She would make quite the foe. She gave Ezra a nod and he took her arm as they walked away.

He can feel how tense she was through her arm, despite her calm demeanour panic and anxiety were coming off her in waves. They walked back along the beach in silence as the heavens opened, pouring rain down around them. Ezra frowned to himself, perhaps with all the flitting around he had forgotten how to behave. Had lost some of himself, every old sin chipping away at his humanity was taking its toll. He'd come here for some fucking quiet, why did he always find trouble, or make it? Perhaps those years… he wasn't good. Punching a priest though? The keeper was a menace.

Half way he stopped turning her to look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were married?" she looked away from him at the waves. White horses were being blown, throwing spray up into the air.

"I never was. He left before we could."

The rain beating down made it hard to look up at him, it dripped into her eyes and ran down her face like tears. The rain and thunder were near deafening as he looked at her face, saw the pain and the other emotion, the one he can't identify.

"What happened?" He nearly has to shout to be heard over the storm and the waves. Reaching for her, taking her hand and feeling the calluses on her fingers.

"What always happens! I fell in love, and I thought he did too. But after, after we. He did what sailors always do." she threw off his hand and stepped back, the sea lapping at her ankles.

"What is it sailors always do? I do not appreciate you painting us all with such broad strokes." Now he's shouting, a bit out of frustration but mostly to be heard as the wind begins to howl, merging sea spray and rain until the only thing he could see was her.

"He sailed away!" She was suddenly very grateful for the rain; he couldn't see the tears that had rolled down her face. He frowned at her a deep furrow in his brow. "And so, he's right! I am a whore and probably everything else too." She looked wild, wind whipping her skirt to and fro. She glared at him, daring him to judge her. "I was relieved! I didn't want to marry him, he wanted to leave and I didn't. I enjoyed what we did!" She pressed her palm to her forehead. No idea how he would react. "He could’ve said goodbye" she whispered it, let the crash of the waves muffle the sound.

To her surprise he tugged her hand away from her face, looking into her eyes, jaw set, rain plastering his hair to his head.

"Let's go home."

Keeping her hand gently clasped in his he led her along the beach to the island.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Both of them were soaked to the bone by the time they had re-entered the cottage. Ezra could feel the keepers hand trembling in his.

"Go change out of that wet garb, I'll light the blaze in the living room and set the water to boil"

She nodded and entered her room as he did his own. He quickly pulled off his wet clothes and tugged on a fresh shirt surprised to hear her call out to him.

"Ezra, can you help me?"

He entered her room slowly, still only in his long shirt, taking it in. The bed was wide enough for two and had as many blankets as his own, there was a small wardrobe and a chest and a stack of books on a bedside table. On top of which he saw the glass he'd given her, not yet added to the chime in the window.

She was in her corset and chemise, back to him, dripping onto the rag-rug on the floor.

"I can't seem to," she was reaching behind herself. "With it wet and my damn swollen knuckles I can't loosen the tie. Please, can you help?"

He swallowed thickly as she looked back at him then away. Gently he reached for her, big hands and nimble fingers beginning to loosen the knot. "I'll take a look at that hand if you would allow me, check you haven't done any tangible damage." She nodded.

As he finished, he couldn't help brushing his fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder. It was soft and warm under his cold fingers. She stiffened slightly and turned to him, looking up at his face. His frown remained but that steely glint was gone, giving way to wide sad eyes. She looked at his hands, big, strong and bruised. She took one in her own, inspecting the cut across his knuckles.

"You needn't hurt yourself in defence of me, I shouldn't have hit him." She gently rubbed her thumb over the swelling to check her hadn't dislocated anything and tried to ignore how he tensed.

"I could not abide his hurting you, not with his words and certainly not with his fist" he turned her hand mirroring her gesture to feel her knuckles, they were swollen but nothing felt out of place. He kept a hold of her hand as he looked back up at her face.

She looked into his eyes, deep and dark enough to fall into. They stared back into hers without hesitation. She held his hand for just a moment longer before letting go. As she did, he turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.

He didn't give her the chance to thank him.

 ⧫⧫⧫

When she had dressed and headed down stairs, Ezra was pouring tea, he looked up. She was still dishevelled and shivering a little.

"Come on, let's get warmed up"

He led her through to the living room and sat her down on the rug in front of the fire handing her a cup of tea. Sitting down across from her he spoke, his legs brushed hers as he stretched out but he didn’t move away.

"What I cannot apprehend is why you don't want to depart this glacial place. You are not treated compassionately and there are locations all over with preferable climates."

She gave a small smile. "Because I like it here, it isn't perfect but I have my friends and my work and my home and where would I go? How well do you think the world would treat a woman like me?"

He shrugged, "People may surprise you. They have me on many occasions. I even astonish myself sometimes"

"Or they'll behave exactly as they always do. People are predictable like that." She sighed and sipped her tea. The warmth of the fire finally took an effect. "It seems we are at an imbalance. You know plenty about me, although not because I wanted you to. How about you tell me where you got that accent?"

He grinned. "I suppose I can reveal a little information. If only for the sake of equality."

So, he told her. Told her about his home, his mother, about when she passed. How he had to work to survive and found that he didn't get seasick. He picked up words and dialect wherever he went, combining them with his own until he wasn't sure what he used to sound like. She had laughed at him upon learning he wasn't a strong swimmer. 

"I can't believe you haven't been thrown overboard and drowned yet! You're unbelievably lucky!" He'd loved the sound.

He missed out a lot of the more unsavoury details of the work he’d done but the whitewashed version was honest enough. How going back to where he grew up still hurt, he had only visited once. Instead, he travelled, worked, and enjoyed himself.

"I don't know. You said I must be lonely here but you, you travel alone. You can't make good friends, you've no home to return to." She watched his face. "It seems you're far more alone than I am"

His brow furrowed "We can agree to disagree on that."

"And I still don't understand why you're here. Why aren't you somewhere warm?"

He shrugged and avoided the question, "If I wasn't, I would not have had the astounding pleasure of meeting you."

She frowned at how he ignored her question, but brushed it off.

The rain was finally beginning to ease as Ezra dozed off. Sitting on the floor slumped against the chair by the fire. He looked peaceful, no shadows playing behind his eyes, so she didn't wake him. Instead as the sun dipped, she laid a blanket over him and went to light the light.

The winds had made for a tense shift. Always keeping a weather eye on the sea for ships that might have got into trouble but eventually the sun rose and she stopped the clockwork and went back to the cottage.

Ezra had already left to get to The Mistress and she was surprised at the slight sting that they hadn't got to say goodbye. Next time she'll wake him.

She was even more surprised by how much she missed his company.

~~~~~~~~

Glossary

Hand over fist: Going forth rapidly in an endeavour, comes from ‘hand over hand’ when climbing the rigging.

Bairns: Kids, affectionate

Divn’t nah: Don’t know, couldn’t not include this

Dafty: fool, idiot, affectionate

~~~~~~~~

Taglist

Ezra

@fandom-blackhole

WTS

@something-tofightfor

Because I crave validation

@danniburgh

[1-800-smash]

can you do the alphabet with kirishima please 🥺👉👈

「 now i know my abc’s. 」

feat. kirishima.

summary: learn the alphabet with everyone’s favorite daddy shark ;)

warnings: nsfw content.

[all characters are aged up appropriately.]

word count: 2k

request: @im-alyssa-btw — ❝can you do the alphabet with kirishima please 🥺👉👈❞

a/n: ahh my first request, thank you so much! i hope you like it as much as i liked writing it. please enjoy  ♡ —  shelbs.

submitted — [09.16.20]

nsfw under the cut.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

⚘ the most attentive and caring to his partner after sex, you need something? name it.

⚘ water, your favorite snack, an extra pillow...

⚘ doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll always get it for you. all you have to do is ask.

⚘ it’s the least he can do after all you do for him alone, he’s so appreciative of all you do.

⚘ 100% down for cuddles after, he loves the feeling of your body on his.

⚘ and who could forget about the soft kisses he peppers your face with afterwards? not kirishima, that’s for sure!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

⚘ kirishima is an absolute ass man.

⚘ there i said it.

⚘ he loves grabbing your ass when you ride him or even just staring at it from across the room, he fucking loves it.

⚘ and as for his favorite body part? his hands.

⚘ how else is he supposed to grab or smack your ass?

⚘ but also because he just loves holding your hand...

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

⚘ his loads are thick and when he cums, he comes a lot.

⚘ has a nice milk white color to it but still clear and very messy.

⚘ the taste isn’t that bad either, not that salty and you can swallow it like a champ.

⚘ fuck, if he doesn’t love it when you swallow...

⚘ and when he cums inside you, the feeling of it pooling out of you is enough to make you run straight to the bathroom.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

⚘ this may sound a little boring, but i don’t think he’d have one?

⚘ he’s not that experienced with sex and while he is open to experimentation i don’t think he would do anything on his own.

⚘ if you introduced him to things like toys, i think he would be really into building a collection with you.

⚘ he wants to try it ALL.

⚘ maybe even try them on himself when you’re not around to use them with?

⚘ but as for by himself, probably not.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

⚘ he doesn’t have much experience when it comes to sex.  

