#i desperately want to be on time with posting this

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Murderbot Diaries series (All Systems Red, Artificial Condition, Rogue Protocol, Exit Strategy, Network Effect, Fugitive Telemetry, System Collapse, and other stories) by Martha Wells

Endorsement from submitter: "Asexual and agender main character. In later books side characters are revealed to be in poly relationship."

"As a heartless killing machine, I was a complete failure."

In a corporate-dominated space-faring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. For their own safety, exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids. But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

On a distant planet, a team of scientists is conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid--a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, Murderbot wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is, but when a neighboring mission goes dark, it's up to the scientists and Murderbot to get to the truth.

Science fiction, novella, series, adult

Hunger Pangs series (True Love Bites) by Joy Demorra

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...

Captain Nathan J. Northland had no idea what to expect when he returned home to Lorehaven injured from war, but it certainly wasn't to find himself posted on an island full of vampires. An island whose local vampire dandy lord causes Nathan to feel strange things he'd never felt before. Particularly about fangs.

When Vlad Blutstein agreed to hire Nathan as Captain of the Eyrie Guard, he hadn't been sure what to expect either, but it certainly hadn't been to fall in love with a disabled werewolf. However Vlad has fallen and fallen hard, and that's the problem.

Torn by their allegiances--to family, to duty, and the age-old enmity between vampires and werewolves--the pair find themselves in a difficult situation: to love where the heart wants or to follow where expectation demands.

The situation is complicated further when a mysterious and beguiling figure known only as Lady Ursula crashes into their lives, bringing with her dark omens of death, doom, and destruction in her wake.

And a desperate plea for help neither of them can ignore.

Thrown together in uncertain times and struggling to find their place amidst the rising human empire, the unlikely trio must decide how to face the coming darkness: united as one or divided and alone. One thing is for certain, none of them will ever be the same.

Fantasy, romance, paranormal, series, adult

[hiraethwrote]

contents : hurt to comfort, no pronouns but written with f!reader in mind, vent post ngl, very self indulgent, reader is going through it, no use of y/n wc 509 an : yeah just a little vent bc life is kinda shit atm but it's okay <3 pushing through

“please tell me what i can do to help.”

satoru's voice comes out thin, words shaping like a desperate plea as he holds your hands in his — his grip is tight, erasing even the idea that he might let go.

you take another sharp breath in hopes to steady it so you can give him an explanation of sorts, but you’re unable to. your jaw snaps shut as quickly as you opened it, chin quivering as the sobs bubble up in your throat again.

his eyebrows narrow in slight despair, something he tries to hide — because he wants to be there for you. the worry he feels is tugging at his skin, but he won’t let himself succumb to it, knowing you need him to be your rock — and he will be.

one of his hands leave yours to graciously cup your cheek, thumb moving on autopilot along the soft lines of your cheekbones. you immediately melt against his palm as the tears continue to roll down your face, chest hiccuping along with your strangled cries.

“you know there’s nothing i wouldn’t do, so just say the words, and i’ll do it!”

your nostrils flare as your lips force into a tight smile, eyes blinking rapidly to dissolve the tears in order to nod weakly — but as you do, you’re not even sure he picks up in the gesture as another sob shoots past your lips.

your fists fall to your lap as his other hand lets go, only for it to cup the other side of your face. slowly and carefully, satoru guides your face closer to him before he gently places his forehead against yours, his soft, white locks tickling your skin.

“close your eyes,” you do as he says. “breathe with me.” and you do.

reaching deep within yourself, you try to push all your sorrows aside and let your body focus solely on satoru's body sitting right in front of you, his care for you communicated clear as day in his gentle cradling of your face.

in unison with him, you take deep breaths, letting your lungs reunite with the oxygen they’ve been chasing so sorely for the past twenty minutes as you’ve been spiralling.

“in,” satoru says softly, hearing how he inhales through his nose, “and out,” his warm breath fanning your skin as he does.

you do it together a few times until a ringing silence fills your ears, no more deep breaths occupying the space anymore.

reluctantly he pulls away, resulting in you carefully creaking your eyes open to meet his kind pools of cerulean blue, greeting you with compassion.

“whatever it is, we will fix it.”

the wording is simple, but the meaning transcends way beyond that — we — we will fix this. not you. it’s not just you who have to go through it. no, with the simple choice of words, satoru promises he’ll walk this road with you. there’s no reason to fear, because you won’t face it alone.

“i’ll make sure of it.”

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[binomech]

Grasping at straws: Thoughts about Viktor's disability in Arcane

Disclaimer: In this post I try to give it some credit to Arcane writing from within the narrative. This is a Watsonian interpretation, not a Doylist one. Assume that underneath all of this I am beating Riot with LeGuin tomes.

Bootstraps and Denial

We get a glimpse into Viktor’s sense of self while he’s talking Jayce down from the ledge in S1A1E3: He is extending a sense of kinship to Jayce, who has just been stripped of his research equipment and autonomy by the Council when they relegate him to the care of his mother. He also considers the fact that he’s a faculty assistant in Piltover something he worked hard for, that was awarded to him despite his disability and immigrant status. His visible physical disability, accent, name, are all class signifiers that he must reject and dismiss if he wants funding, accommodation and recognition and it points to Piltover only allowing Zaunites as both a PR token and only if they reject enough of their Undercity culture. This is crucial: Viktor did not earn his position because he worked hard and believed in himself, he was rewarded for assimilating.

Becoming a Specimen

All of Viktor’s screentime in S1 takes place in Piltover to the exceptions of his visits to Singed, both in his childhood flashback and his adult visit to request help with the Hexcore experiment. Two things stand out to me in these interactions: The traumatic experience of being valued as a specimen, and the scrambling to the top of the ivory tower as a response to said trauma. He meets Singed and Rio in the immediate aftermath of a fall caused by his leg’s angle while he kept track of a device he built, a reminder that it would be the defining feature of his career, not his creations. Rio is shown to him as a lively, yet dying, specimen that must be preserved because it is a mutant, because it is defective and that defect makes her extremely valuable. I can understand how a young Viktor would latch onto the idea of saving something because it is faulty and project, and how finding Rio effectively dead and her body used for profit ended in an understanding that defects are only good if you can exploit them in some way, it’s not you, as a person, that they want. Conceptualizing a Viktor that is dead set on convincing the world that his work is important in and of itself goes through understanding that he sees his visible disability as both a hindrance and a weakness to exploit from the Piltover Academy.

Jayce encourages Viktor to do PR for Hextech with him several times, and right before the Progress Day speech, just as Viktor has had a coughing fit and is sitting down to rest his leg, Viktor says he doesn’t want to be seen as his partner, not in front of “them” (them being Piltover’s aristocracy). Viktor sees in Hextech a chance to leave a scientific legacy, and Jayce’s partnership is a way to keep the funds coming without his disability being an issue for investors. He believes in his partnership and Hextech as a joint endeavor between him and Jayce, but he knows what happens when Piltovans see a disabled Zaunite in any position threatening their hegemony. The catch here is that Viktor’s experience with Rio makes it so that this is not so much political awareness, as much as it is an avoidance so hard it loops back to agreeing with the oppressor, just to live a little more, just to make sure the world sees what you did.

When Viktor is diagnosed with Sump disease, a terminal condition caused by overexploitative mining and industrial pollution caused by Piltover’s factories and production exports, the sequence plays alongside an investor PR campaign from Jayce. It’s Viktor, who is already disabled, losing his place in the legacy of Hextech because he is dying at the hands of those who made it possible financially. It’s this Viktor, who sees his hopes of being remembered for his inventions dwindling, desperately going back to Singed and saying “I understand the value of the specimen. If rejecting my personhood buys me time, I will be what they want to see: A cripple, a corrupted Zaunite, a man desperate for power.”

The Hexcore has been trained to heal the subjects it’s used on, but Viktor was the one to train it: He was the one to determine what parts of the subject were considered sicknesses and flaws. To the degree that the Hexcore is, in many ways, a reflection of Viktor’s understanding of disease. It targeting his leg on first deliberate connection is a reflection of intent and desire more than any kind of agency from the device. Sky being used as fuel for the Hexcore’s learning is a point of contention for Viktor at that point because it’s the meeting point of the specimen and the scientist: Some lives are expendable if it means furthering your goal, and your life is the most expendable one. Are you ready to kill, be killed, for legacy? And Viktor panics because he is back, he’s looking at Rio’s corpse, born and raised for dying. Suicide for him at this point is an out, an unhealthy way of trying to go back to when he still had a choice. He asks Jayce to destroy the Hexcore and let him die because at that point he is still capable of dying without becoming a resource.

The Horror of Bioethics

Season 2 for Viktor is him becoming a specimen: Not a person, but a tool used to pave the road to a goal. In this case, Noxus’ acquisition of Hextech weaponry (which Viktor opposed ethically in Season 1, as he becomes the weapon itself in Season 2). He is resuscitated using the Hexcore against his will, a Hexcore containing both Viktor’s inputs for non-human healing and Sky’s research on applying those principles to the human body. He is a machine trained to heal, and he leaves for Zaun not under Viktor’s orders, but under the maxim to heal. He sees the widespread health issues caused by people that Viktor was bootlicking in Piltover, the direct result of him helping care for Rio until she died and was used to synthesize Shimmer as a drug, and where Viktor avoided his association with Zaun, the Hexcore resorts to the inputted instructions: Fix what we have established is broken. Viktor, who rejected his own disability, who rejected his home, his personal history, taught this thing to target the disabled, to target the poor, to target the sick. It is horrifying. The script presents it as vaguely unsettling but well-intentioned when it is blatant eugenics brought on by the loss of autonomy of a disabled man; the horror of it is not the cult, it’s knowing that all of this healing comes from someone having assimilated emotionally, politically, and physically, into his oppressors. It is not Viktor helping Zaun from the inside, it is Piltover’s allegedly meritocratic hellscape grafted onto Zaunites.

Who is allowed to be disabled?

Now, Jayce’s journey in the post-Hextech apocalyptic world is shown as a climb up from the Sump into the top of the Hexgates’ tower, almost reminiscent of Viktor’s journey as he understands it: You’re in a pit with a broken leg, in pain, hungry, desperate and you climb because it’s that or accepting death. You hope whatever is up there was worth the climb, but it’s a leap of faith. It’s remarkable, in contrast, how Jayce’s understanding of that climb is shaped by his own socioeconomic background. Viktor reaches the top and is punished for it, Jayce reaches the top and comes to an enlightened understanding. Viktor grows up disabled and is punished for the climb, Jayce acquires a disability during war time and he becomes the scientist-politician-hero. I appreciate how Jayce, upon encountering Viktor, fully armored even in his mind, can see a back brace, a leg brace, strained tendons. But it is also why a terminal illness resulting from Piltover’s economic chokehold on Zaun is conflated with a visible congenital disability, while they are manifestly not the same: This is a Viktor who got absorbed into Piltover’s vision of legacy, this is a Jayce who has grown up in it.

Legacy? What legacy?

In his final shot with Jayce as they erase the rune-stone, Viktor’s right leg is curving inwards, implying his femoral anteversion is something that he has finally incorporated into his perception, which was absent in every previous shot of this realm. Viktor's acceptance is for his own body, yes, but also for the consequences of giving up on it and dying.

This story as it is presented to us is a tale of avoiding annihilation through denial of one's limitations. While it's not a story that I enjoy, it is the one we were given. My hope is that through understanding it we can all tell better stories about disabled people.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter eight

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 4.6k

“Chris!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m s-sorry!”

“Shut up!”

Chris grabs a handful of your hair from behind and slams your face into the pillow, muffling your moans that were definitely echoing through the rest of the house before placing his hand back on your waist.

You had snuck in, once again, through the back door that conveniently connected to Chris’s room, where you had spent most of your free time this last week since coming back from the wedding, and half of the time you came over, it ended up like this, getting your mouth covered somehow in a desperate attempt to keep you quiet to avoid his brothers hearing you, especially like this. Not that you minded, you loved when Chris got a little aggressive in bed, so maybe sometimes you got a little loud on purpose.

Chris’s hands were no doubt creating bruises in your sides where they gripped on, pulling you back towards him every time he thrust into you, your bodies slapping loudly in the otherwise silent room. Normally you guys had something playing on the tv, or at least his speaker, to drown out how loud you typically got, but today when you walked into his room, you may or may not have immediately ripped your shirt off once the door was closed, waggling your eyebrows suggestively. Chris got the hint and you guys wasted no time jumping into bed together.

Now, however long later, you were nearing the end of your session and unable to control the sounds coming out of your mouth, grateful Chris had turned you into the pillow to quiet down.

Chris delivered a final pump inside you, groaning as he came, your sounds finally quieting down, head turning back out of the pillow to suck in a deep breath.

“You are way too loud,” Chris grumbles. “You’re the one that wants to keep us a secret but you can’t shut the fuck up when you need to.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine. “You’re just like… magic or something.”

That rips a laugh out of Chris as he pulls out of you, letting your body flop onto the bed. “Magic or something, I like that.” He leans forward and hovers his body above your back, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Hey, I-���

“Chris?!”

The sound of Matt yelling at the top of the stairs ripped you both out of your post-sex haze, eyes widening and staring at each other in shock. “Yeah?!” Chris yells back inconspicuously, both of you jumping up from the bed and scrambling to find your clothes. The sound of footsteps gets louder, panic setting into both of your chests as you guys realize you’re about to get caught. Chris definitely didn’t lock the door before you guys got started either.

“Fuck,” you whisper, gathering all of your clothes into your hands, knowing you won’t have time to put them back on.

“Bathroom!” Chris whisper-yells, pointing at the bathroom door connected to his room. You’re running into the bathroom as he’s ripping his comforter off his bed, soaked by your so called ‘party trick’. He’s only got sweatpants on, and he’s mumbling obscenities to himself as he sees the sheets soaked as well, ripping those off when the door swings open, revealing a confused and slightly worried Matt in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” You hear Matt’s voice through the bathroom door. His eyes are raking over Chris’s room which seems slightly in disarray, watching him stripping his sheets.

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m fine. Why?” Chris babbles, standing up straight and placing his hands on his hips, slightly out of breath.

“Uh… I just heard, like, screaming and I didn’t know what it was and you weren’t answering your phone.” Matt says, still confused.

“Oh!” Chris forces out a laugh and waves a hand at his brother dismissively. “I was watching a movie, sorry.”

Matt nods, not fully believing him but not having any reason not to either. “Why are you stripping your bed?”

Chris looks around at the blankets now on the floor, pursing his lips. “My bed? Oh my blankets, yeah, I’m just.. gonna wash them.”

Matt looks really confused now, eyebrows surging towards his hairline. “You’re doing laundry?” He asks, to which Chris just nods in response. “Alright. Well as long as you’re okay, I’m just gonna go back in my room.” He turns around to leave, but stops in his tracks, turning just his head back to Chris. “Also, it fucking reeks in your room. You need an air freshener, bad.”

“You got it,” Chris agrees, turning to open his window. Once his bedroom door is shut, he walks to the bathroom door and opens it, revealing you fully clothed in your sweat shorts and tank top, cheeks a bright red color. He laughs at the sight of you, walking in to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “Why do you look like that?”

You stayed limp, hands at your sides. “He said it reeks!” You cry out, face pressed in Chris’s bare chest, making him laugh loudly.

“It just smells like sex in here, that’s all. He probably just couldn’t place it because he doesn’t think that’s what I’m doing in here. It’s not you that stinks.” Chris comforts you by rubbing his hands on your back sweetly, pressing his lips into the top of your head. “Although, the sheets almost got us caught, I didn’t realize it went through the blanket so he saw me ripping those off.”

You just groan even louder, still embarrassed. “I think I need to be celibate.” You mumble, to which Chris gasps.

“Absolutely not! You don’t get to show me what I’m missing all these years just to rip it away from me.”

-

“Chris,” you whisper, shaking the dead weight body next to you in bed. Silence. “Chris,” you whisper again, shaking him harder.

The boy next to you groans, pulling the blankets up to his chin and settling back into sleep quickly. You’re faster, though, refusing to let him ignore you.

“Chris,” you say in your normal tone, shaking him once more.

Chris turns his head, eyes barely cracked open as he stares at you in the almost pitch black room, the only thing illuminating your face being the moon in the sky coming through the window. “What?” He snaps, annoyed.

“I’m thirsty,” you tell him in a deadpan tone.

Chris blinks at you a few times, like he can’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth. “Are you serious?” He asks, voice groggy. “You woke me up to tell me you’re thirsty? Go get water.”

You pout at him, not wanting to get out of bed. “You go get me water.”

Chris turns back to his position facing away from you, getting comfortable once more. “You sound wide awake, I’m not doing that.”

You huff and throw the blankets off of yourself aggressively, standing up from the bed. It was almost three in the morning and you guys had been asleep for quite some time, but you woke up randomly and needed that middle of the night glass of water, you were just hoping Chris would get it for you.

You trek up the stairs, maybe a little louder than you should’ve considering the time, entering the dark kitchen. You’re filling up a glass from the fridge when a voice calling your name startles you out of your thoughts.

You whip your head around, free hand clutching your chest as you turn, eyes landing on Nick sitting on the couch staring back at you with wide eyes.

“Nick?” You question, heart racing in your chest.

Nick slowly stands up and walks over to you where you’re seemingly glued to the floor, unable to move. You think maybe if you stay completely still you’ll disappear into the background and Nick will be none the wiser. But of course you weren’t so lucky, and he kept his eyes locked on yours until he was standing right in front of you.

“What are you doing here? When did you get here?” He questions, hands flailing as he spoke, clearly confused.

You swallow thickly, looking around like something in the room would hand you the perfect lie on a silver platter. “Uh… I’m…” You make eye contact with Nick again, smiling uncomfortably.

“Did you just come from downstairs?” Nick questions again.

Fuck.

“Downstairs?” You ask dumbly. “Why would I be… downstairs?”

Nick crosses his arms as he stares you down, gaze becoming more intimidating. “That’s exactly what I’m wondering. Because the only thing downstairs besides our garage is Chris’s room, and there’s no way you’d be in Chris’s room, right?”

You laugh, shoving Nick’s shoulder playfully. “Chris’s room? No way, no, I just, uh… I forgot something in there so I just went and grabbed it real quick.”

Nick furrowed his brow, not believing you. “I’ve been in here for two hours, which means you’ve been downstairs for at least two hours, and it’s the middle of the night. Are you sleeping in Chris’s room?”

There’s absolutely no way you wiggle yourself out of this one. You’re caught red handed by the loudest mouth in the family, no doubt in your mind Matt would know by morning. He’s got you cornered, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Except lie, you can always lie.

“Fine, I was in his room. You want me to be honest?” You sigh like you’re about to pour your heart out to Nick, setting your glass down on the counter. “We’ve been trying to work on our relationship. We know how annoying it is for you and Matt to deal with so we’ve been trying. We were talking last night and I told him I was exhausted and he offered to let me sleep on the couch in his room so I took him up on it and decided to crash there and leave in the morning before you guys woke up but obviously you’ve caught me.”

Nick narrows his eyes at you while you speak, trying not decide if he believed you or not, but ultimately he nods his head slowly, taking in your words. “Okay,” he starts. “That’s good, I guess. You could’ve told us that instead of sneaking around like a weirdo, I thought you were sleeping with him or something.”

You gasp and cringe a bit over-dramatically. “What?! No! Ew! Chris?! No!”

Nick holds his hands up for you to stop talking. “Alright, dude. Chill. I’m going to bed.”

You nod and clear your throat, picking up your glass from the counter. “Sure. Goodnight.”

Once you’re alone in the kitchen you let out a sigh of relief, leaning on the table like you just ran a marathon.

That was way too close.

-

from: chris <3

bathroom

You looked down at your phone that illuminated your face from where you’re sat on the couch next to Matt, legs thrown over his as you guys shared a blanket. The four of you were sat in the living room binging a show on Netflix, all spaced out at different ends of the couch except for you and your best friend. Chris, however, had gotten up to go to the bathroom a few minutes ago, and you did not expect him to request your presence, especially when both of his brothers were around, but the thought of sneaking around so close to them had you slightly hot and bothered as you looked at your phone.

“Uh, Matt?” You start sheepishly, looking up at the boy who stared mindlessly at the tv.

“Huh?” He replied, not looking down at you.

You clear your throat nervously. “Can I lay in your bed? I’m not feeling so good, I think I want to go to sleep.”

Matt tears his eyes away from the television finally, looking down at you worriedly. “Are you okay?” He asks, bringing a hand up to your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you chuckle, grabbing his wrist. “Just tired I think.”

Matt nods and pulls the blanket off of you both, letting you up. “Of course you can lay in my bed. Let me know if you need anything.”

You smile and nod at him, standing up and heading towards his room. When you get there, though, you look back at Matt and Nick to make sure they’re not looking before you slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Chris smiles at you from where he sits on the closed toilet seat, reaching his hands out to graze over your thighs as you walked up to him, your own hands landing on his shoulders. “You look way too good right now, I just had to tell you.”

You blush, a shy smile gracing your face. “I look the same as I always look,” you mumble quietly.

“I know.” Chris agrees, standing up from his seated position and walking forward, pinning you against the wall. “You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

You lean your head up towards Chris so your lips are barely touching, sliding your hands up under his shirt. “It’s too risky,” you tell him, disappointment clear in your voice. “They’ll hear.”

Chris whines, hands resting on your waist pulling your body closer to his. “Can’t you just be quiet? Just this one time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s like asking a duck not to quack or something. It’s impossible. You’re too good for me to be quiet.”

“What if I kiss you the whole time to keep you quiet?” Chris bargains a little more.

Your hands trail down to Chris’s waistband of his sweatpants, thumbs looping underneath so you can start to pull them down, eyes still locked on his. “What if I just blow you? Since you’re so good at being quiet.”

You push his pants past his hips and let them fall to the ground, leaving him in just his tight, black Skims briefs that don’t leave much to the imagination, especially with his dick already straining against the fabric.

Chris hums in agreement, pressing his lips to yours for a moment before he pulls away, smirking at you. “I’m not gonna turn down a blowjob from the prettiest girl I know.”

You giggle quietly, still wanting to make sure the boys in the living room don’t hear you, slowly sinking to your knees in front of Chris, keeping eye contact with him the whole time you descended until you were face to face with his still clothed member, dropping your eyes down to it. “May I?” You ask sweetly, bringing a hand up to rub him through his underwear.

Chris breaths out a breath of relief and hums in agreement and you waste no time before grabbing the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down to join his sweatpants around his ankles. “I love your dick, Chris, you know that? It’s so good to me, never disappoints. I normally hate sucking dick but for you? It’s like the sexiest thing in the world to me. I love how you sound and how you pull my hair.” Your hand comes up to start stroking Chris languidly, thumb running over his slit every few times your hand comes back up to his tip.

Chris’s eyes are still on you, watching as you pleasure him with your hand, genuinely feeling like this would be enough for him to get off. Just the sight of you has his skin buzzing at all times, especially now that he knows what you sound like, what you feel like. He couldn’t get enough of you. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He breathes out, hands reaching out to brace himself on the wall.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his for a moment, smiling at him before you open your mouth and guide his dick onto your tongue that lay flattened out, slapping it on the pink muscle before closing your lips around him, eliciting a quiet moan from his mouth.

He’s definitely quieter than you would be, but the thing you guys forgot to be mindful of was how long you were in the bathroom. It’s already been a few minutes of you in there together, and Chris was already in there for about five minutes before you joined him, so the time was ticking up, and you both were none the wiser, only focused on each other.