⚘ our baby shark doesn’t mess around when it comes to matters of the heart, it takes a lot of trust for him to be able to have a physical relationship with another person.

⚘ but what he lacks in experience he makes up for with an eagerness to learn, he wants to make you feel good!

⚘ with some careful guidance and mutual trust, he’ll map out every inch of your body with careful precision.

⚘ which areas draw out those cute, soft moans of yours and which ones leave you crying out his name is desperation.

⚘ it won’t take long for him to leave you a shivering, cum-filled mess by the end of the night.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

⚘ he likes to see his partner’s face during sex, he loves looking at all the expressions you make.

⚘ from the adorable moans you let out to the sinful look on your face as he makes you cum for the 3rd time.

⚘ he also likes to make sure he’s doing a good job and making you feel as great as he does.

⚘ missionary would be the most common in your relationship.

⚘ but he’s always down to try new positions with you, he wants nothing more than to make you happy.

⚘ he’s also a big fan of cowgirl, he’ll be rendered absolutely helpless under your control when your fucking his brains out.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

⚘ he takes having sex pretty serious, so he won’t be joking around too much.

⚘ that isn’t to say he won’t try to lighten the mood, especially if his partner is self-conscious.

⚘ he wants you to feel absolutely comfortable, and if that requires him to be a little less serious then so be it.

⚘ anything to make you feel safe when you’re with him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

⚘ he tries his best to groom it but he mostly just leaves it the way it is.

⚘ the carpet DOES NOT match the drapes.

⚘ them pubes are as black as his hair was on the day he was born.

⚘ probably wouldn’t dye his pubes, he already puts too much time into his hair alone, why would he add his pubic hair into that mess?

⚘ his pubes are not as spiky as his hair but still have that pointed look and feel to them.

⚘ but don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt! in fact, it feels even better when they rub up against your clit as he fucks you into the mattress.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

⚘ oh, this boy is SUCH a romantic.

⚘ can be cliche at times but honestly it’s so endearing that you could care less.

⚘ he wants you to know just how much you mean to him, and if that turns him into an absolute SIMP for you than so be it.

⚘ he’s always whispering how beautiful you look when you’re in the moment, caressing your face, kissing you everywhere.

⚘ when he’s done there will be no doubt in your mind that this boy loves you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

⚘ he masturbates at least 2-3 times a week or well at least he used to until he met you.

⚘ why would he need to masturbate when you’re sitting there and so ready to please him?

⚘ he doesn’t like to make sex just about pleasing him though, but he has to admit you do a good enough job doing that on your own.

⚘ the only time he really masturbates now is when you’re not in the mood (which is rare) or not home.

⚘ and even then it still doesn’t do much for him the way it used to, not when you can make him cum so much harder just by moving your hips that certain way...

⚘ you’ve got him seeing stars.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

⚘ let me tell you, this man has a PRAISE kink.

⚘ nothing will get him off faster than knowing how good he’s making you feel.

⚘ kirisima’s always struggled with his self-confidence and self-worth.

⚘ that’s why he’s so much better at making other people feel good rather than himself.

⚘ so for him to hear just how good he’s making his partner feel makes him really happy.

⚘ please, please, PLEASE tell this boy what a good job he’s doing!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

⚘ he prefers a more romantic setting when it comes to sex.

⚘ *cough* your bedroom.

⚘ he’s definitely down to fuck you wherever though if he’s needy enough.

⚘ on the couch? why not. in the shower? hell yeah. on the kitchen counter? oh absolutely.

⚘ isn’t a big fan of public sex, he’d be way to worried of getting caught by someone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

⚘ he adores you to the moon and back, but what he admires about you the most is your strength.

⚘ show off how strong you are with him around and he’s going to be swooning over you.

⚘ he also loves being surprised with you by being the one to initiate.

⚘ it makes him feel loved and wanted!

⚘ and there’s nothing that makes him feel better than knowing that you want him to fuck your brains out.

⚘ figuratively speaking, of course.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

⚘ nothing that involves hurting you in any shape or form, he loves you!

⚘ why on earth would he want to hurt you?

⚘ he’s the type of guy who would stop sex just to ask if you’re okay from even just a HINT of discomfort.

⚘ there is no way you could convince him otherwise, there just isn’t.

⚘ hurting your partner isn’t MANLY.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

⚘ absolute BEAST when it comes to giving oral.

⚘ he will leave you trembling under his touch as he draws out another orgasm out of you.

⚘ you’re not even going to remember your own name when he’s done.

⚘ sorry, but kirishima just takes the cake with this one!

⚘ no one will ever be able to eat pussy like this man does.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

⚘ his pace starts off slow and sensual, but he tends to pick it up once you get closer to your release.

⚘ he doesn’t like being too rough with you but with enough coercion he might be persuaded to be a little rougher than usual.

⚘ obviously, he doesn’t want to hurt you, so communication is key with him!

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

⚘ when the two of you have sex he really wants to take his time and leave you feeling absolutely satisfied.

⚘ he doesn’t mind quickies, he just wants more time to be intimate with you.

⚘ if the two of you only had time for a quickie then he wouldn’t mind, but he would think about how much he was going to make it up to you the next time you two are alone together.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

⚘ hell yeah, this man is game to experiment!

⚘ as long as you’re comfortable with what you’re doing than he’s good to go.

⚘ if at any point you want to stop then he’s there in a heartbeat, whatever you need it’s yours.

⚘ don’t even worry about it, he just wants you to feel safe and secure.

⚘ as for risks, it depends on what the risk is...

⚘ nothing that will hurt you or have anyone walk in on you both.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

⚘ he can go for at least 3 rounds, maybe 4 if you’re really into it.

⚘ baby boy has lots of stamina and all the more desire to please you all night long.

⚘ he wastes no time in fucking you absolutely silly.

⚘ sex with him can usually last an hour, but if you go for more rounds after they’ll not be as long.

⚘ what can he say? it takes a lot of energy in pleasing the one you love.

⚘ and god, does he love you a lot.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

⚘ he has a pretty open mind when it comes to these things.

⚘ now, while kirishima wouldn’t own any on his own volition, i think if his partner recommended it he would definitely want to try it for himself.

⚘ it doesn’t take much to convince him!

⚘ and if he really enjoys it he may even look for toys on his own to surprise you with or ones he thinks you might like.

⚘ i could definitely see him being into it once he gets nudged in the right direction.

⚘ *wink wink* ;)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

⚘ he doesn’t like to tease that much.

⚘ now whether his partner likes to is a different story all together.

⚘ but mostly, he loves to fulfill his partners needs and he just doesn’t think teasing will get him there any better.

⚘ what can i say, this man lives to please.

⚘ would be open to tease you if you suggested it to him and assured him you will like it,

⚘ he’s very big into over-stimulation though, he will leave you an incoherent mess that’s unable to walk when you’re done trust me on this.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

⚘ he can be very noisy and it doesn’t take much to break him.

⚘ the closer he gets to cumming the louder he’ll be, broken whines escaping from him as he tried to hold just a bit longer.

⚘ but with you, it’s impossible.

⚘ you know exactly how to make him cum until he’s whimpering from over-stimulation.

⚘ needless to say, the noises this boy makes is heaven to your ears.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

⚘ he has some pretty sharp teeth, so i wouldn’t be surprised if he might have a slight biting kink.

⚘ while he absolutely hates the thought of hurting you i think he’d be ok with soft nibbles here and there.

⚘ as long a you’re ok with it, of course!

⚘ i mean... they don’t call him daddy shark for nothing ;)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

⚘ he’s about 5.6 inches, uncircumcised.

⚘ it’s pretty thick and has a nice girth to it, makes you feel small whenever you hold it in your hand.

⚘ but god, if it doesn’t make you feel fucking amazing.

⚘ he can make you cum 3 times just from his cock alone, and fuck if he doesn’t make sure you do every damn time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

⚘ he has an average sex drive.

⚘ he’s enjoys having sex like any other guy does but by no means is he going to be humping your leg every 10 minutes.

⚘ he respects what you want and if you don’t feel like it that’s all you have to say and he’ll go back to whatever you two were doing before.

⚘ he drinks respect women juice daily.

⚘ on average you both have sex with each other at least 5-6 times a week.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

⚘ he will not fall asleep before you do, he always makes sure you cared for before he even thinks of dozing off.

⚘ once he’s sure you have everything you need and your fast asleep in his arms, only then will he be satisfied enough to fall asleep himself.

⚘ it won’t take him too long to fall asleep after you, holding you tight in his embrace while he tries to think just how on earth he deserves you.

⚘ and honestly? he doesn’t know but he’s sure glad he does.