You had been enthusiastically sucking Chris off for a few minutes, hand stroking the base of his dick that didn’t fit in your mouth while your tongue trailed over the first few inches, eyes shut as you focused on his pleasure, making sure it was one of the best blowjobs he ever had, when there was a soft knock at the door, Matt’s voice ringing from the other side and ripping you both away from the trance you were in.

“Chris?” He calls, concerned. “You okay in there?”

This was terrible timing for Chris, as he had just started to feel his orgasm building in his stomach, his dick getting tenser and breath getting caught in his throat. You didn’t let up, though, just kept going and trying to bring him over the edge, finding the idea of someone just on the other side of that door, someone that had no idea what was going on and was just innocently checking on his brother.

Chris sucked in a breath and tried to even out his voice, eyebrows still furrowed in pleasure as he spoke. “Y-yeah, I’m okay, sorry, just on my phone,” he called back, sounding surprisingly convincing.

“Oh, okay,” Matt replies, but you don’t hear his footsteps leaving.

Chris turns to stare at the door, breath getting choppier and hips starting to stutter and push his dick father into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Are you almost done? I gotta take a piss, dude.” Matt speaks up again, clearly still right outside the door.

Chris throws his head back and pulls one hand from the wall, grabbing a handful of your hair to keep your head in place as he starts to thrust his hips, now fully fucking your mouth as he neared his climax.

“I’m- fuck, I’m coming,” he replies, a double entendre unbeknownst to Matt as Chris cums in your mouth, warm liquid sliding down your throat and you accept it happily, swallowing around him as he breathes shakily, hips coming to a halt.

“Uh, okay,” Matt replies, finally walking away from the bathroom and back to the living room.

You slowly slide your lips off of Chris’s dick, biting your bottom lip as you rise back to your feet, face to face with him again. “That was so hot,” you whisper giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Chris huffs, still trying to slow his heart rate. “That was terrifying,” he whispers back, but kisses you anyway, knowing it’s the last kiss he’ll get of the night.

-

It had become pretty routine for you to sneak into the triplets’ house at this point, almost exclusively coming in through the back door in Chris’s room where you would spend the rest of the night until you went home or spent the night, and it quickly became your favorite part of the day.

Chris had gone from the person you spoke to the least in your life to being your favorite person to be around, always laughing and smiling when you were with him, despite there not being a label on your relationship yet. However, you didn’t mind the lack of label quite yet, you both knew what this was and what you both wanted, you just didn’t want to rush slapping a name on it and making it so serious.

Tonight you both had decided to watch a movie together and cuddle up in bed, not worried about the fact that his brothers were home as they typically were but their rooms were so far away it almost didn’t matter how loud you guys got. Almost.

You’re laid in bed under Chris’s blankets on your back with him laid beside you on his side so he could face you, hand running underneath your shirt sweetly as his eyes trailed over your face. “You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” He tells you quietly, causing a blush to arise on your cheeks.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, not responding. You didn’t really know what to say to that.

“I’m serious,” he continued, scooting closer to you. “I could look at you forever and never get bored. I love… everything about you.”

Those words made your heart race and almost made you want to cry. It wasn’t quite a confession of love just yet, not quite the three words that danced along your own tongue, but it felt so close that it still gave you a similar rush, the kind that made you want to say fuck it and tell everyone you knew about your newfound relationship. You couldn’t believe how sweet this boy was, how tender and caring, how many affirmations he would whisper to you out of the blue, how attentive he was. It all made it so easy to fall for him.

You still stayed quiet, but you reached your hand up to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a soft kiss. He leaned down over you, still running his hand over your soft skin under your shirt as your lips meshed together perfectly.

But nothing was perfect in this household, and you’ve known that for years, and you definitely should not have been shocked when Chris’s door flies open, his brothers standing on the other side. You’re hoping your instincts kick in quicker than they can make out your face, grabbing the blanket and pulling it fully over your head, hiding your identity.

Chris whips his head to look at the now open door, Matt and Nick staring back at him in shock. “What the fuck? Who is that?” Matt points to the bed, eyes wide.

Chris just looks down at the lump under his sheets, then back at his brother, shrugging his shoulders. “No one,” he said calmly.

Nick pushes past Matt with a smirk, nodding his head like he had all the answers. “I know exactly who that is, Matt.”

Matt turns to him, still confused. “You do?”

Nick nods again, raising his eyebrows towards Chris. “It’s that girl you went on a date with a few nights ago, isn’t it?”

Chris’s eyes widen, and your heart drops to your stomach. There’s no way, right? There’s no way Chris would hurt you like that, especially so soon. He wouldn’t go behind your back to see somebody else, would he?

“What?” Chris spats out. “What are you talking about, dude?”

Nick laughs, shaking his head. “So not the girl from the date? Is it the girl you’ve been fucking the last few weeks then? What’s her name, Maya?”

Maya, you think. That name is way too familiar.

“I haven’t been fucking Maya,” Chris defends, voice shaky.

The girl. The one he had taken all the photos for, the one he said was too clingy and he wanted to get rid of. He was still sleeping with her?

You swallow thickly, heart racing at every word being spoken. You felt like if you tried to stand, your knees would be too weak to hold you up, your hands shaking where they held the sheets.

In a split second decision, you brace yourself and pull the cover off of your face, sitting up slowly next to Chris. His brothers gasp at the sight of you, Nick screeching out your name in confusion. However, they’ve become background noise as your eyes lock with Chris’s, your own welling with tears uncontrollably. “Chris?” You whisper, lip quivering. “Is that true?”

Chris opens his mouth to speak, but closes it quickly as he realizes his brothers are still in the room. This was the most uncomfortable he’s ever felt in his life, feeling like everyone was turning to him for answers and his mind was reeling, not knowing what the right answer was for any of it, not wanting to hurt anybody’s feelings in the process.

You, though. You took his hesitation to speak as an answer, and a small, broken squeak left your lips as you got out of the bed, grabbing your sweater off of his couch. “Are you fucking serious?” You spat, slipping your shoes on next. “You’re still fucking somebody else when I’m not around? I knew this shit was too good to be true, you really are a fucking asshole, aren’t you?” Tears flowed freely down your face now as you spoke to him, his brothers standing in shock in complete silence, not knowing if what they walked in on was real or a hallucination.

“Wait, no, I’m not fucking with anybody,” Chris says, clambering off the bed towards you, hands grabbing your arms. You shook him off though, pushing him away by his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me. Let’s just make our lives easier and go back to hating each other,” you tell him, staring up at him with red eyes, noticing his own starting to gloss over.

He’s silent, words caught at his throat as he watches you unfold in front of him, not knowing how he could save this in the moment. “Please,” he chokes out, a small tear sliding down his cheek. “Please don’t leave, it’s not true.”

You want to give in so badly, but you know Chris’s history, you know how much he fucks around and how many girls he’s used to talking to and you feel stupid for thinking he’d stop doing all of that for you. You actually feel like a fucking fool for thinking he’d change for you.

You shake your head at him and turn around, grabbing the handle of the door to let yourself out. Before you leave, though, you turn and look at Matt and Nick who are stuck to the floor in shock, mouths hanging slightly open as they watch the exchange. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”

You pull the door open and leave, shutting it quietly behind you as you start to walk to your car, soft sobs leaving your lips as you get further away from their house.

Chris stands there for a few moments staring at the door, before he turns around and glares at Nick, rage clear on his face despite the tears in his eyes. “Are you fucking serious?!” He screams, walking up to him and grabbing him by the collar, pushing him back a few steps until they reach the wall, Nick’s back pressed up against it. “Learn how to read a fucking room! You just lost me the girl I’ve been in love with for the last three fucking years, all because you don’t know when to stop talking!”

Nick’s eyes were wide as he grabbed Chris’s wrists, trying to get him to let go of him. “I’m sorry!” He squeaked out, staring into his brother’s eyes that spoke a thousand words.

Matt came up to them and placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying to remain the calm one in the situation. “Hey, let him go, he didn’t know,” he said softly, rubbing up and down his arm when Chris finally let go of Nick, turning his younger brother to face him.

Chris’s eyes finally softened when he looked at Matt, knowing that if there was anyone here that cared for you as much as he did, it was Matt. “I love her,” he whispered, finally processing the words that he said out loud for the first time.

Matt nods at Chris and pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back. “I know, man. It’s okay, she’ll be fine, she’ll come around, she’s just upset right now, trust me. Once you explain everything she’ll come back to you.”

Chris hugs his brother back, hands gripping on the back of his shirt as he took shaky breaths in, still terrified he was going to lose you forever even though he barely got to have you.

“I need her.”

-

a/n: one more chapter for real this time gang

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

[raptorific]

Okay, let me make this really easy for you: there is no option available to her that would stop this rule being enforced against her or against these hypothetical staffers everyone seems so concerned about. She cannot let them get away with doing it to her, and to every other transgender government employee, because they have gotten away with it. The time when it could've been stopped was a few weeks ago, in the elections. Sorry. We failed. The good guys lost. There is nothing she, or anybody other than the Republican House Majority, can do to change this rule or prevent its enforcement until there is no longer a Republican Majority in the house.

Here are the options, the only options, available to her

She can comply with the unjust rule, giving the Republicans nothing to enforce against her, and allowing her to do the job she was elected to do without being a piece in their weird culture war games. If she holds to this line, then the people targeting her come off as weird, obsessive bullies, and their constituents are left wondering why the people of Delaware have a Representative who's working for them while THEIR representative is off tilting at a transgender windmill who won't give them the time of day

She can resign her post in protest of the unjust rule, taking the number of trans people in congress from 1 to 0, or

She can violate the unjust rule, and the Speaker of the House can order her penalized and dragged out of the bathroom by the Sergeant At Arms. She's photographed being dragged out of the bathroom, and the Republicans gleefully prop her up as proof that trans women simply can't resist barging into women's rooms even when they've been directly ordered to stay out. The Republican Majority, in response, now bolstered by a substantial Rhetorical Victory with the public in this asinine debate, introduces legislation for federal laws restricting restroom access not only in government buildings, but in all buildings. This legislation passes in the republican-controlled legislature, it is signed into law by President Donald Trump, and any challenges to it are defeated but he conservative supreme court. Trans rights are set back a full century in this country.

The Republicans-- you know, the ones who are actually doing this-- really want #2 or #3 to happen. They are not happy that she said "I will comply with the rule." They desperately, desperately want to see a transgender woman break this rule, because if that happens, they get everything they want.

Like, put even an ounce of thought into it. In none of those situations do the Republicans say "aw gawrsh, I guess we CAN'T control her after all, on account of her Gumption. Guess we gotta let trans staffers pee where they want." That's the big secret. They don't actually care where trans people go to the bathroom. They are telling them "you're not welcome in the Capitol." Sarah McBride has answered with a resounding "make us as unwelcome as you like, we're staying."

Don't be stupid on this post because I will turn off reblogs, but it is truly illuminating to see Republicans explicitly lay a transphobic trap to frame their transgender coworker in a negative light (because they currently possess the authority to do so without consequences), see the transgender coworker say "I see the trap they've set for me and I will be stepping around it rather than directly into it," and have people online overwhelmingly respond like "wow, she's such a traitor to the community, letting them decide where she walks."

[soaps-mohawk]

Good Boy

Summary: He’s been such a good puppy. You want nothing more than to reward him on his special day. 

Pairing: Johnny x reader

Word Count: 5,527 words

Warnings: Pet play, mommy kink, puppy!Soap, sex toys, breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, spanking (it’s like one), anal fingering, vaginal fingering, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, lingerie, 

A/N: This is the first kinktober fic I wrote for this year, but I ultimately decided not to do a version for Kyle. It just fits Johnny perfectly and I’m honestly proud of it. Posted it on Patreon back in early October but decided to post it here for everyone to enjoy

MASTERLIST

You can hear the slight rattle of the kennel before you even have the front door closed. You take your time, kicking off your heels, placing your keys in the drawer, going to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Quiet, pathetic whining reaches your ears, the quiet scuff of movement on the plastic crate pan. He must have bunched his bed up again. 

Silly dog. 

You flip through the mail casually, tossing junk in the recycling and setting aside what you can only assume is a birthday card from your parents. The whining gets louder and more consistent. You let out a quiet sigh, tempted to open the card now and make him wait, but you'll be a good owner and give him the attention he's so desperate for. 

Poor thing has been locked up all day. 

Your feet pad quietly towards the living room, dress pants dragging quietly on the wood. You'll have to get these dry cleaned later. The whining gets louder as you approach, the metal exterior of the kennel rattling as he moves around in anticipation. 

You round the corner, pausing in the archway separating the living room from the hallway. Your dog, your sweet boy, is kneeling in his kennel, pressed up against the door in excitement. Tufts of hair stick through the top as he waits for you to scratch him through the bars like you always do. You can imagine his tail wagging happily, if he had one. 

“Did you miss me?” You ask, not moving towards the kennel. 

“Yes, mommy.” He whines, pressing harder against the cage, so hard his skin begins to push out between the gaps in the metal. 

You let out a sigh, finally approaching. “Stop it. You'll leave marks on your skin. You know mommy hates that.”

He lets out a whine, but does as he's told, moving away from the side of the cage, but he keeps his head pressed against the top. 

“Good boy.” You praise him, bending down to scratch his head through the bars. 

His hair is soft between your fingers. He'd had a mohawk when you picked him out and brought him home. You let him keep it, finding it endearing. It gives him character. Fits him perfectly. 

“Were you a good boy today?” You ask, pulling your hand away, bending down further, placing your hands on your knees. Your breasts push up, visible thanks to the few buttons you'd undone on your work shirt as you drove home from your after work errands. There's even a sliver of your bra showing. Blue, his favorite color. 

His eyes are trained on your breasts, licking his lips. His whole body is wiggling excitedly, his cock swinging between his legs, back and forth almost like a tail might. He's distracted, drool starting to drip out of his mouth just from the sight of your cleavage. 

To be fair, you had been denying him all week in preparation for today. 

You reach through the top of the cage again, fingers gripping his hair and tugging until his head is forced against the top of the kennel. “Mommy asked you a question.”

He lets out a pathetic whine, thick fingers curling between the thin metal bars at the top of the kennel. “Sorry mommy.” He pouts, giving you puppy eyes as he apologizes. You can't help but soften as those big blue eyes begin to glisten with tears. “I was the best boy today.” 

You hum, releasing his hair. You scratch his scalp as you eye the bed pushed against the back of the crate. “You messed your bed up.” His water and snack bowls are empty, shoved to the back of the crate with his bed. 

“Too excited.” He whines. 

You hum again, standing up straight. His eyes follow you, head shifting against the top of the cage. “Is my little pup excited about today?”

He nods, his fingers flexing on the metal bars. “Yes, mommy.”

“I got you a surprise.” You say, turning to the side table across from his kennel, digging the key from the drawer. “To celebrate.” 

“What is it?” He asks, getting excited again. 

“Well, that wouldn't make it much of a surprise, would it?” You tease, turning back to the kennel. 

He lets out an eager whine, leaning against the front of the cage. 

“Do you need to go potty?” You ask, bending down in front of the cage again. 

“Please mommy. Real bad.” He begs. 

You do feel bad. He has been locked up all day, and you had taken the time to run some errands after work. You've tried letting him have free reign of the house. It lasted a day. You'd come home from work to find him desperately humping your pillow, a pair of dirty panties he'd pulled from your laundry basket pressed against his nose. He'd made quite a mess, and so you had to go back to putting him in the crate every time you left. 

“Can you be a big boy and use the bathroom, or do we need to go outside?” You ask.

He whines as he thinks for a moment. “Bathroom, please.”

You hum, putting the key in the padlock that keeps him from opening the cage. It's more to keep him from escaping to romp around the house and make another mess. He wouldn't leave the house, though. He has no reason to. He can get out in the case of an emergency, but he's a good boy. He does as he's told...most of the time. 

You open the door to the crate, letting him crawl out. You turn the TV off as he takes a moment to stretch, joints creaking from being shut in the confined space. It's no small crate, the biggest you could find. Still, it doesn't leave him much room for moving around. 

You'll have to book him a massage this weekend. Get those muscles loosened up again. 

“Come on, pup.” You say, nudging him with your foot in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. “Let's go potty.”

He crawls on all fours towards the bathroom, slow going after being cooped up all day. You don't rush him, walking slowly behind him. The tags on his collar clink with every waddling shuffle on his hands and knees. 

He crawls into the bathroom and you turn on the light. He shifts up onto his knees, using the edge of the sink to pull himself onto his feet. You watch him as he stands, joints cracking again. He stretches, arms up over his head, the muscles in his back moving as he does. 

Sometimes you forget just how big he is. 

It's easy when he's crawling around on all fours to make him small in your mind. It's not until he's standing that you remember just how broad he is. 

5'11, roughly 200 pounds. That's what his profile said when you were searching for a new puppy. Your previous one had decided to leave, a mutual agreement. He had only been in training, and decided the lifestyle wasn't for him after all. 

You don't mind training pups. It can be quite fun, but you were ready for a more experienced puppy after him. 

That's when you came across Johnny. Soap, as his profile had said. A nickname given by a previous owner. You can only imagine what he'd done that earned him that nickname. 

His bio was thorough, and he'd even provided the reference of his previous owner. You were intrigued so you had messaged him, and agreed to meet. 

You liked him immediately. 

Friendly, excitable, already eager to please during your first conversation. You're sure he'd have gotten down on all fours and crawled across the coffee shop if you'd asked him to. 

His separation with his last owner had been rather traumatic and he needed someone to take control, someone who could handle him, his neediness, his clinginess, his intense libido and stamina. 

It had only taken three meetings and a test run for him to move into your house. 

He learned quickly, adapting to your rules very fast. It had been a pleasant surprise, finding such an eager pup in a Scottish bloke who looked more like he should be tossing logs at the Highland Games and not crawling around on your floor with a collar around his neck.

Your last pup had been more of a Greyhound, while Johnny, he’s more of a Rottweiler. Large and intimidating, but sweet and cuddly and so eager to please. 

Johnny lets out a sigh as he finally gets to relieve himself after a long day. You stand, leaning in the doorway, watching him as he shakes and then grabs toilet paper to wipe his tip. A proud smile tugs at your lips as he washes his hands thoroughly with soap and hot water. 

“Good boy.” You praise him as he drops back onto all fours. You run your fingers through his mohawk, letting the soft strands slip through your fingers. It’s getting long, you’ll have to trim it soon. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

He crawls behind you into the kitchen, watching as you move to the bag on the counter. He crawls closer, sitting back on his knees, watching you eagerly. You rip the tags off the toy in your hands, before turning to face him. 

“I got you an extra special toy for your birthday.” You hold out the stuffed squirrel to him. 

His eyes widen as he stares at it, sitting back fully on his knees as he reaches for it. It’s soft and fluffy and squeaks when you squeeze the middle. You’d spent almost half an hour at the pet store debating which you should get. You’d spent so long there a worker had approached, asking if you needed help and what kind of dog the toy was for. 

Great Dane, you’d told her, your go-to answer when buying things for your pup. 

She’d recommended the squirrel, and you could hardly say no. It was perfect, and judging by the way Johnny is clutching it to his chest, he thinks so too. 

“I also got you a meat stick.” You say, pulling the long beef stick from the grocery bag. “So you can have something to chew on.” You say, pulling off the wrapper. 

“Thank you, mommy.” He says, taking the beef stick between his teeth. 

You watch him crawl to the corner of the dining room where his bed sits. He makes himself comfortable, stretched out on the soft, plush bed, his new squirrel tucked under his arm as he chews on his meat stick. 

You jump into making one of his favorite dinners while he’s occupied. While you’ve never been quite brave enough to try your hand at haggis, Johnny never complains about scotch pies. You turn on some quiet music while you work, eyes flickering to Johnny every so often. He’s content in the corner, making quick work of the meat stick. 

You take your time cooking, Johnny lazing with his squirrel in his arms. You stare at his cock as you mix ingredients, more thick than it is long as it drapes between his legs. There’s a heat growing between your own legs as you stare at him. He’s spread out on the bed, legs stretching straight out after being cooped up in the kennel all day. You make a quick note on the calendar. He needs a spa day this weekend. So will you after tonight. 

You jump as a hand grips your leg, weight settling against you. Johnny is leaning against your hip, big hand wrapped around your thigh. It’s slowly creeping higher, as if you wouldn’t notice it snaking up your inner thigh. 

You tsk at him, shifting out of his hold. “That’s not good boy behavior.” 

He lets out a whine, trying to move closer to you. “Sorry mommy. Need you bad.” 

“You need your strength, baby boy. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” You run your hand over his head. You do leave him plenty of snacks to tide him over on days you have to go into the office. It’s always a big dinner night on those days to make up for his lack of lunch. 

He lets out a disappointed whine but he knows your right. He’s always a good boy, always so eager to please you and behave. He crawls back to his bed, cock swinging between his legs. Your teeth sink into your lip as you watch him go, rubbing your thighs together as you shift on your feet. It’s going to be a long evening for you too. 

You plate up dinner for him, gently easing him back into his human brain for the moment as you remove his collar. Usually you make him eat on the floor out of his bowl, but this is a special occasion. You grab the card from the counter as you carry the plates to the table. 

“Smells good.” He says, his voice lower and rougher than it is when he’s in his puppy mindset. His accent is thicker too, almost like he becomes an entirely new person. Well...he does. The whiny, needy puppy is gone, hidden well beneath the surface of a normal human man. 

“My parents sent a card.” You say, sliding it across the table to him as you take a seat. 

“That was nice of them.” He says, picking it up and opening it. 

He reads it to you, full of well wishes and congratulations. Your parents have met him a few times, though they only know him as your boyfriend. They’ll never know about the other side of your relationship, the side where your giant Scottish boyfriend crawls around on all fours wearing a collar and occasionally a butt plug with a silicone tail attached. 

To your parents he’s just a normal man. To you, he’s your good little puppy. 

The two of you chat as you eat, talking about work and your coworkers and the annoying woman at the shop that was arguing with the cashier. It’s all so domestic, all so...normal. 

You almost prefer him on the floor on his knees begging for scraps. 

He sneaks up behind you while you’re doing dishes, his arms wrapping around you. You can feel the bulge of his quickly hardening cock against your ass, his hands sliding up your stomach towards your breasts. 

“This isn’t good boy behavior.” You say, but you don’t stop him as his hands cup your breasts through your shirt. 

You’ve fucked a few times like this, both of you in your normal mindsets. You let him be more dominant, let him get that energy out before he submits to you again. He’s a good fuck, knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how to work you up. 

“You’re going to ruin your surprise.” You say, yet you can’t stop yourself from pushing back against him as his thumbs brush over your nipples through your shirt. The skimpy bra you’re wearing doesn’t offer much coverage or protection from his fingers. 

“Sorry mommy.” He growls in your ear, grinding against your ass. 

The deep growl in his voice has a shiver running down your spine. You should stop this before it gets much further, but part of you is tempted to let him have this moment, let him celebrate his birthday in both mindsets. 

“Easy, puppy boy.” You say, pushing his hands away from your breasts. You turn around, dragging a wet finger over his lips. “Be a good boy and behave yourself and you can have your surprise after I’m done.” 

The change happens instantly, his eyes lighting up as he shifts back into his puppy mindset. He drops to his knees in front of you, eye to eye with your pussy but he behaves himself, holding still as you move to grab his collar. You stare down at the fabric one with the plastic clip, the one he wears while you’re gone in case he needs to get out of it fast. You want his leather one tonight. 