[egcdeath]

secret santa

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

a/n: this is so self indulgent. SO SELF INDULGENT. more self indulgent than anyone will ever be able to comprehend. before u all read this, i want u to know it was originally supposed to be about training ransom at a job, but then i realized that i nothing about 1. working at a coffee shop and 2. training an employee. also, i am the worst at writing dialogue. so i didn’t write a lot of dialogue LMAO enjoy :)

also, half of this was written at 1 am. just a warning

warnings: coffee shop au, enemies (kinda) to lovers, a lil fluff, not really angst but bitter feelings, kinda slow burn and then all the sudden a fast burn i’m sorry 😭

word count: 2.6k

You woke up to the sound of your alarm rumbling your bedside table sometime around the asscrack of dawn, and rubbed your eyes with a groan. Sometimes, you really couldn’t stand your job, but bills didn’t really pay themselves, did they? You rolled out of bed, and began your dreaded morning routine before heading out to start your opening shift at your local café.

Somewhere between warming up the espresso machine and taking out last night’s trash (which you shouldn’t have had to do in the first place), an older, yet expensive looking car pulled up to the front of the parking lot. You were a bit confused, as you’d never seen this vehicle, and it was quite clear that you weren’t exactly open yet. You watched as a tall man hopped out of the car, wearing a large peacoat and very unnecessary sunglasses. He approached the door, gave it a knock, then waited for you to come open it for him. Reluctantly, you made your way over, and in order to keep yourself safe, began to speak through the glass.

“Can I help you?” You asked in an annoyed tone, then gestured towards the piece of paper that labeled your hours on the door. There was no reason for any customer to be here this early. You looked up at the mystery man and made a rather intense eye contact with him. If this was any indicator of your crowd today, work was going to be far from pleasant.

“Yeah, I was told that I’m starting today?” He had a wicked smirk on his face, like he knew he was getting under your skin already. You hated people like him, and couldn’t believe that he could possibly be your coworker. On the bright side, he probably wouldn’t last long in the first place.

“Well, are you sure you’re here on time? I can’t see any situation where Melissa would schedule to open for your very first shift.” You commented with a furrowed brow.

“Eh, I kinda just figured I’d come in whenever. The girl in my bed was an early riser, so I thought to myself ‘Why not just come in now?’” He said casually.

“Your name?” You inquired, trying to keep your annoyance to yourself, and put on a customer service smile.

“Hugh, or Ransom,” he responded. You turned around, allowed yourself a huff and eye roll, then walked through the kitchen, and into the break room to check if he truly was a new employee, or just some random creep. Sure enough, a bright pink post-it note in very neat handwriting confirmed this man’s existence. You made your way back to the door, unlocked it, and let him in.

“Since you’re here, you should… set down the chairs,” you told him, less than entertained by his presence. You could just tell he was bad news. This Ransom guy was like the textbook definition of a red flag. He talked your ear off while you tried to get through your opening routine, some casual remarks about his last hookup, complaints about how he only got this job because his mother was a regular and good friends with your manager, and how he was threatened to get cut out of his grandfather’s will if he didn’t get employed soon, and what better way to spite your family than to mess up their daily coffees.

Eventually, a few more of your coworkers, along with your manager, Melissa, made it to the café before the morning rush began. You were sitting down at your typical barstool spot, and sipping an iced Americano when Melissa broke the news to you that you would be training the new employee. Upon hearing the news, you audibly groaned, and rubbed your forehead. There was no way that you could handle this man.

-------

During his first week, Ransom not only managed to offer (and successfully give) six customers his phone number, break two mugs, mess up more orders than even Euclid could comprehend, and spill straws a multitude of times all over the floor, but he began to flirt with you relentlessly. You had no idea why you’d become his new target of choice, when it was clear that he could have literally anyone he wanted. Maybe he liked that you were playing hard to get.

If you were being honest, you had to accept that he was handsome. And rich. And the definition of a fuckboy. And since you were being frank with yourself, you had to acknowledge that you were attracted to that ‘toxic and will treat you like shit’ kind of guy. You had a roster of ex boyfriends to prove that for you.

---

It was a pretty slow Tuesday afternoon, which meant you were sitting on your phone until a customer placed an order. Eventually, the little bell above the door chimed, and an older man came through, ordering a dark and bitter drink, then standing by the counter to wait. You began to restock lids while Ransom took care of making the drink, and once it was ready, you passed it over to the man. The man in question took a rather large sip, then promptly spat it out.

“What the fuck is this!” He roared, barely giving you time to react before he proceeded to toss the drink at you, spilling most of the hot content on your apron.

You gasped, gawking down at your scorched and ruined clothing, then up at the customer, who’d turned around with a huff and left, leaving a stream of strong language on his way out. You bit back tears at the whole fiasco, and cringed as both the steamy drink, and your salty tears stung different parts of your body. You turned to look at the barista, who had passed you along the drink, and were met with no other than the white devil himself. It seemed that all the blood had drained from his already otherwise pale face.

“Oh my god, this is all my fault,” he began remorsefully. “Let me make it up to you somehow.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, running a hand through your hair, and shoving Ransom angrily while you more or less stomped into the staff bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and frowned before bringing up your bundled apron to your face and screaming into it. Stupid fucking customers. Stupid fucking job. Stupid fucking Ransom. It’s like he came to your job just to make it hell. You were tired of cleaning up all these messes for him, and honestly, you wish he’d just quit already. The longer you worked with him, the more tempted you were to pour sugar in his gas tank, then take a club and break all the windows in the Beemer.

------

For the next month, your brain was completely elsewhere at work. Your brain was constantly going back and forth with you between finding Ransom hot and horrendous. While the pair of you finished up closing one night, you heard your coworker begin to speak to you as you placed your hand on the keys in your pocket.

“I know you hate me, Y/N. I get it. What that guy did to you was awful, and yes it was my fault, but what else have I done to hurt you?” He asked, seemingly out of the blue. You weren’t even sure how to respond. Ignoring the man and demonizing him in your head had become almost a second nature. “I mean, I think we could’ve been good friends. Even though you seem to think I’m devil incarnate, I think you’re a pretty cool chick-“ he continued before being cut off by you.

“Why do you even care?” you burst out, “Ransom, you just don’t get it do you? You’re just.. a douchebag. I get it, you have your moments where you’re candid and open with people, but half of the time you’re talking, you’re objectifying someone. Or bragging about something you own. Don’t get me wrong, I could get past what you did to me on accident, but you seriously have to work on yourself,” the words just seemed to pour out without your control. “Goodnight, Ransom,” you said simply before leaving the café for the night.

——

Since that day, the tension between you and Ransom had evidently become more thick. Since he was finally finished training with you, you made sure to only speak to him if you absolutely needed to, and even then, you only communicated with him in brief and straightforward answers. Sure, it seemed like a small thing to be upset about, and sure, he’d apologized, but something told you that any excuse to stay away from Ransom was a good excuse.

Though he appeared to be an immoral and selfish man, he seemed genuinely sorry for all that he’d put you through. Occasionally, you’d be sitting in the break room and look up from your phone to see him watching you. When you’d make eye contact, he would look like he wanted to say something to you, but your petty ass would leave, or look back at your phone. He was bad news anyway.

Your boss quickly caught onto what was going on between the two of you, and usually, Melissa didn’t like to participate in petty drama, but your new sour mood was such a stark contrast from before, and it seemed to shift the whole mood of the café.

That afternoon, Melissa called for a team meeting a bit before closing, and suggested a family dinner along with a Secret Santa. She’d said something along the lines of ‘It’s been way too long since we’ve done a team bonding activity, and a gift exchange is perfectly fitting for the Holiday season.’ This did make you perk up, as Melissa had a great taste in restaurants, and you were always down for a good gift exchange.

Melissa then told everyone to write their names down, then put them in a decorative Santa hat. You and your coworkers obliged, then began to pass around the hat once again in order to draw a name. You really hoped to get Xavier. You had the perfect idea of something he’d love. As you drew a piece of paper from the hat, you imagined the matching pair of fluffy socks for a human and dog that you’d passed by during your last trip to Target. You began to unfold it, thinking of what color he might like the most, when you looked down and saw ‘Ransom’ drawn out in chicken scratch.

You tried your best to mask your annoyance at who you received, but on the inside, you were seething. You mentally cursed the universe out while you pulled on your coat, and grimaced to yourself once you got out to your car. How were you supposed to get this asshole a gift?

—-

The week leading up to the exchange went fairly well for you, although it was getting a bit exhausting to be so mad at Ransom all the time. You tried to be less harsh with him, considering you needed to learn more about him in order to get him a somewhat decent gift for your exchange.

He’d seem to have taken your conversation with him to heart, and began to talk less and less about other girls when he was working with you. He didn’t comment on how well your jeans fit you, and you noticed that he’d often overextend himself in order to help you with (pretty basic) daily aspects of the job. Ransom would ask you questions about yourself, and your family, and speak less about himself. If you were honest with yourself, he was becoming a better man. And the best part was, he seemed to be doing it just for you. The thought of which brought heat to your face.

—

On the night of the exchange, you threw on a hideous and scratchy Christmas sweater before picking up your neatly wrapped gift for Ransom. You truly hoped that he’d like it, even though it certainly wasn’t the most expensive item. You bid farewell to your cat, then went on your way to the restaurant. You had to admit, you were a bit late. So it should’ve been no surprise when you arrived, and found that the only seat left at the table was next to Ransom. You gave him a cordial smile before sitting down and ordering yourself a glass of Merlot.

Something about being so close to him was kind of riling you up. The strong timbre sent coming off of him was making your whole body feel slightly warmer than normal, and you tried to ignore this strange sensation while you talked and joked with your coworkers. At one point, Ransom leaned in nice and close to you, and began to speak to you.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as hideous as Karmen’s sweatshirt,” he whispered right into the shell of your ear. Maybe it was the wine talking, but that simple action sent a whole chill through your body, and made you flush even harder than you’d flushed before. You let out a little giggle and nodded in agreement, looking across the table at her very ugly sweater.

“To be fair, the whole point of this was to wear something really ugly,” you turned your head back to where it was before, only to find that Ransom had somehow moved even closer to you.

“I just don’t know where you find something like that,” he commented, gazing much too deep into your eyes. You swore you felt the room shift after he began looking at you like that. There was about a 20% chance that you’d be able to keep your panties on after this kind of exchange. Luckily for you, a waitress broke the tension for you, setting down a few plates for everyone, then bidding them farewell. Damn.

The food was amazing, and didn’t last very long, meaning that it was time to pass gifts around sooner than later. You watched as Amy received a gift card from Sophie, Emily opened a plethora of chocolates gifted to her by Melissa, and Xander whiffed a candle given to him by Kennedy, then, it was your turn. You glanced around the table before you felt the arm next to you reach down, then hand you an oversized gift bag.

“I hope you like it,” Ransom said with a shy smile. You casually felt your cheeks on your way to pull out the very large item. You found it was a very large, and soft, hand knit blanket. It looked like it could’ve cost a small fortune, and you immediately found yourself embarrassed.

“Oh wow. This is perfect! Thank you so much,” you grinned over at your coworker, who seemed to be blushing himself. “Well, I guess I should probably give you this then,” you chuckled awkwardly before passing him your wrapped package. He tore it open barbarically, then began to laugh. Of all the gifts in the world, you two had gotten each other somewhat similar items. Sure, it wasn’t hand knit with the love of some grandma who ran a small business on Etsy, but it was the thought that counts.

“I love it, Y/N,” he exclaimed, looking deep into your eyes once again. He ran his fingers through the soft fabric, then set a hand on your arm. In that moment, it felt like time stopped. It was just you two, sitting in a quiet room, enjoying the presence of each other. You don’t even know what had gotten into you, but before you knew it, you felt a nose pressed up against yours, and a billion butterflies erupt out of your stomach. You heard a few grimaces from your coworkers at the sappy, Hallmark-like moment but what could you say.

Maybe Ransom was not that bad after all.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 12)

A/n: I would like to apologize for not marking warnings on each part like I should have been. I get too excited to post and skip over them on accident. I’ll do my best to add them from here on! Also, I was adding the warnings as I wrote but then they didn’t save so I tried to remember them as best I could. If I forgot anything, I sincerely apologize.

Warnings: Recounting past trauma (physical abuse, homophobia), explicit talk of death, badly handling others’ trauma, light smut (foreplay: slapping, choking, degradation, daddy kink, handcuff restraining, brat/dom dynamic, punishing, teasing, masterbation)

Word Count: 5200+

MASTERLIST

The air was so thick with tension that a knife could have cut through it. No matter how much Harley was fighting his instincts to lounge and be himself - the self Jeremiah was used to, at the very least - he felt like he had to be the self he used to be. The one Bruce was expecting. Jeremiah knew Harley was trying too hard, and Jeremiah was far too easy to read - which meant that Bruce knew too. So Harley sat there trying to behave and Bruce sat there brimming with suspicion and pain and hesitation and Jeremiah sat between the two boys, wishing this had never happened and he could just escape the two brothers who seemed seconds from either running or fighting.

Echo, as if sent from God, walked into the room with a pitcher of water. They were at Jeremiah's instead of Wayne manor as Harley had absolutely no intention of being back there or anywhere near Alfred. The butler was far too good at accepting change, which meant that the man might pick up on the fact that Harley was no longer Y/n and the whole thing would fall apart. Honestly, it seemed like so much work. Harley wasn't sure why this plan was so important but Jerome was feeding off of it so Harley did it anyway because he'd said he would. If this is where Jerome lead, Harley would follow.

"So," Echo cut into the silence as she walked around pouring drinks. "How is everyone this evening?"

Harley smiled at her, amused. She was poorly hiding a sort of awkward expression that was dashed with a little humor. She was mocking them in her head; Harley could almost hear what she was thinking. A bunch of dumb boys sitting around a table unable to swallow their pride. Idiots. "Oh you know," Harley mumbled casually, shrugging. "Indulging." He motioned to his food but his words were obviously directed at the ambiance.

"Having a good time?" Echo asked.

"Not at all," Harley immediately answered with the same casual, chipper tone. Jeremiah choked on his drink as he laughed at the exchange. The humor delivered saltiness in Harley's voice and the passive aggressive mocking in Echo's had always been an exchange that could make Jeremiah chuckle at least a little. Echo and Harley were very good at banter and it lightened the mood significantly every time they went at it. After all, it was just in good fun. Bruce seemed to relax as a smile curled everyone else's lips. "So... Harley." His lips seemed to want to reject the name.

Harley's smile dropped. Hearing Bruce call him that made him uncomfortable. Not just because he was nervous about Bruce not calling him Y/n as he had all up until this point but because he had cut Bruce out of this new life very purposefully and now... he was in it anyway. "Yes?"

Echo sighed and left the room as she sensed Harley jerk back, even with her attempt to loosen everyone up. Jeremiah focused on his food. Bruce looked at Harley but Harley did not look back, instead choosing to stare at the door Echo had gone through. "Why Harley?"

That was an easy question. "When I was in Arkham, a few of the guards used to beat the shit out of me every single day to try and convince me to be straight." Harley looked Bruce in the eye when he said this, completely calm. He had long since gotten over it. "They even put me in isolation to keep me away from people who might protect me or care about me."

"Jerome." Bruce didn't form it like a question.

Harley answered anyway. "Yes. But see this is a smaller world than everyone thought and my therapist, Harleen Quinzel, became my friend instead. She's like me, but for girls." Bruce nodded, accepting that. "They couldn't kill me without having to mark me as a loss. That and they'd have lost their punching bag. To teach me a lesson, they killed her. And then made sure the TV that was never supposed to be on the news would be on the news, on just the channel and at just the time that would allow me to see her bloody, bruised, cold, dead body strewn out for the public to see. And no one gave a single shit because no crimes in Gotham get solved unless someone important is involved. And even then- well, you know first hand."

Bruce's expression grew very dark. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," Harley purred, still eating as if he was talking about the weather.

Jeremiah has stopped eating. "People are really like that?" His voice was small and his eyes moved to Bruce, his hands tightening around his silverware as if picturing Bruce's face cold and dead and staring at him through a TV. Bruce felt his eyes and looked back to Jeremiah, but the red head averted his gaze to Harley instead. "I mean, people really act like that just because of... how someone loves?"

Harley nodded, swallowing the food in his mouth. It tasted like sand but he kept eating it. It made him feel powerful to while the others in the room had forgotten their food altogether. Although... Perhaps he hadn't chewed it as well as he thought because it felt as if it had gotten stuck somewhere along the way. A thick lump had lodged for a second and a sick feeling had settled in the bottom of his stomach. He hadn't thought about that image in so long... the daily bearings and the isolation and the one ray of light he'd gotten being extinguished and displayed because he had dared to be himself and therefore allowed her to do the same. Because they were different than how most people were.

"Do you know who did it?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah." That didn't seem to be the answer Bruce was expecting. "This isn't great table conversation," Harley eased, changing the subject. "But that is why I go by Harley. Do you like it?"

Bruce shrugged. "Do you still go by Wayne?"

Internally, Harley sighed. "Harley Quinn."

At that Bruce nodded. "You're not coming back are you?"

Harley laughed dryly. "You're not very good at casual, light conversation are you Brucey?"

"Don't call me that," Bruce snapped, body going stiff.

Rolling his eyes, Harley sat back in his seat. "Why not?" It came out harsher than Harley had meant it.

Meeting hostility with hostility, Bruce got angry as well. "Because that's what Jerome called me, and after how many times he tried to kill me it's not a name I like."

"Get over it," Harley sneered. "It's just a name and we're in Gotham. Trauma is kind of a part of life here. Adapt or get trampled."

Bruce jerked back. "Get over it? Since when are you...?" He trailed off, as if hesitating, before his face set and he finished his sentence with a much harder tone. "Like Jerome."

Harley felt his knuckles turn white. "Stop saying that like it's a bad thing." "It is!" Bruce hissed.