You clip the collar around his neck for now before going back to the dishes. He crawls back to his bed, laying himself down on his stomach. You watch him carefully out of the corner of your eye to make sure he’s not rutting against the bed like a bad dog. 

Dishes go by quickly as you set them in the drying rack, catching movement out of the corner of your eye. Unsurprisingly Johnny is in the corner, humping his bed, trying to relieve some of the ache that probably has his cock pulsing. You let out a sigh before approaching, bringing your hand down against his ass, the perky cheek bouncing. He lets out a yowl, his hips bucking into the bed. 

“You’re being a bad boy.” You say as he turns around, cock weeping with precum. There’s a damp spot on the fabric of his bed, but you know he hasn’t cum. Not yet. He knows better. 

“Sorry Mommy.” He pouts, but he can’t cute his way out of this one. 

You slip your fingers under the front of his collar, tugging him forward gently. “Bad boys get punished.” 

He lets out a whine, trying to give you big puppy eyes but they don’t work. You’ve long grown immune to that stare. 

“Come on.” You say, moving to the drawer to pull out a leash. He crawls towards you, sitting back on his knees to allow you to clip the leash onto his collar. He is a good boy, he just can’t control himself sometimes. 

Not with his insane libido. 

You walk him to the stairs, taking them slow as you lead him up to the second floor. He picks up his pace on the carpet, following you eagerly into the bedroom. He dutifully sits on his knees next to the bed, watching you as you unclip his collar. You pull the leather one from the drawer, the one you made specially for him, the one with his name stamped on the side. 

Johnny. 

He tilts his head back as you put it on him, slipping two fingers under to make sure it’s not too tight. You turn back to the drawer, pulling out the box. He shifts on his knees, already knowing what’s coming. 

“Bend over.” You say, pulling out the lube. He shifts himself onto the bed immediately, bending himself over the side. You squirt some lube over his ass, letting it run down over his hole. “Get yourself ready.” 

“Yes mommy.” He doesn’t hesitate as he reaches a hand back, gathering lube on his finger before pressing it into his hole. He groans, pushing his face against the bed as he works his finger in, opening himself up. You watch him fuck himself with his finger, adding a second one to open himself up. The plug isn’t huge, but you want him to be prepared. 

You spread lube on the plug before you pat his ass gently and he pulls his fingers from his hole. You squirt more lube over his hole before you press the tip of the plug against his ass. He clenches as you begin to push it in, a whiny moan leaving his lips. He’s staining the comforter with precum, but that’s what washing machines are for. 

It won’t be the only stain on the bed by the time you’re done with him. 

You slide the plug into place, the silicone tail perky in the air. He wiggles his hips, the tail wagging back and forth. 

You hum, pleased by the sight. “My cute little puppy.” You praise him before grabbing the fluffy ears from the box. You’ve always preferred them over the more traditional mask. You want to see his cute face as you make him beg to cum. 

He slides off the edge of the bed, sitting back on his knees. A breathy moan leaves his lips as the plug shifts inside him, the tail moving as he clenches around it. His cock is bright red and hard, and you’re sure you could see it pulsing with need if you looked close enough. You put the ears on him, stepping back to stare at him. 

What a beautiful sight he makes. 

“You were a bad boy.” You say as you close the box, moving it off the bed. “Humping your bed like a needy little pup.” 

“Am a needy pup.” He whines, hips bucking the air in desperation. 

“Naughty pups deserve punishment.” You ignore his words, moving to stand in front of him at the end of the bed. “You only get to watch.” 

His eyes widen as you begin to unbutton your shirt, revealing the lacy bra underneath. Your nipples pebble in the cool air as you untuck your shirt, undoing the last buttons before slipping it off your shoulders. You toss it on the floor before undoing your pants, sliding them down your legs. He lets out a whine as your lacy panties are revealed, blue just like your bra. He shifts on his knees again as you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs. 

The lace is damp from your arousal, darkening the fabric. He licks his lips as you rub your damp slit over the lace. He loves lace, the sight of it enough to make his cock leak. He can cum untouched like a needy teenager if you get him worked up enough. You're tempted to do it, make him cum all over himself before he gets to touch you. 

That feels like too much of a reward. 

“You don't cum until mommy does.” You command, moving the lace to the side to drag a finger through your slit. 

He licks his lips, watching your shiny juices smear all over your skin as you rub your hand over your pussy. He’s enraptured, forgetting himself as he stares at your fingers and the way you spread yourself open for him to see. You’re doing it on purpose, goading him and distracting him to make him forget himself. All the more sweet torture for him. 

You stop your hand, covering your pussy from his sight. “I gave you an order.” You say, your voice stern. 

“Yes, mommy.” He stutters out, eyes still glued between your legs. “Don’t cum until ye do.” 

“Good boy.” You praise him, opening your legs wider. 

You circle your clit with a finger as you stare at him, those big blue eyes locked in on your hand between your legs. He’s picturing himself doing it, his fingers dragging through your folds, smearing your slick everywhere. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his thighs. He wants to taste you so badly he might start drooling soon. 

You won’t let him have it yet, sliding your hand down to press a finger into your pussy. You moan softly as you work your finger in, knowing you’ll need to prepare yourself regardless to take his thick cock. You can take it without preparation, but he’s far too eager to be gentle tonight, to take his time. 

You slip a second finger into your pussy, your head falling back as you fuck yourself with your fingers. Johnny shifts on his knees, hands curling into fists where they rest on his thighs. The wet sound fills the air as you thrust your fingers in and out, toes curling. You’ve been waiting for this as much as he has, your pussy throbbing for the last hour now. Still you pull your fingers from your pussy before you can cum, resting them against your inner thigh, spreading juices on your skin. Johnny is drooling now, his chin wet as his mouth hangs open just slightly. You can’t help but chuckle as you stare at him. 

Needy thing. 

You push yourself back up, staring at his cock for a moment. It looks painful, the nice side of you wanting to take pity on him, have mercy. This night is about him after all. It is his birthday. 

“Come here and make me cum.” You say, holding the lace out of the way. 

He doesn't hesitate as he crawls forward, immediately pressing his face against your folds. His tongue darts out, licking at your damp lips like the eager pup he is. He flicks his tongue over your clit, your stomach clenching at the warm sensation. He holds your gaze as he licks and sucks at your clit, slurping sloppily at the sensitive numb. Your lips are parted as you pant and moan, your hand lifting to grip his mohawk, pressing him harder against your pussy. He doesn’t complain, slick wetting his skin as he suckles at your clit, the sensations almost too much. 

“Gonna cum...” You moan. “Make mommy cum!”

He sucks harder at your clit, flicking it with his tongue over and over. You cum quickly, thighs squeezing around his head. Your hips grind against his face, your hand tightening in his mohawk, holding him in place. 

“Fuck....” You moan, his tongue still working at your clit, pushing you towards overstimulation. 

You have to tug him away from your pussy, your body shaking from the near overstimulation. His face is shiny, his mouth still parted as he stares up at you. You press your fingers against his tongue, his lips closing around them, licking the remnants of your juices off them. 

“Stand up.” You say, pulling your fingers free. 

He does as he’s told, standing over you. His cock is right in front of you, hard and throbbing. You spit on your hand before you wrap your fingers around him, smearing your spit all over his length. He groans, his hips thrusting as you begin to move your hand, jerking him off. 

“Gonna cum for mommy?” You ask, precum dripping around his foreskin. 

“Gonnae cum.” He moans, hips thrusting in time with your hand. “Don’t stop, please!” 

You don’t have any plans to, picking up the pace of your hand as you stare up at him. His cum is hot as it splatters against your chest, painting your skin as he moans low and deep. You pump him through his orgasm, milking every last drop out of him. He’s nowhere near done for the night, cock still hard in your hand. 

You release him, leaning back on the bed again. “You made quite the mess, pup. Clean it up.” 

He drops to his knees in front of you, leaning forward over you. His arms wrap around you as he begins to lick his cum from your skin. His tongue is warm as it trails over your skin, lapping at the streaks of cum across your chest, making sure to get every last drop of it. He follows the trail of it down to your stomach, stopping to suck at one of your nipples through the lace. You let him do it, moaning softly at the sensation. He trails his lips down your body to your thighs, licking up his cum as he goes. 

He tries to push your thighs apart but you tsk at him, nudging him gently with your foot. “I’ve got something better for you.” You sit up straight on the edge of the bed, putting you nearly face to face with him. You grip him by the collar, pulling him up so you can stare into his eyes, your breath mixing with his. “I want you to breed me.” 

“What?” He breathes, the puppy brain slipping just for a moment. 

He goes still, his eyes widening. He searches your face for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation or even a sign of mirth as you tell him you’re joking. You’re not. You rarely let him cum inside you, usually making him finish on your stomach before making him clean you up. He likes it too much, stuffing you full of his cum. You usually save it for special occasions like this one. 

You pull away as you shift on the bed, kneeling on the edge before bending down, arching your back to push your ass into his face. “You heard me. Be a good boy and breed me.” 

“Screaming Jesus.” He curses before rising to his feet, his hand falling to your hip. 

He slips his cock under your panties, thrusting it through the lace and your damp folds for a moment. You moan softly as his head catches on your clit, your hips pushing back against him. You've been thinking about this all day. It had been a rough day at work as your mind was only filled with thoughts of his cock inside of you. The temptation to slip into the bathroom and rub one out had been strong, but you didn't want to make things harder for you or him. 

You arch your back more as he pulls his cock back, pressing his tip against your hole. The comforter bunches as your hands sink into the fabric, holding on for dear life as his thick cock presses into you. You moan as he stretches you, rocking his hips to sink deeper and deeper. The stretch is always delicious, his cock like a bonus reward for choosing him as your puppy. Not just that, he knows how to use it. 

He folds himself over your back as soon as he’s seated inside you, beginning to rut his hips against your ass. His hands come to rest by your head, pushing himself deeper inside of you. 

“Fuck...that’s it puppy.” You moan, squeezing around him as he continues to rut into you like an eager pup. 

He is an eager pup. 

Your hands grip his wrists for support as his cock drags against that spot inside of you with every movement of his hips. He picks up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass. You’re the one almost drooling now as he rocks your body with his thrusts. He shifts, his knees coming to rest beside yours on the bed, pushing himself deeper into you. 

“God, fucking yes!” You moan, squeezing around his cock. 

He’s close, grunting in your ear as he ruts against you. You can picture his tail flopping back and forth, wagging excitedly as he finally fucks you after weeks of denying him your pussy. 

“Mommy. Mommy.” He moans desperately. “Please, can I cum? Please let me cum.” 

“Cum for me puppy.” You moan as his thrusts become sloppy and desperate. “Be a good boy and cum in me.” 

His cum is warm as it spurts into you, his hips jerking before stilling as he spills into you with a whine. His cock is twitching inside of you, spilling the last of his cum before he pulls out. He moves off of your back, gripping your waist before he flips you over onto your back. You can’t find it in you to reprimand him for manhandling you, one of the rare moments he’ll take control while still in his puppy brain. 

“Gonnae breed ye mommy.” He grunts, slotting his body between your thighs. You haven’t cum yet and he knows that. “Gonnae fill ye right up till ye burst.” 

Fuck. 

You can’t do anything but moan as he shoves your panties to the side again, thrusting right into you before very much of his cum slips out of you. He fucks it back into you, his pace fast and hard. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down against you. You can see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth from the force of his thrusts, your legs shaking as you grip his collar. 

“Such a good boy.” You moan, thighs squeezing around his hips. “Such a good puppy for mommy.” 

“‘M yer good boy.” He moans, pressing his face into your neck. “Good puppy for mommy.” 

“Gonna make me cum?” You whine, getting closer and closer to the edge with every slap of his hips against your clit. He’s close again, whining as you squeeze around him. 

“Please,” He whines, his pace stuttering. “Please cum mommy.” 