Harley shot to his feet, dropping his silverware on the table. Jeremiah flinched but Harley didn't notice. Bruce did. "Look, Jerome is fucked up and dark and broken. He doesn't have a grip on reality or know how to human because he wasn't fucking treated like one. He killed people. He was crazy and insane and unhinged and dangerous. Yeah! You know what else he was? He was understanding and accepting. He got why people lived their lives differently than he did and didn't really judge anyone, ever. He thought they were boring and chose to live differently, sure, but he lived to make people laugh and have fun. Maybe his sense of fun was fucked up, but he genuinely just wanted people to laugh along with him for once. He didn't hide who he really was. He wasn't ashamed. He didn't shun me and shove me in a corner and try to change me. He accepted who I was. He CELEBRATED me. I'd rather be with him than at this stupid fucking dinner or anywhere near you because I'm not some poor gay boy who needs saving. I'm strong and I matter and I FINALLY love myself, and you won't ever take that away from me because you see self respect and see Jerome because no one taught you that you are more important than everyone else. I refuse to sit here and let you try and turn me into some pathetic whiny brooding mess who's never happy because my priorities are fucked up. I won't be you. That isn't my goal anymore."

The room was dead quiet. For a long time, no one said anything. The brothers just stared each other down until Bruce shook his head. "Perhaps this was a bad idea."

Jeremiah pinched the bridge of his nose. "You guys are idiots." The other two in the room looked at the red head with shock. "My brother is dead, and honest to god it's a relief that he is. He's out of my life and I'm safe from him. I never had the chance to have a real relationship with him. I used to read the newspaper about your family and think that you guys were some kind of dream. Two brothers that loved each other despite everything and parents that were like... actually good people on any level." He sighed. "Obviously I was wrong. You're too busy trying to make him how he used to be." This he directed at Bruce. "And you're too busy hurting and bottling up your emotions and pushing everyone away to let anyone care about you or see the real you." This was for Harley. Jeremiah didn't stop when both other boys went to speak though. "Just shut up and make this work because you guys are the only true family you each have left. Harley, you grew up and I have to say you wear your changes very well. You're happier and sturdier and if someone isn't happy about that then they're insane. Right, Bruce?"

The Wayne boy hesitated before giving in. "Yeah. I am happy for you. I should have started with that. I just... I'm scared for you."

"Why?" Harley demanded, exasperated.

"Because I don't want you to become Jerome. I don't want you to end up like that. I don't want you to be some criminal, when you used to be the best person I knew. You said your life goal used to be being like me? No. I wanted so much to be like you. You couldn't speak about a huge part of you, but you accepted it with the knowledge no one else ever would. I refused to even look at the fact that I'm attracted to guys until you and Jerome got together and then..." his eyes shot to Jeremiah and then back. "Things happened and- and you were always so bright and happy and free. Like a bird in flight or- something." He shook his head. "You were inspiring, Y/n. Seeing you like this... it looks like you've been broken. And I just want to bring back that light you had before. When you seemed so much happier."

"I'm not broken." Harley looked at the boy who was supposed to be his brother. The boy who used to be his best friend before one lie after another had pulled them further and further apart until they were on completely opposite sides. Secrets had torn their relationship up into so many little bits it could never be repaired. They were just too different now. "I'm not lost or struggling. I'm just not... sitting there and pretending all the bad things aren't happening. The friends I have now actually like and respect me as a person, not just because I'm Y/n Wayne. I'm myself, proudly, and I wear my experiences as a reminder of what I can endure. Things hurt less. What you see isn't some poor boy waiting to be saved. It's darkness. And maybe that scares you, because you're used to hiding your darkness. But darkness, Bruce, isn't a bad thing. Darkness is what makes us who we are. Like everything it can be used as a weapon, but Darkness itself isn't dangerous. What you do with it is."

Bruce considered that for a long time. "That... is a good point."

Jeremiah released a breath. "So... truce?" The boys looked at each other before shrugging. Harley sat back down. Jeremiah seemed pleased. "Okay, now lets talk about something a little more pleasant."

"So you mean literally anything other than what any of us have been up to recently?" Harley sassed. Jeremiah shot him a look. "Okay fine whatever." He searched for some light conversation. "So you guys are like boyfriends now or what?"

That seemed to make Bruce and Jeremiah both blush and the air in the room cleared significantly. Harley pulled off being cheery and invested as he teased and prodded and asked questions and engaged. Things almost seemed like they used to be when Bruce and Y/n would sit with their parents and Bruce mentioned a girl and Y/n would go off about how he was going to be the best man or the world would surely end... but Harley wasn't Y/n and Jeremiah wasn't their parents. This wasn't Wayne Manor and as good of a server as Echo was, she wasn't a butler. She wasn't Alfred.

Under the light tone, Harley formed a plan. A plan he carried out as he and Bruce began to hang out more and more as time passed that night and stretched for a while. Jerome became nocturnal in favor of being awake when Harley finally returned at home. The boys would spend some time together and then sleep and then Harley would wake up and go out and spend time with Bruce and Jeremiah again. Slowly the time with the other boys began to cut into Harley's time with Jerome and both he and Harley were getting restless. They'd begun arguing about it.

"Stay in tonight," Jerome whined.

"Bruce wants me to come back to Wayne manor tonight." Harley sighed, an odd expression on his face. "I've finally earned his trust and am getting along with him - as much as it pains me. I think Jeremiah is talking to him when I'm not around, convincing him to behave and respect my boundaries. He calls me Harley and has stopped expecting me to be the person I used to be. I don't know, I think he'll be enough to convince Alfred though I might have to try a tad harder." He rubbed his forehead. "Soon I'm sure I'll be chummy with them again and that'll definitely lead to interacting with all of Bruce's friends - which will be a whole other adventure of its own."

Jerome huffed. "If you're going back to Wayne manor, won't Bruce want you to move back in?"

The thought had occurred to Harley if he was being honest. Where did he draw the line in being buddy buddy with his brother again? Where did he stop things? How far did Jerome want him to go? "Probably," Harley voiced, shrugging. There was a long pause. Jerome was more guarded than he usually was and it set Harley on edge. When the red head did speak, it was in a dangerously quiet tone. "Would you go?"

"W- would you want me to?" Harley was distracted by the way Jerome's Adam's Apple moved when he swallowed.

Jerome hummed. "So this is still about what I want?"

That made Harley defensive. "You think I'm dealing with my arrogant brother because I want to?" It had a biting edge to it.

"And what about my brother?" Jerome pushed.

Now Harley was confused. "Jerome I did all of this for you. To convince them you were dead so you'd be free to have some free time and then make your grand entrance whenever you wanted to. I did this because you asked me to." Jerome rolled his eyes. "You've been gone a lot. You come home... lighter. You enjoy your time with them."

"I'm sorry, you WANT me to come home miserable?" Harley sneered, his hands coiling into fists.

Jerome's eyes darkened. Harley realized what was happening. Before he could react, Jerome's hand shot out, fingers curling around Harley's throat. Jerome pressed his boyfriend against the closest wall, his face close and words sharp like knives. "You're getting angry again. Talking to me like that, as if I'm one of our dumb brothers or that blonde idiot Jeremiah carries around. You might have been gone for a while now, but SURELY not long enough to have forgotten to respect me."

Harley gasped, eyes fluttering closed. Jerome's grip wasn't dangerous but it could go that way if Harley wasn't careful. Jerome only ever got like this when he was frustrated. Usually when he was bored and wanted to do something other than sit around. To be fair, he was cooped up which was something he HATED to be. He hated feeling trapped. And on top of that Harley had been spending less and less time around the place. It was a miracle the redhead had behaved so long. Harley had spent more nights with Jeremiah, talking to Bruce so late into the night and fake catching up and playing nice that it was just easier for them both stay at Jeremiah's. Alfred had even gotten used to a simple text from Bruce letting the older man know where he was and that he was safe. If Bruce wasn't home by 10pm Alfred had come to expect that he wouldn't be back at all. It had become a sort of habit.

Perhaps Harley had been a tad neglectful.

He sighed, letting his guard down and releasing all the tension he'd gained from being around Bruce. Jerome didn't deserve this. "I'm sorry, you're right." Jerome didn't let up. "Oh so you shoot me puppy dog eyes and say sorry and that's supposed to be it?" Harley could feel his insides warming as Jerome grew closer, the air in the room slowly becoming infected with sexual tension. The sudden mood change was hard for Y/n to switch gears to, even though he was immediately eager. "You've forgotten who you belong to."

"I-"

Jerome's hand tightened on Harley's throat, cutting off any attempt to speak. "What was that?" Harley coughed a little as the initial shock took him off guard. His eyes fluttered but he could still breathe which is what mattered. "Come on, Harley. Come on, Y/n." Harley jerked at the name. "Is that what you want me to call you? Is that who you want to be?"

Harley wasn't dealing with that shit. His body jerked, arms wrapping around Jerome. He pulled hard, twisting to turn Jerome around so he'd have to let Harley go, or risk hurting his arm. As predicted, Jerome let go. Harley twisted their bodies with extreme force, pushing Jerome's face into the wall aggressively. "What the fuck did you call me?" He growled. The words were raw from his throat being a little sore. It made Jerome smile. "Answer me. Now." Harley let his free hand thread into Jerome's hair. He pulled, the red head squirming underneath him as it began to hurt. "I said, now."

"I called you Y/n," Jerome answered softly. His tone was half reluctance and half defiance. He didn't want to answer Harley like he'd been told to, but saying the name again did give him power.

Harley leaned back, pulling Jerome away from the wall just by his hair. He dragged him over to the bed. "Kneel. Now." Jerome was giggling as Y/n hurt him, getting off on the pain. "NOW, Valeska!" Jerome smirked, taking his precious time with following the order. When he was down, Y/n maneuvered his face into the bed. "Stay there. If you move, I will know and you will be punished. I will be back in a moment." He left Jerome there, ducking out of the bedroom to the trunk in the bathroom, shoved in the closet. He opened it, pushing around some things they'd collected in their time together. This was the stuff they used when things got more kinky. Handcuffs Jerome had gotten from cops even before he and Y/n were together. Rope from a construction sight. Some things were specifically from sex stores - stolen of course.

Ignoring most of it, Harley grabbed the handcuffs and went back into the room. He returned to see Jerome had indeed moved. In fact he was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. He was smirking at Harley, a dare in his eyes. The red head seemed to be expecting Harley to lose his shit, but Harley didn't. Instead, he got very still, thinking. That seemed to actually make Jerome nervous.

Slipping the handcuffs into his back pocket, Harley slowly approached Jerome. His eyes cut into Jerome's soul, his jaw so tightly shut that Jerome shivered. "What, you think you're going to look at me and-?"

Jerome didn't get to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, unexpectedly, Harley backhanded Jerome, causing the sitting boy's head to snap to the side. The red head was shocked, but found his stomach twisting with the familiar sensation of arousal. This wasn't like when he was a kid. Harley was calm and controlled - even his hit was direct. There was a safety in the way that Harley controlled himself. Jerome didn't fear him. It left room to enjoy what was happening. Harley gripped Jerome's jaw, bringing the red head's brown eyes around to meet his. "What did I say when I left the room, Jerome?" Harley not using a pet name in a sexual situation made Jerome shift nervously. Was Harley actually mad? "You told me not to move."

Harley released a breath, smirking as he got turned on just by getting Jerome to answer his question without being pushed. When Jerome was being bratty, he refused Harley any amount of control. So when he let up even the smallest amount, it never failed to excite Harley. "And what did you do?" Unwilling to let Harley win twice in a row, Jerome shrugged. Harley slapped him again. The red head blinked, breathing sharply outward as he felt the stinging on his face. "I moved."

A hum came from Harley as he stood, crossing his arms. "You know I had to punish you for using the wrong name, but it was going to be pretty light. Now..." Jerome shivered under that look - like Harley was trying to figure just how to kill him. "I'm going to take your clothes off Jerome. If you fight me, you'll get immediate punishment do you understand?" Jerome nodded. Harley rose an eyebrow.

"Yes, Daddy."

That seemed to please Harley. He stopped glaring at least. First Harley removed Jerome's shirt. Then he gently nudged Jerome, and the redhead followed the flow and laid back on the bed. Harley then removed his pants, and his socks one at a time. Slowly. Jerome felt himself get antsy. "Do you want something, baby?" Harley asked evenly.

"I'm fine," Jerome responded.

Unfortunately for him, his erection gave him away. "You don't want me to do... anything?" Harley asked again, pausing to look at Jerome very carefully.

The redhead looked back for a long time, a battle happening between the two men. Jerome lost. "Jesus Christ Harley, touch me."

That got Harley to smile. "Ask nicely J, or I'm going to have to punish you." Jerome went to glare but Harley reached up, threading his fingers through Jerome's hair and pulling roughly. "Listen here bitch, I'm not here to mess around. You're going to listen to me or you're going to regret it, understand?" They had come a long way since having sex in a cell and trying to keep quiet. Back then, Harley had fumbled and blushed a lot and been overwhelmed very easily. Back then, Jerome would stretch out, getting comfortable as he bossed Harley around - a true power bottom. Or, he would top, and then he'd get very soft and quiet and affectionate... Well, compared to how he usually was when he was impossible to please and degrading to an extent that had driven Harley insane.

Now adays, things were different. There was a huge power play between the two men constantly, and endlessly pushing buttons. What would often happen was that Harley would be a bit of a brat but otherwise let Jerome blow off steam, unless it was a day that Jerome desperately wanted Harley to "take hold and ruin" him. A direct quote from the ginger. On those days, Jerome did what he did best: he kept talking. He said all the things he knew would piss off Harley the most, like calling him by his old name. He would make Harley snap and then Harley would retaliate exactly how he wanted.

Not today.

"Fuck, you're such a baby," Jerome grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I'm bored with you playing daddy, I already know all your moves and we both know that you're just going to give me what I want anyways. You're a soft top, Sweetheart." He was smirking, proudly flaunting the power he usually had over Harley.

Today though, Jerome had pushed him too much. After all the shit he'd gone through with Jeremiah and Bruce, hearing Jerome call him Y/n had pushed him in a way that had sent him over the edge. And if he was being honest, he had his own frustrations. He wanted to run free as much as Jerome did and break things and scream as loudly as he wanted and sock his stupid brother in his face any time he dare even mention Jerome's name in Harley's presence. He was tired of behaving. He was tired of feeling like some toy. He was tired of being used. He was really, REALLY fucking tired of being ignored, too.

Harley's smile was dangerous. Jerome looked at him, unsure of what was going through the other boy's head. "You know, you have a little too much attitude for someone who's currently desperate for me to touch him. You want something from me? You need to learn some respect." Harley reached over, grabbing Jerome's wrist and forcing it toward the top of the bed. It happened so fast that only when Harley had used one cuff to get Jerome's right hand, and then had threaded the second cuff through the bars at the head of the bed, did Jerome react.

"HEY!"

At the outburst, Harley didn't hesitate to slap Jerome again. The redhead gasped, body shivering. He would absolutely never admit it, but this kind of aggression had always turned him on, when he was comfortable with the person. He'd wanted someone to be like this with him for ages, but not many people were willing to go far enough to please Jerome Valeska. By the way Harley was looking at him right now, this time might be different.

"I didn't give you permission to speak. Granted, I didn't tell you to shut up either so I'll be forgiving, but if you shout at me one more time you will regret it." He gripped Jerome's other wrist, cuffing that as well. Now Jerome's hands were over his head, trapped by the cuffs and the bar. "If you want to say something, I want you to address me first. I will allow you to continue then. Or I will not." Jerome hesitated, then nodded, intrigued by this side of Harley even he had not the pleasure of exploring before.

What came next surprised Jerome. Harley didn't take him right there, rough and hot. He didn't move slowly around and tease until Jerome wa a desperate mess of begs and whimpers. Harley didn't touch him at all. In fact, he moved off of the bed completely. He left the room even, returning a moment with a chair. Only then did he undo his own clothes, only lowering his pants enough to allow himself access his erection. He didn't even pull his pants off all the way! Jerome felt completely exposed, tied up and naked for viewing pleasure, when Harley was so far away and completely dressed.

To Jerome's intense frustration, Harley sat down on the chair and began stroking himself, eyes on Jerome. Harley's eyes were wide and lust blown, his tongue flicking out every once in a while to wet his lips. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut and his head tilted back just a little as a small moan came from him.

Jerome shifted. He was getting uncomfortable with how long he'd been hard without being touched, and watching Harley be like this was not helping. Jerome really liked to be involved in sexual acts. He had gotten rather pouty anytime Harley was caught masterbating, and there had been an unspoken rule that Harley didn't really restrain Jerome for stuff like this. If Harley wanted to be touched, Jerome would touch him. They both preferred it that way. This was ridiculous, and frankly rude. Jerome wasn't going to give Harley the upper hand. This was a low blow and he wasn't going to let Harley get away with it.

As Harley continued though, getting more into it and completely ignoring Jerome, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his mouth shut. Trying to play it off like he didn't care as much as he did, Jerome finally spoke up. It had seemed an eternity for him, but it had actually only been a few seconds and Harley had to swallow his smile to not give himself away. "Okay Harley, very funny. Let me touch you. I'm sorry I called you the other name. You know I can do this better than you can. Let me out." When Harley continued to ignore Jerome, the cuffed ginger raised his voice. "LET ME OUT!"

"Why?" Harley growled, eyes finally on Jerome again. "Because you told me to? Because you asked me to?" He stood, pulling his pants up again. "I'm not your little bitch Jerome, you're mine. You want to kill someone? Fine. You want to steal or break something? Fine! But you don't call me by that name. You don't mess with me, because I'm all you got. If you want me to leave, you ask like a big kid."

Jerome's lips twitched, slowly rising into a smile. "Are you actually mad at me?"

Harley grinned. "No, not really." They both cracked up, losing it for a few extended seconds. Then Harley cut off and Jerome faded into quiet, soft chuckles as Harley began to speak. "I respect you, J. My little joker." He moved towards the bed, caressing Jerome's cheek. The ginger leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. He fed off of the contact, as if it was a drug or he was starving and the gesture fed him. Harley smiled softly. "You gotta respect me too. You don't have to piss me off to get me to break you, joker. All you have to do is ask me nicely, like a good boy. Do all the bad things you want. But not to me."

A sigh escaped Jerome, and then he finally gave in. "If I behave will you let me out? I want you to touch me. Please."

That pleased Harley. "That's what I wanted to hear." He leaned back a little, eyes scanning Jerome's exposed body. "I will let you out. And then it's time to play for real." His eyes glinted with a darkness that made Jerome jerk in expectation. Needless to say, Harley didn't disappoint.