You can hardly deny him as your back arches, body shaking as you cum around him. Your limbs coil around him like a snake, holding him in you as your fluttering walls force another orgasm from him. He spills into you again, spurting more cum into your pussy. You moan at the feeling, reaching up to pet his damp mohawk. He’s shaking over you, tail vibrating in the air. The night is far from over, his cock already growing hard inside of you again. 

You’re going to call in the morning and book those spa days. 

You continue to pet his hair as he grinds against you, humping you like a needy puppy. You press your face against the side of his, lips brushing his ear as you pant against his sweaty skin. 

“Good boy.” 

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[lamiadrowned]

Hey, how are you? Before I make my request, I wanted to say that I couldn't find your rules, so if the content of this request is not to your liking, please ignore it.

Could you please write Jinx fucking her girlfriend several times in a row and the reader ends up squirting?

ty ❤️

*:･ﾟ✧ all night, keep moving

jinx x fem!reader | nsfw

such a yummy request thank you! i’m currently working on a post for my request rules as well as a masterlist, so that should be up soon :)

“just one more, ‘kay?”

that’s a very common lie when jinx gets in this mood of hers– the one where she has all this steam to blow off. it’s never just one more, and to make matters worse, she never goes easy on you, either.

she’s repeated those words like a personal, but very dishonest mantra before the last three orgasms you’d had tonight. it’s no secret that her stamina is unmatched, but you can’t understand how her hand hasn’t already cramped up, or more absurdly, completely fallen off.

her middle and ring finger are thrusting in and out of you at a break-neck speed, sparks that feel like a crack of lightning going up your back each time she curls them into that spot that makes you see stars. the heel of her hand presses harshly into your clit with each movement. she’s on top of you, shirt long forgotten about somewhere on the floor of your room whilst you’re completely naked, and she’s grinning down at you with pride in how much of a mess she’s made out of you.

there’s an odd feeling stirring inside of your belly, somewhere deep and guttural. you arch your back and gasp when she thrusts especially hard, only worsening this unfamiliar sensation.

“jinx,” you cry, grabbing onto her wrist of the hand that is gently holding onto your neck to ensure that you can’t go anywhere. “too much!”

“oh, too much?” she mocks you. “c’mon, but you’re doing so good for me!”

you squeeze your eyes shut, a single tear running down your temple. “s-slow down!”

much to your surprise, jinx obliges this request. she slots her fingers inside of you and slowly continues to curl her fingers in a steady rhythm, leaning down to plant a kiss on your cheek. “i know, honey. it’s a lot, huh?” she mumbles sweetly, though you know she’s only teasing you. you nod regardless, inhaling her familiar scent in attempt to ground yourself– sweet peas and gunpowder. “don’t think you can take it?”

you whine in protest, grip tightening on her wrist. “i can! i can… i can take it,” you breathe through your whimpers.

“but you just said it was too much?” she feigns confusion as she tilts her head, only to see a couple more desperate tears fall from your eyes. the power she has over you gives her a head rush.

at this point, you have no chance of forming a coherent sentence, so you just close your shaking thighs around her hand in attempt to keep her there. she laughs, but moves her free hand down to spread them apart again, her nose slightly brushing yours. “you’re so fucking cute, you know that? can’t even talk,” she beams. then, her fingers speed up the rhythm of their ceaseless curling, her hand that was previously on your thigh now moving to rub your clit with her thumb. a gasp rips itself from your throat and you arch your back, crying out from the sheer pleasure and shock.

“there we go.” jinx encourages you, feeling your bruised walls tightening around her fingers with reckless abandon. “you gonna cum for me? yeah?”

your moans make up for the words you can no longer find. they bounce off the walls and fill jinx’s ears, a symphony she hopes to hear again and again, because just like you, she knows this won’t be the last time she pushes you over the edge tonight.

that feeling in your stomach builds to a peak that your body can no longer withstand, feeling as if you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. before you know it, your eyes are rolling back into your head, your body is arching into the girl on top of you– for a moment there, you totally black out.

but jinx? she’s sure to watch every second. her smile grows impossibly wide when she feels a splash of wetness against her hand, looking down to behold a sight that only spurs her on further. “look at that! jeez, babe!” she laughs breathlessly, looking up at you without stopping her ministrations.

you squirm and cry and use your hands to try pushing her away after a long few seconds, body burning with the overstimulation of her movements. luckily, she listens, and slows her wet hands down before running them up your waist. you slump against the bed, comforted by her touch and unbelievably exhausted. “i’m– i’m sorry,” you whisper, throat so sore you’ll have to make a mental note to check the bathroom cabinet for cough drops.

“you’re sorry?!” she gasps. then, she moves up to press a sweet bunch of kisses to your tear-stained face. your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, your nose, and then, your mouth. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i didn’t even know you could do that!”

“i didn’t either.” you huff out a pathetic laugh, weakly wrapping your arms around her shoulders to pull her down into a kiss. her teeth and tongue brush against your lips, which is one of many signs that she’s nowhere near done with you.

this suspicion is confirmed when she pulls away to start kissing at your neck. you thread your fingers through her long ribbons of hair and hum in satisfaction. “take a breather, alright? i’ll go get you some water. i’ve gotta make you do that one more time before you’re out of commission.” she speaks into your neck, her words sending another wave of arousal through your delicate system.

maybe you could stand to last a few more rounds. after all, there’s no such thing as ‘one more time’ with jinx.

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓖𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝓑𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝓑𝒐𝒚. WRIOTHESLEY ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 1.4k ノ gn reader — sweet intimate celebration of his birthday. subtle flirting (a failed attempt at doing so). established relationship. comforting fluff with hugs and giggles <3

The atmosphere in the Duke’s office is rather light-hearted and joyful, unlike the usual stern reputation of the Fortress. The steady hum of machinery beyond the thick walls buzzes along with the quiet crackle of a small, ornate heater placed in the corner — a luxury in the underwater prison.

The tea table is neatly set, the gleaming silver teapot releasing curling wisps of steam into the air, mingling with the earthy, spiced aroma of Chenyu Adeptea — a new blend being a part of your gift. Though muted in tone, you two celebrate this day with the gentle clink of porcelain teacups and muffled laughter. The sharp tang of the sea breeze and metallic rust replaced with a delicate sweetness that hints at the rare delight.

“Mittens, huh?”

It’s the low timbre of Wriothesley’s voice that breaks temporary silence, testing out the lovely other part of your gift, fingers examining the texture. He takes his time making sure they fit snugly, the pair of fine-woven mittens. Albeit he couldn’t care less about how they look.

“Well, it’s cold here in the Fortress, and the humidity makes it unbearable sometimes…”

“I will make great punches in these.” He says with a note of chuckle at the end, all while testing his grip in the fluffy covers on his hands. “Look at them, my new gloves to punish lawbreakers!”

The very image of Wriothesley imitating boxing punches with the fists wrapped in the softest of fabrics makes you giggle loud. Loud and clear, a sound he adores so much when it reverberates from the stone walls and metal pipes like delicate chimes in the wind. The sound he misses every single minute when you have to return above the sea waves.

His place has never felt this warm before, with the candles flickering on the curved desk, the tea table heavy from the gifts from the staff, and — last but not least — his heart is about to melt, a glowing cauldron of fondness for you. You are simply there, smiling back at him, raising the teacup in a silent toast for his birthday.

For someone who took this post in selfless service to the people and their safety, the fact that they all care so much — but none as much as you — makes him want to serve them twice as much. Maybe working in the Fortress, in this new home of his, isn’t that bad after all. No, not in the slightest. No worse than if he were to restart his entire life on the surface, in the society he doesn’t remember from his early years.

“Do you like them?”

You seem to notice the pause, the thoughtful gaze he shoots at the pair of mittens on his knuckles.

“A lot.” He responds softly, rubbing his thumb against the soft fabric. “They will serve me well.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach with each passing moment of admiring the way his hands seem so much more gentle than they appear to be, the touch not as hard and coarse as he puts it across. Though there is a hint of sadness, a lingering melancholy at the thought of how the roughness of his fingertips was created, the callouses on his palms a result of years and years of fighting.

“I’m happy you like them.” You say, leaning forward. “I was worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Enough?!” Wriothesley raises an eyebrow under the tuft of his cobalt bangs, perplexed. “Never in a thousand years could I ever deserve what you give me!” He holds his mitten-wrapped hands up just to make a point. “These? These are cute! I have never received fluffy gloves from anyone before. Not even once. This is so fun! You are the sweetest for coming up with this idea!”

The tenderness of his voice, almost desperate to show how much it all means to him — it’s silly, hilarious even that a small gift can make such a difference — the fondness pouring from his eyes, like he’s pouring liquid honey over your soul. You find yourself moving closer, drawn to him, craving his closeness. Craving to wrap your arms around his waist and find the steady thumping of his heart amidst all other background noises.

“Should we get you a pair for every winter month, then?” You joke, shyly leaning against him, carefully observing his reaction. “Who would’ve thought that the Duke of Meropide is such a sweetheart, hm? A good boy under those scary looks, all giddy over a colourful yarn.”

Wriothesley doesn’t answer at first, fighting off a boisterous laugh. His mind is racing in several different directions, struggling to form coherent thoughts under your touch. He sighs, gently enveloping you into his embrace and letting himself indulge in this feeling just for a little while longer. It is not enough to have these small moments when you visit him here, but he gladly accepts anything you offer him, secretly hoping there’s a chance you will stay with him longer this time.

Anything, a glimmer of hope.

And now you are saying all these sweet things…

“Why would you want to get me more when I can have you wrapped in my arms every winter?” He asks in the same tone you used earlier, with a barely audible chuckle at the end of the sentence. “You’re much warmer, you know.”

“Ah, you and your flirting out of nowhere! Just when I’m least prepared.” You shake your head, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips to shake off the fire running to your face at his comment.

“Are you embarrassed now?” He smiles softly, his eyes glinting mischievously in the candlelight.

“No!” You pout, unwilling to admit how you do melt a little under his gaze. “I can flirt back too, if you wish.”

“Please.” He begs, chuckling as he says that. “Entertain me with your wits.”

He seems amused by this idea. Not in a teasing way, but rather playful, genuinely interested in what you are about to say. And so you give it a try, breathing in slowly to think of something… well, witty. Or at least funny enough to make him smile.

Obviously, as if asked to show your skills on request, your head is empty. This is embarrassing, not funny at all. But you cannot let him see that, trying to appear cool and nonchalant about it.

“Well, perhaps you’re right—” you begin, “you may have those fluffy mittens on your hands, but you will still need someone to warm up your heart.”

“I think I may be infected with a cold by now,” he replies, barely holding it together as he leans in for a bear hug, the entire lump of his large self covering you in hearty embrace. “I might need some extra cuddles.”

You squirm in his hold, pretending to struggle as if your plan is to run away — yet he knows well enough that it’s a playful ruse to get more affection out of him. He snuggles against your cheek, gently rubbing his nose against your skin. There is so much he wants to say, so many things that swirl in his head, and yet no words are uttered. He feels content to enjoy this moment with you.

No interruptions, no reminders that you have to return to the surface soon.

When Wriothesley lets go of you, his eyes fixate on the lines of your face, and your lips curl into a warm smile. His hands cup your cheeks gently, not wanting to ever let go. Your skin is soft under his touch, warm against the wool of the fluffy mittens. He traces the curves of your face with the gentleness of someone who is seeing you for the first time, every minute detail captured and studied. Every subtle feature — the glint in your eyes, the slight twitch of your mouth as you bite back a grin — he’s committing it all to memory.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathes out, his words hanging in the air between you like a thin thread of golden light. “I—”

“I love you more.” You interrupt him, stealing the kiss that was on the tip of his tongue, along with the confession.

Wriothesley lets out a pleased sound, almost like a low purr. The soft blush creeping onto his cheeks makes his face seem softer, somehow less threatening. The Duke of Meropide no longer towers over you like a mountain, but he is the most tender of the men. And you couldn’t have fallen in love with anyone else.