-

Story Tags: @wanna-plan-world-domination​

[oikaw-ugh]

HI told u im gonna req smth 👀 may i request headcanons of oikawa, bokuto, and tsukki catching their crush (or s/o, u choose!!) sing and play their guitar in secret? 💞 no pressure 😗 thank you very much!!! -🥧 (i think u'll know who's this tho HASHAAHA)

+ omg forgot to mention: i chose them since they're kinda the expressive/teasing type so if that interaction happens with the reader that would be LOVELY 💞 THANK U AGAIN -🥧

OMG WHO IS THIS 👁️👄👁️ I'M KIDDING AND YES I DEFINITELY KNOW YOU UWU 🥺✨

Oikawa, Bokuto, and Tsukki catching their s/o sing and play their guitar in secret.

God knows how much I love to write but I CRINGED WITH THE OVERFLOWING KILIG 'CAUSE SOMEONE REQUESTED (AGAIN) AND I'M EXPLODING!

I'm actually very nervous right now but anxiousness and procrastination is my profession so 👁️👄👁️

Oikawa Tooru

Ah, my first love.

Oikawa, after his volleyball practice, went to your classroom to fetch you since you didn't really like watching his practices and matches with all the fangirls around 👀

Usually, group of students tend to stay at their classrooms after class to finish stuff or just to chill (so me) so most likely, you’re never alone.

So Oikawa is surprised upon arriving at your room only to see you all alone as you sit on the teacher's table with this guitar on your lap.

You actually brought your guitar for a group performance in a subject (JHS feels ✨)

"Ikaw ang Binibini na ninanais ko" kidding. You definitely sang an english love song not that HAHAHAHAHA (sorry LSS)

He didn't announce his arrival, you know? He hid his self at the doorway, staring at you (like a stalker-) as you drown yourself with your guitar and your voice.

Listening to you was 👌 so good and before you knew it, you earned yourself a fan.

Silently, he took his phone and was aiming to record your guitar session.

But lmao Tooru had the flash on his cam on

Surprised, you looked at the doorway, only to see your boyfriend peeping like a creep.

"Tooru, what are you doing?"

"I was trying to record you." 👁️👄👁️

The fact that your boyfriend saw you playing the guitar and singing made you blush. You placed your guitar on the table-

"No! No! No! Don't stop, Y/N!" Oikawa stops you as he runs towards you.

"But it's embrassing"

Now he's mad at you. He glues his hands in his hips like a mother, "Non-sense! You're so good, you can pass as an artist!"

That makes you more embarrassed honestly but he keeps on showering you praises to the point that you can no longer tell if they were real or just bluff.

He will definitely bug you to continue playing your guitar even though you made excuses but he's not buying them.

"Play this song!" "Do you know this song?" "Play this song next!" He says that while his phone is recording you.

In the end, it became a live performance of you and Oikawa as your audience. He has this grin in his face as he rests his chin in his palms, the other hand holding his phone, looking as if he is being lulled with your voice and your guitar.

After he's finally had enough of listening to you, he'd give you a tight hug after you zipped up your guitar case. Kissing the top of your head, he'd shower you praises again as if the praises earlier weren't enough.

"You're so good, Y/N, you should've told me you can sing and play the guitar." "I'm gonna brag about this to Iwa-chan and the rest tomorrow." "Can I post your video at my IG?"

Bokuto Koutarou

Another first love

Singing and playing the guitar are hobbies you don't really share with other people.

But when your classmate brought their guitar to school, you couldn't help but to give in to the urge to borrow.

Your classmates were totally in awe as they hear you sing and play. This makes you feel so flustered but sistz, we stan an individual who shows the world their talent! 🥺✨

Anyways, it has became a ritual for you and your boyfriend, Bokuto, to eat lunch together at your room. Most of your classmates eat at the cafeteria and Bokuto hated the thought of you eating alone so...

Waiting for Bokuto to arrive, you took your classmates' guitar and started to get familiar with it by playing simple chords and humming in to a familiar song.

"Oh, Binibini, just touch my body" kidding(2) you're singing a love song.

Getting in to it, you kind of forgot that you were in your classroom and not in your room. So the moment you heard Bokuto's energetic scream, you felt your soul try to astral project.

"Y/N! You actually play the guitar?!" Bokuto screamed as he ran towards you.

"Yes, Ko-"

"PLAY A SONG!"

"But, Ko-".

"PLAY THIS SONG! PLAY THIS SONG!"

In the end, you couldn't help but to give in, especially with how persistent Bokuto is. You started playing the chords of a familiar song.

"Sa 'yo lang ako babayo" HAHAHAHA JOKE LANG. AKOLANGBANANDIDIRISAKANTANGTO?

You couldn't see it but Bokuto is in awe with how beautiful you sang and how good you were at playing your guitar.

He falls silent as he takes the empty chair beside yours, scooting as close as he could next to you so he can hear your voice clearer.

"Ko?" You asked him when you stopped playing and yet his wide eyes are still staring at you.

The heaven knows how Bokuto was so close to switching to his emo mode when you no longer sang. But in the end, he thought of an InCrEdIbLe idea:

"Y/N, I think you should be the one playing at our wedding." 👁️👄👁️

Now this makes you laugh as you blush with his sudden suggestion.

He insists you sing another song but you reprimanded by saying you two haven't eaten your lunches yet. He had his arguments set but in the end you won.

Or so you thought. Because the moment you two started eating, he didn't stop asking you questions about this new discovery of his.

"When did you start playing and singing?" "Who taught you to sing and play?" "Do you love it?" "Do you have fun?"

"Why do you have the voice of an angel?"

Even when you two headed out of your room to buy yourselves some drinks, he still was asking you and giving you ridiculously cute ridiculous ideas.

"You should play during our matches next time!"

"But, Ko, that would be in the gym and it would be too loud for you to hear."

"I'll make the crowd stop cheering for me!"

Tsukishima Kei

This salty boy is a bully. Periodt.

So when he went to your place upon receiving your text and caught you strumming your guitar, instead of expressing his shock, he'd mock you instead.

"Eh? You know how to play that?"

You abruptly look at your doorstep only to see Tsukishima leaning lazily on the frame, his arms crossed.

You stopped from strumming and you placed your guitar on your side.

Now Tsukki scrunches his nose, "Why stop? Afraid to show me how bad you are?" He teases.

It's one of his strategic ways of making you do it without him having to confess that he wanted to hear more.

You rolled your eyes as you took your guitar again, willing to prove Tsukki's wordsare wrong. You strummed your guitar and started singing:

"Inisip ko kung bakit ganito ang langit, nilayo ako sa 'yo" (JEJEMON DAYS UGH) JOKE THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU'RE SINGING. YOU'RE PROLLY SINGING AN INDIE SONG OR WHAT.

Immersing yourself on your guitar as you sing, you didn't even notice how Tsukki is already on the floor, his legs crossed, head lazily leaning on his palms as he tries to look unimpressed.

He wanted to take a video so bad but he's already made an impression that he hates it and he's not letting his pride go down so he enjoys you perform instead, casually wobbling your head with the beat, finding your voice perfect with the song.

He was so into your voice he didn't even notice you already stopped, with a teasing grin in your lips as you look down on him.

Tsukki: 👁️👄👁️ (I'm sorry for excessively using this emoji I just love it, it's such a mood)

"So? How was it?" You asked.

Tsukki looks away, hiding his blushing ears, "Fine. Fine for a beginner." He said that sarcastically but you knew better.

You were about to get rid of your guitar for real this time when he stopped you.

"Play..." He said, barely audible.

"Huh?" You.

"Play it one more time," he says, fishing for his phone, "I want to record it."

You blushed. Tsukki must've noticed how you got flustered with his words 'cause he has casts this offending look in his face again.

"I'll...record how bad you are, dummy."

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Seven

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

frightened by my feelings

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ a/n: i'm so sorry for the long wait! i've been in a mood.

☽ warnings: internalized homophobia

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

Alberto broke away from Giulia's hand clasped in his own and listened to their steps (his silent, always barefoot but Giulia's sandals slapped the boards unpleasantly) up the rickety staircase to the hallway. Mismatched pairs of socks and a few pencil shavings led them off in a distinct line to Alberto's room, ending at his door, a sign to anyone else in the house that Alberto had been rummaging through the downstairs cupboards at night; whereas Giulia's room opposite his, clean when she wanted it to be, teeming with school books and Machi's homemade cat toys and plant life, had no such trail.

"You know, come to think of it, this makes much more sense now," Giulia mused, her eyes fixed on her toes as Alberto abruptly stopped them at the doorway to his room.

Alberto felt a headache start to blossom beneath his eyelids, above his browbone. A throb with no rhythm but all the more pain to make up for it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the steadying weight of the doorframe pressing on his shoulder as he leaned on it. Giulia knew, but she...also didn't. A tiny fleck marked the frame and only became apparent in his blurry vision, just a chip on the wood. Stripped of paint and sticking out against the cream walls in an ugly slash.