No, only with him.

“Happy birthday, Wriothesley.”

[jhilsara]

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.

She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes

|Next

The one with the late night bookstore    

If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.    

Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.    

He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.    

The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.    

Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.   

“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”    

He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”    

“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.   

“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.    

He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.    

Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.    

He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.    

-   

Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.    

There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.    

You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.    

You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”    

You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.    

You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.   

Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.    

It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.    

You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.    

“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.    

“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.    

Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature.  She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.   

Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.    

He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.    

He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.   

“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.   

You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.    

“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.   

It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.    

You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.   

“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”    

Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.    

“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.    

“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.    

You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.    

Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.    

“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.    

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.    

You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”    

Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.    

You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.    

“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.    

The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.    

You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.    

“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.    

You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.   

Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.    

“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.    

You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.   

“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.    

You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.    

“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.    

You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.    

The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.    

“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.    

The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.    

Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.   

She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.    

Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.    

“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.    

You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”   

The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”    

Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.    

He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.    

Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”    

You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”   

Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.    

If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.    

“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.    

“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”   

Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”    

He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.    

The one about Halloween    

You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.    

There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.    

To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.    

You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.     

“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.   

“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.    

You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.   

“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.    

Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.   

“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.   

You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.   

Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.    

He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.    

-   

 “Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.    

“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.    

You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”   

Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.    

You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.   

“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.    

Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.    

Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”    

“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.    

Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.    

You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.    

-   

You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.    

“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.    

Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.    

“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.   

The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.   

“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”    

You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”    

Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”    

He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.    

“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.   

Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”    

Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.    

You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.    

You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.   

“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.    

Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.    

“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”   

You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.    

Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”    

You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”    

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.   

It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.    

“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.    

“But you love it?” Spencer asked.    

You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”   

You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.    

“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.    

“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.   

Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.    

You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.    

-   

Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.    

Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.   

 It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.   

There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.   

Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.    

“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.    

“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.    

For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.    

For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.    

After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.    

“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.    

Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.    

“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.    

He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.    

You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.   

After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.    

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.   

“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.    

“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.    

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”    

“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.    

He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.    

“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.   

You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”    

He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.   

“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.    

Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.   

“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.   

You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.    

You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.    

When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.   

“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.    

You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.    

“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.   

“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.   

You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”   

“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.   

“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.    

“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.   

“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”    

Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”    

You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”    

Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.    

“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.    

“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”    

“South?” he asked.    

You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.    

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”    

You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.    

Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.    

Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.    

“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”    

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.   

You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.    

Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”   

Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.    

“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.    

“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.    

Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.   

The one after Haley’s funeral    

You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.    

You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.    

You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.    

You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.    

You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.   

His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.   

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”    

Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.    

The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.    

Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.    

There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer’s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.    

You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.   

He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.    

“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.    

Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”    

He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.    

That love had cost him Haley’s life.   

“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”    

He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”    

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”    

Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.  

You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.    

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.    

“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.    

You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.    

Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.    

“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.   

He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.    

You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.    

“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.   

“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.   

Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.    

“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.   

“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.    

“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.    

You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.   

You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.    

You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.   

You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.    

Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.    

Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.    

“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.    

Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.    

You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”    

You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.    

Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.    

You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”    

“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.   

“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.   

Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.   

“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.    

He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.    

You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.    

“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.    

Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.    

“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”   

“Someday.” you reaffirm.   

The one about family    

Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.   

One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.   

What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?    

The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.   

Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.   

When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.    

Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.    

You look like a zombie, barely functioning.   

You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.    

Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.   

“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.    

Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.   

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.   

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.   

You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.    

Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends’ private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.    

You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.    

“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.    

You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.    

You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.   

You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.    

“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.    

“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.    

You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.  

“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.    

You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.    

“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.    

“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.    

“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.   

“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.    

Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.    

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.    

Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.    

You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”   

Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”   

You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.    

You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.    

“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.    

“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.    

Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.    

“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.    

“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.   

“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.   

You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”   

He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”    

You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.    

Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”    

You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.    

-   

It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.    

There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.    

What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.    

“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.    

You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.    

“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”  

You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.    

Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”    

Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.    

“Birdie-”    

“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.    

“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”    

“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.   

She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”    

You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.    

“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.    

Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.    

You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.    

“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.    

You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.    

You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.    

Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.  

“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.  

“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.  

“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.    

You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.    

“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.   

You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”    

You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.    

Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.    

“This is so kind thank you.”    

Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.    

Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.    

You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.    

“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”    

You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”    

Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.    

“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.   

Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott    

Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.    

Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.    

You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.    

Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.    

You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.   

When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.    

Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.    

You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”    

He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”    

You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, “Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.   

Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”    

“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.   

Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.    

You shine bright like a star, like the sun.  

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[solidaritygaming-fanblog]

right. So I'm kinda insane and found another song to talk about in some life series / evo context: Copycat. (Song will be linked at the end of the post!)

So, many people headcanon Jimmy and Grian being brothers- and it makes a lot of sense. They're both dirty brown haired, have dark brown eyes, are British, bird coded, have warring personalities, and actually are associated both with yellow, and then one other primary color- Grian taking red, and Jimmy taking blue. Even their main colorations show a kind of "parallel difference" between them, with recently, Grian being associated with red and purple, and Jimmy with blue and yellow.

Now. Recently Jimmy did some lore of him praying to the Watchers. And back in Evo, Grian was taken into the Watchers ranks- so there is some repeated or rhyming elements in their arcs. However, I raise you this- Jimmy is Grian's "replacement", or basically, a backup for if he defects from the Watchers. That's why he has such a deference to them- its hard coded into him. That's why he's acknowledged them so much recently, because Grian's slowly leaving, and they're beginning to get Jimmy to replace him.

For a long time, those two have had a sibling dyanmic- Grian, the older, stronger, and smarter brother, and Jimmy, the younger, weaker, stupider sibling. Grian basically torments Jimmy for his own amusement, and the Watchers let it happen- if Grian ever defected, they could simply feed Jimmy praise -you're better than Grian ever could have been, hes weak and you're incredibly strong, of course we will listen to you- and he would instantly be completely loyal to them.

The song has a few choice lyrics I'd like to point out:

"We get along just fine!" "I say everything you like to hear..." "It's funny how much I feel like I'm looking in a mirror!"

Say "Hello! What's up with you?" "I'm starting to talk like you do..."

"We've grown apart this time, I can't figure out the reason why." "It's funny how much I'd kinda like to see you cry."

"I've become what you like! I am what you wanted, right? Sacrificed all that I know, I have taught myself to let go!"

In any case, the main motif of the song is losing your identity- and that's exactly what's happening to Jimmy, memories of servers being scrubbed as the Watchers prepare him to take over Grian's position. The whole chorus is Jimmy giving in to the Watchers, and thinking about Grian in anger- he pushed him too far, yes, of course- the perfect way to get back at him, to team up with the eldritch gods Grian hates. Grian said he should be stronger- well now look at him! He's one of the strongest beings alive! He is now what his brother wanted him to be, perfectly made in his image.

Oh, and in case you need further convincing, look at how Grian's wings are usually portrayed. Scarlet macaw- red, blue, and yellow. Now look at Jimmy's wings- nearly always yellow, but in Wild Life, he's become a parrot. His wings are blue and yellow now. I bet he sometimes sees little red feathers and rips them out, desperate to distance himself from Grian- unfortunately, his brother.

Meanwhile, Grian doesn't know what's up with his little brother, and is desperately trying to get him back, to prevent him from making the same bad decisions he did- maybe even losing some of his Watcher powers as Jimmy's power begins to eclipse his own.

Link+ a lil more below the cut. This post is too long already. Whoops

Okay I can perfectly see in the "Copy that copy cat!" bit in the chorus, different sprites show up with every beat. The first four are of Grian (followed by a short animation of him saying the line) hitting poses, with maybe each sprite having a little refrence to a different season or series they have been in together. And then it swaps to Jimmy, facing towards him, hitting the same poses, with matching refrences. However by the end of the song, Jimmy takes charge, doing the poses first and surrounded by eyes- and Grian, trying (and failing) to match the poses and control the eyes, confused why he's lost his power.

Give my boy Jimmy the power. Grian has tormented him far too long.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

im so sorry, i don’t even know how to explain myself at this point, consider this my apology for all the filthy nonsense i post here

so, this is a lil bonus to this post

nsfw (not really, but mentions of sex)

Ford is dead. Not literally (you check his pulse just to be sure), but emotionally and physically, this man has perished. Such a beautiful ruined mess underneath you, he’s sprawled out like a crime scene chalk outline, drenched in sweat, staring blankly at the ceiling as if questioning all his life choices.

But you’re not doing much better. Your legs shaking so much you can barely sit up, whole body feels like jelly and your brain isn’t working either. Somehow, you manage to flop next to Ford, throwing a limp arm over his scarred chest.

“Bravo, folks!” Bill exclaims. “what a show! Truly the pinnacle of human endurance and stamina! Sixer, gotta say, i missed seeing you like this, ah, the good old days!”

Ford groans faintly. “I hate you. . .”

“You’re so mean,” you mutter at Bill, glaring up at him with half-lidded eyes. “why’d you even join in? That’s not what we agreed on.”

The moment these words leave your mouth, you know you’ve fucked up. Ford’s body stiffens under your arm as his exhausted brain cells rapidly recalculating everything.

“What— what did you just say?” although his voice is hoarse from all sounds he made earlier, you still catch a note of seriousness in it. His head turns toward you in slow motion, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What do you mean. . . agreed on?”

You panic. “Wait, I mean, uh—”

“Oh, let me tell him!” Bill interrupts. “she’s talking about the little deal we made! you know, where I said, ‘hey, doll, wanna fuck your dusty old man to death?’ and she said, ‘of course, Bill, but no creepy tendrils, okay?’”

Ford looks like he’s been hit by a bus. “WHAT?”

You swear you feel yourself sweat from panic and embarrassment as you look at Bill in pure fear. “I thought you’d just watch! Not—”

Demon cuts you off with a laugh. “Oh, sure, you thought! And by the way, Sixer? these pathetic, desperate little whimpers, ugh, they’ll echo in my mind for eternity! I’ve waited so long to see you like that. A helpless, sloppy mess, both of you, my little huma—”

Ford's face flushes with either shame or anger, and you think he’s going to explode. But no. He pushes himself up, pushes himself up, the madman, and throws the sheet off in anger.

But Bill keeps. “I mean, you came so hard I’m surprised you didn’t pass out after the first round, old ma—”

Ford looks at that demonic creature. “That’s it. That’s it, Cipher, you’ve gone too far this time.”

You barely manage a “Ford, wait—” as he pulls on his boxers with surprising speed for a man who five seconds ago looked like he was on the brink of death.

“I’ll make you pay for this,” Ford declares dramatically. “Mark my words, Cipher, I’ll find a way to make you regret ever stepping into my house again.”

Both you and Bill fall silent, watching Ford’s boxers riding low on his hips as he marches out of the bedroom.

You watch your Ford walk away, eyes wide with panic, realising what just happened, but then your gaze goes lower. At that tattoo.

Flirty Gal.

Bill floats beside you, narrowing his single eye slyly. “I know what you’re looking at, doll.”

You glare at him, exhausted and annoyed. “I hate you.”

Cipher’s gaze flicks to the doorway Ford just walked through. “hate me all you want, but you've got good taste. Sixer's got a hell of an ass for an old man.”

“STOP TALKING.”

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" Leaving Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being an ordinary 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There will absolutely be more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love - despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together here when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing for a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication of putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed such control. (It's also worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant. This seems to be Bison's philosophy on life overall (and the root of his dissatisfaction), that he's not one to sit back and watch his life pass him by.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is noticeably different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above), for the greater purposes of a mission or task they have agreed to help each other achieve.

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating in real time as the show airs.

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[urlocaldesertdweller]

Hi hi !!!

Hope you’re doing well. Being loving your writing lately. 💞 keep up the amazing work !!

If you’re taking any requests. Could I please ask for a part 2 for Sentinel x Racer reader. I really liked the idea. Especially how you wrote it from an almost canon perspective of how it started from him just being irked that we were as popular as him lol 😂 It’d be cool to see how you continue the idea with maybe even Orion and D-16 in there.

Of course there’s no rush or pressure. Take care and I hope you keep doing what you love.

-anon

Tf1! Sentinel Prime x Cybertronain racer! Reader

THANK YOUUU!!<333333 for the compliments and ideas of my older stuff!!

(sentinel being possessive, daresay yandere, manipulation i think?)

As we know and knew, Sentinel loves to think of himself much higher than most other bots in comparison. He is a Prime after all!

However you became an exception.

An exception that would be way more special to Sentinel than he’d like to admit.

Although we know he likes to do subtle touches in public. He prefers to keep the relationship outside of business, he claims it just makes things messy for both of you. Considering you are both still highly beloved icons.

Another part of him is to protect you, when an enemy of sorts would use someone close to him to get him in a weak spot but he’ll rather die than admit he is afraid butttttt.

The media in public is so entertaining to the two of you when they talk about this “odd friendship” between The Sentinel Prime and Iacon’s best racer. A good chuckle can be shared when they describe it as nearly a mentor and trainee thing going on.

Going back to the difference of him in public and in more private quarters.

Of course the high and mighty Prime ego never falters. Its mainly the affection from touches and words coming from his lips.

The transition can be overall sudden at the very least. From being the very casual friendly Prime façade he uses for nearly everyone below him, to him sweet talking you. At times it almost feels like Sentinel is trying to drag you away from post race interviews just so he can lay his servos on you.

He almost seems pent up at times. Desperate is a word he hates but it makes things so much more interesting! Although he feels rather dominant in this odd relationship, you know some of his own weaknesses.

Whenever he leaves to “fight and fend off the quintessons, and retrieve the Matrix of Leadership” you found a very consistent pattern of him being nearly weak in the knees for you when he returns.

Tried of keeping this act up for all of Iacon. All he wants to do is rest in your arms, seeing you, hearing you, feeling you. And there you’ll sit awaiting for him, for him to rest his helm on your lap. (Totally thinking about the Jayce and Mel pose from Arcane season 2, episode 1)

Needless to say you have a very special and deep connection, where Sentinel can get to a level of weakness to you and only you. You cant help but find some power within that.

At times you can toy with him, denying your sweet love and affection. When he’s tired hell whine and beg, which is very rare. When he’s not? He’ll only tolerate so much before he’ll take you in his servos himself. Reminding you who has the power in this relationship.

When he is present in Iacon he’ll try to attend everything that you are involved in, races, trainings, interviews, meetings, speeches. Though he’ll be very supportive of your racing career, he doesn’t want the public to see a pattern.

But his support can go a little too far..

At times he still intentionally rigged a race or two just to see his lover win yet another race. From adding sudden obstacles that trigger just for the other competitors, to allowing short cuts just for you<3

If you eventually catch him he’ll try very hard to appear that he never did such a thing! From the innocent optics and gentle calm voice. He loves watching you get feisty at times. It’s what made you so interesting to him.

Speaking of your racing career, of course you have tons of fans. Dare to say you have nearly an equal amount of fans compared to Sentinel! It was one of the other reasons Sentinel wanted you.

Of course some of these fans were none other than Orion Pax and D-16. A pair of miners that get excited just like that rest when you are available to have one on one times with your fans!

Somehow through Orion’s tricky trouble making and dragging D-16 through it all. They seemingly managed to see you last minute out of breath and nearly caught by other bots, Darkwing.

You couldn’t help it! They were so charming that you stopped Darkwing from getting rid of them. To which he stomps off grumbling “miners.” under hist breath.

Orion was extremely thankful that you were even kinder in person! And D-16 was in shock from the whole entire thing alone. With each a firm and warm handshake, they both admired the action of being touched by the best Iacon racer ever.

Their compliments and praise seemed to be never ending. Even after to tried to make room for causal conversation. You couldn’t help but feel a bit of flirt from Orion? Honestly it didn’t get to you though, you are nearly always flirted by your fans. Which for along time you knew how to not let it easily get to you.

Orion and D were an adorable pair, their wonderful personalities made you smile and laugh. In fact the whole deal made you stay overtime, but it was worth it to the very end.

By the time you return to your shared private quarters with Sentinel he looks less than amused.

Turns out Darkwing snitched on you, told Sentinel that some “cog-less miners” were keeping you on overtime with your schedule one on one times with the common bots of Iacon.

Sentinel looked of a mix of emotions to say less.

But you knew right then and there it was less about the cog-less miners and more about the flirting. Since Sentinel was already pretty possessive alone with the relationship between you and your fans.

You’d try to make light of it, saying it was only just some quick praise with two fans. Then Sentinel would take your wrist in his servos tightly and pull you close.

Sentinel would scold you, as he wraps his other servo around your frame enclosing you within a cage of him.

He says this is only for him to “protect” you. Though you are perfectly capable of protecting yourself. And no more one on one times unless he is there to watch you closely.

His once tight servos lets go to cradle your fave plate lovingly. He stand to guide you to your shared resting quarters. His servos forever attached somewhere on to you, like a leash you never knew you wore.

[3rachaslut]

https://www.tumblr.com/3rachaslut/729194123843731456/i-saw-the-virgin-partner-post-and-i-just-want-to?source=share

We need maknae line too of this please

you got it!

a/n: it’s late and my eyes are stinging but i’m desperate to post this. i’ve proof read once but the writing could still be trashy who knows?🤷🏻‍♀️

——————————

virgin!skz x female reader MAKNAE LINE

cw: SMUT MINORS DNI !! pet names, a lot of fluff, boyfriend & girlfriend skzxreader

— hanji

“y/n…” han would say and you’d look at him with doe eyes as you always do that makes him melt. “yes baby?” you say, looking up from your phone. “um…”

he would run his hand up your thigh whilst you wait patiently for him to speak. his eyes would be flitting between you and his hand SO nervously. (it’s so cute!)

“i think im uhh.. i’m.. ready” he would say so hesitantly whilst refusing to even look at you from embarrassment. your eyes would actually light up from anticipation, questioning yourself if you even heard him correctly. the silence in the air whist you process what he just said would have him dying inside from embarrassment.

“really hannie? are your sure?” you try your best not to sound elated just in case he felt pressured but omg how you’ve been waiting for him to say that.

the way he would look into your eyes looking so nervous as you smile back at him trying to make him feel more at ease is so adorable!! “i think so. i’ve been thinking about you a lot.. like.. sexually” he would say and you’d chuckle adoringly at him “yeah i gathered that baby”

he would lowkey be so scared to touch all over your body but hearing your blissful moans encourages him to do so. (imagine his hands all over you OMG) soon he’s kissing up and down your thighs getting closer and closer to your pussy and your breath would be jagged which he smirks at.

“can i baby?” “PLEASE hannie please!” you. have. been. waiting. for. this. moment. your eyes would roll back into your head when you feel his tongue lick a strip up your cunt, shockwaves being sent to your clit omfggg. you would come so fucking hard and han is absolutely amazed at the sight.

“do you wanna.. no pressure!” you would assure him that you were MORE than happy to do whatever he’s comfortable with as it is his first time. lots and lots of whines from hanji like omfg he won’t be quiet (and we love that for us!)

he would try so so hard not to come too fast for you but oh how euphoric you feel he just can’t help it. the way you would both cuddle after you come back down is absolutely adorable omg you are both so cute AHH

(sorry for the ramble, the man’s my bias i can’t stop thinking about lovely, cute, nervous hannie)

— felix

felix is definitely the type to get a boner when you’re both play fighting in the living room during the adverts of the series you’re both watching. (sns) but how you’d usually both just laugh it off, this time he’s like “you can.. touch it if you want..” and you’d be so taken aback.

of course you want to JUMP at the opportunity but you’re still cautious. “are you sure lix? i don’t wanna rush anyth-“ “im ready y/n” he would say and the look in his eyes of nervousness and desperation warm your heart. you wanna give your all to him.

slowly you would slide your hand under the band of his sweatpants, gently running your finger under the length of his cock and the slight stimulation has he whimpering. he’s NEVER felt any sensation like this before and he’s literally ascending. you’d run kisses all over his neck, only adding to the pleasure he would be feeling omg. (he is so desperate for you rn)

you’d look into his eyes for approval before removing his sweats and boxers and holy- he looks gorgeous! (i’m actually dead) he’d be shivering in anticipation. “please y/n i need you baby” and you would be more than happy to oblige. sooo slowly you would start riding him and his mouth would drop open letting out strings of moans and groans ahh.

you’d lean down to plant kisses all over his neck and cheeks, you just wanna worship him. (i’m gonna cry)

when he comes, he would grip both your cheeks, staring into your beautiful eyes and strings of curses would leave his mouth as you smile down at him.

“i’m so proud of you lixie”

“i love you y/n”

— seungmin

allll minnie wants to do is make you feel like the most adored girl in the world by him. you’d come home from such a shit day at work and find him on the sofa, tuck yourself in next to him and he’d plant a kiss on your head. “bad day baby?” he says. “very” you’d lift your head up for a kiss in which he would reciprocate but would then obviously turn into a make out session.

what you wouldn’t expect though is the fact that he would be grabbing your hand and placing it on top of the rock hard tent in his jeans. clearly he wants you to take it slightly further? right? you would put a slight bit of pressure on top and start to rub your hand up and down which would elicit a BEAUTIFUL moan from him. “is this okay min?” “yes.. p- please”

he would undo his jeans (still making out with you duh) and you try your best to stop yourself from kicking your feet in happiness from the whole situation. “are you sure?” you say worried. “i’m 100% sure” he assures and you smile into the kiss.

lotsss of foreplay whilst seungmin is working up the confidence to do this properly with you. you really didn’t mind how this went, you were just so happy to finally be intimate with your favourite man.

you’d straddle his lap, his cock directly underneath your pussy and you give him a quick glance which he nods in response to. slowly, youd lower yourself onto him and he throws his head back in bliss against the couch. his hands would be roaming all over your thighs, torso, hips, ass (he CANNOT get enough of your body!)

“fuck baby- i’m sorry- i’m gonna cum” he would grunt out, lowkey embarrassed afff but you wouldn’t mind. it’s understandable. “gonna cu- ah”.

“omg that’s so embarrassing” he would say covering his face. you’d move his hands away to see his gorgeous face “i really don’t mind minnie”

“we will have to try again later…”

— jeongin

picture this: you and innie in your pjs watching a film after all the boys have left the apartment. (aww so cute BUT-) he leans over to place kisses on your collar bone whilst running his fingertips up your thigh. instantly you begin to feel yourself getting worked up…

“innie..” you’d say as your breath catches. “i wanna make you feel good babygirl” he would say in reply. where has this suddenly come from? what does he mean by that? your eyes would widen in shock. does he mean what you think he means? “lift up baby” and you do, he pulls your shorts and panties from underneath you soon finding your pussy and slowly sliding his fingertips inside your folds.

you would gasp and throw a hand over your mouth. innie has NEVER touched you like this before and you felt absolutely over the moon, the new sensations beginning to make you feel animalistic. “innie are you sure you’re okay to-“ he would disregard your worries with a kiss on your lips (omfg he’s so hot).

the way he would rub his fingertips around your clit has you writhing underneath him and you desperately try and get his cock out of his pj pants. he would moan down your ear at the feeling of your hands on him and that would only turn you on tenfold.

he would lean you to lay on your back on the couch and spread your legs slowly. “you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” (& that’s facts, reader!) “please innie i want you so bad” (also facts) and he would push into you slowly, his body shaking at the new incredible sensation.

whimpery. jeongin. !!!!

the way he would make out with you whilst he’s coming is so cute i could cry. (he loves you sm ahh)

“i love you innie” “i love you too baby”