He trailed his thumb along the divot, feeling the splinters biting underneath his calloused hand. Giulia was still talking, ignoring his silence. The tension only grew the longer Alberto hovered at the door, refusing to open it and let all of those things come seeping out, with Giulia's smug remarks making the pain reach a high point.

"...I'm not nearly as obvious about, uh, my thing as you are. I don't go painting pictures of him--which I'm almost positive you do, by the way. Oh! And Papa's camera? You took photos, too? Santa mozzarella, Alberto, this is just like a soap opera--"

Alberto's thumbnail dug into the wood. "Yeah, okay Giulia, we get it. You're such a genius or whatever for knowing my secrets, alright? Will you ever shut up?"

Giulia blinked, losing some of that teasing glint in her eyes, but only for a moment. She stood up straighter and examined Alberto's pained expression and his half-stance, shouldered up on the wallpaper so he didn't faint from fear. She yanked his forearm away from the divot in the doorframe and pulled it forward, propelling them into Alberto's room without any other notice.

"Wait! Giulia! It's-It's very messy in here! I wouldn't want you having a heart attack or something..." Alberto rambled, flinging free of her grip once again to run ahead of her.

Always in the lead, scrambling to kick his discarded bath towel under the bed, and the rush of feelings that surged with it. The photos. The pictures were still on the dresser, and Giulia was standing by the bed, so that saved him at least a few agonizing minutes. While she grimaced at his crumpled sheets, pinching her nose and complaining of the fish smell, Alberto shied away from her gaze, laughing nervously and edged closer to the dresser.

"Honestly, Alberto," Giulia picked up his comforter, then wrinkled her nose in disgust and it flew from her fingers. "Haven't you heard of airing out your bedroom? The window is literally right here."

He glanced over Giulia's shoulder at the harbor beyond, thinking she should be at work. They should both be at work, or working, or doing at least something. "Don't like it."

"Don't like the window?" A piece of dirty laundry, another item under close sibling scrutiny, was dropped from her hands. Giulia turned from the wall and smirked unconvincingly at Alberto's palms outstretched along the top of the dresser, practically leaning on it for dear life.

He tried to clear his throat, but it was dry. Everything in his room was dry. The towel from the night before was cast under his bed, stiff as old citrus. The empty glass behind him, the tiny ring of water that clung to the bottom now dried up. Definitely what had happened hours before had nothing to do with what was already drying inches below his belt. God, he needed a shower to scrub off the memories. No, sear them off his skin.

Stop. Don't think of that.

"No! I, uh--" Alberto closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again, that headache never seeming to go away. "I don't...like...the boats."

That was mostly true. He just didn't like some boats in particular, the ones that hunted down sea monsters and pried the scales from their bodies as if they were gold flecks. He didn't mind giving up the salty nighttime breeze for peace of mind. What he didn't want to sacrifice, however, was the lingering (stifling) smell of Luca's scales clinging to his bedsheets and in the bathroom, with the door constantly open, a heady ocean candle that was never snuffed out.

"Pfft! You liar, you basically live on a boat you work so much. What about it could you possibly not like?" She tried a new tactic, no longer rooting through article after offensive article of boyish mess, and instead picked apart the uneasy smile in Alberto's upturned lips, evident in the sweat along his temple.

Her dark eyes roamed over Alberto, looking up at the wall then back down to his sprawled arms and aching shoulders, realization dawning. "You're...stalling! Hah! Think changing the subject will do you any good when you're around me, eh?"

Giulia marched over to Alberto, who even hunched back to conceal the contents of the dresser was taller by a few inches.

"You're hiding something, aren't you?" Giulia whispered, her voice once dripping with an easygoing slyness that only came with being siblings. But now, she steeled her eyes over Alberto's shoulder, freckled and tanned and nicked with fishing scars, searching but said nothing else.

Alberto slid his tongue along the rough roof of his mouth, tasting salt. He winced at Giulia's tender fingertips brushing over the top of his shoulders to reach for something outside of his vision, but by the feather-light intake of breath that Giulia did a poor job at hiding, he knew exactly what she had found. One photo turned to two, then three, and soon Giulia was thumbing through all of them like the old card deck they always managed to misplace on late nights.

"Luca," Giulia murmured softly, the polaroids pinched between her shaking fingers. She said his name, and the grapefruit that Massimo had held in his bare hand came to mind, suddenly. His name sounded sweet as she said it, peeling back the shocking rinds to a much more bitter discovery, the picture wrapped in a thin little fruit membrane that Giulia had torn apart and dove in hands first to pick out the seeds. She said his name, and Alberto bit his tongue, waiting, waiting. The salty tang was met with the quick release of blood as he chewed on his lip, not caring for the sting but more so for the way the air in the room stood still.

Giulia was sitting on the bed now, and Alberto was still sprawled out along the dresser, feeling time rush back in to greet him. The window was still closed. The bath towel peeked out from hard bedframe, sage fabric frozen in place, silently screaming if Alberto could guess. All of the warmth in the room flooded to Alberto's face, his flushed cheeks burning so hot he covered them with clammy palms. This wasn't happening...

The dizziness in his brain had subsided, at least for now. Pushed to the side. "I...uh...I think I can--You aren't afraid, are you?"

Giulia opened her mouth, speaking silent demands. The pictures were still in her hands. Though she was shaking and casting their glossy film over Alberto's pleading eyes. He took a step to her, and she held up a hand--the one that wasn't clutching the polaroids. Holding Luca. Così bello, Luca.

"Take me to him."

"Huh?" Alberto skittered back, eyeing the photos but afraid to take them from her hands, gently thumbing through them again like she was seeing the glossy scales and bright eyes for the first time. "I don't know...uh, I don't know what you're asking, Giulia," Alberto breathed, itching to take the stack of photos. Giulia sensed her brother's restlessness and stood up to place them into his trembling hands. They fit perfectly into his palms, and he carded through the five with a fond smile he quickly abandoned when realization hit him and Giulia was, there.

"Saying they were just a myth, Alberto?" Giulia brought all of the photos together carefully, choosing not to see Alberto's eyebrows shooting up into his head of curls but at the rows and neat edges she'd made. "But oh, wow, Luca. So...much different that what Papa says about sea monsters. He's so..."

Alberto's heart sped up. "Beautiful?" Was he even allowed to say that? What would she think?

Giulia nodded, flashing an appreciate grin but still indecisive.

"That's okay, Alberto," She wrapped her hands over Alberto's, a pillar to his crumbling resolve, and put her chin against his collarbone to still him. She sighed, a rumbling breath into his ribcage, and he felt his chest lighten. "It's okay to think he's beautiful."

Alberto didn't think he could get a word out, with his sister's hair inches from his nose, filling his head with soothing, sleepy smells. She had stuck a stem of lavender from the vase in the kitchen behind her ear.

No it's not.

"Shhh, fratello. Just don't think for a moment, si?" Giulia took the photos again and put them in her pants pocket, then wrapped her assuring arms around Alberto's neck as he let out a soundless cry. "You're okay."

Alberto buried the bridge of his sunburnt nose into Giulia's hair, the tiny periwinkle flower buds tickling his cheekbone.

"The lavanda in the vase, you bought that? It...was for him, wasn't it?" Giulia murmured to distract, petting the side of his neck to calm him down.

"...He couldn't keep it. The petals would float to the surface." His words came out sniffled and ugly-sounding, making him cringe but also hold in a laugh imagining Luca bringing a bouquet of flowers underwater just to see them all rush past his wide eyes to the surf above.

Giulia snorted and laughed against his chest, and soon Alberto was chuckling softly along with her. "Let's go see il tuo cuore, okay?"

"You're serious?" Alberto readjusted the lavender stem in her hair. "Giulia, this is like the total opposite of how I thought this would go."

She took his hand tenderly and went to the door, but not without a whiplash turn of her head, cocking one eyebrow in defiance. "What, did you expect me to reach for the nearest harpoon? Like everyone else in this town? I don't think so." She tapped her forehead, smirking. "Open mind, dummy."

Alberto squeezed her pinky finger. "Okay, you were so sweet a second ago. What happened?"

"Lots of things, big guy," Giulia clicked her tongue and pulled Alberto's hand closer. "But that vase on the dining room table, those flowers. That's how I knew. If it were a girl, you would have listened to Papa's advice for roses. But you got lavender."

Alberto sighed, fighting the impulse to tug his hand away and retreat fearfully back to his room. "If you think it's such a stupid idea, we can make tea with them. Papa got a new kettle at the market."

Giulia gave him a side glance again. "And what about Luca?"

"Fine, no tea then." Alberto stumbled on his words, choking on them almost. Would Luca...even be there? After what had happened...

He blushed and stopped, inches above Giulia's head when he stood one step higher than her, looking directly into the kitchen on his right where the vase was. Evening light spilled in the window by the sink the Marcovaldos refused to close, bathing the ornate, bottle green glass in moody flashes of color on the patched up tablecloth. A sliver of a grapefruit rind sat, hard and darkened next to the reflection of lavender stems, from Massimo's talk. Alberto swallowed the immediate flush of nausea, hating the way he could almost taste the embarrassment and worry on his tongue, inside his pores.

It was going to get dark soon.