#i really thought that they would just play the characters she wrote

[crazydestinymilkshake]

Caitlin Clark x Paige Bueckers Ch2

January - August 2017 U16 USA Basketball Tryouts & Camp!

I obviously don't own any of the rights to these characters etc.

TW: internalized homophobia, isolation, social anxiety, panic attacks, family

When Paige got back to Minnesota, the noise found her instantly.

Group chats. Pickup games. Girls draped across gym benches calling her “P,” “Buckets,” “Problem.” Someone made an edit of her camp highlights. Paige reposted it with three flame emojis and didn’t look at it again.

She didn’t say much about it all though.

If anyone asked about Caitlin, she shrugged. “Shooter. Serious.” Nothing more. Nothing about the way Caitlin’s voice cracked in the dark. Nothing about the gravel in her knees or how Paige had followed her into the heat without thinking.

She didn’t say she hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Her first night home, Paige dumped her bag by the garage door, kicked off her slides, and picked up a ball.

No one was home yet. Mom was working late. Drew still gone for the week. The house was dim and hollow and blessedly quiet.

She crossed to the far wall. Bent her knees. Let the ball drop.

Thump. Catch. Thump. Catch.

Over and over. Until her wrist loosened. Until her shoulders remembered the shape of stillness. Until it felt like her again.

This was the part people didn’t see.

Everyone thought Paige was calm, chill, together. She made it look easy—gliding through drills, laughing during suicides, arms thrown around someone’s shoulders like nothing ever stuck to her.

But the noise helped. The girls, the tags, the jokes—that helped. Silence was when the real stuff slipped through.

And camp had cracked something.

Not the practices. Not the coaches. Not even the basketball. That had all been fine.

It was Caitlin.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

So she didn’t do anything.

Paige wasn’t good at naming things. Never had been. She liked motion, momentum, things she could hold. Touch made more sense than words.

But there was this hollow beat under her skin now—like a pause that never resolved.

She worked out. Played in open gyms. Went to the lake with friends. Flirted with a sophomore guard who wore too much perfume. Her mom asked if she wanted to talk about camp and Paige just shrugged.

“Same as always.”

She’d flip through her phone late at night and land on the Nike Camp folder. No texts. No photos. Just the contact saved as “Caitlin Clark 🏀” from that one moment someone had dared her to ask for her number. She never deleted it.

Her bedroom walls were neat. Organized. Box scores in plastic sleeves. Newspaper clips thumbtacked straight. Old USA trial rosters folded into corners of her bulletin board.

The real Paige? The one who woke up sweaty at 3 a.m. with Caitlin’s voice in her ear, or the image of her curled behind that gym building burned behind her eyes?

That Paige lived somewhere deeper. Somewhere she couldn’t get to with a crossover or a joke.

—-------------

Caitlin went back to Iowa and disappeared into routine.

Shooting workouts. Three-on-three tournaments. Film study with her dad in the living room, ESPN muted, whiteboard markers squeaking against laminated plays. Her mom hovered—“eat more.” Her friends talked about lake weekends and prom dresses and which senior was secretly hooking up with the physics teacher.

Caitlin nodded. Laughed when she was supposed to. Sipped Sprite at bonfires like it burned.

But her head was never there. She couldn’t focus. Not really.

Sometimes she’d be in the driveway after dinner, shooting just to move, and she’d catch herself still mid-follow-through, hand raised, not even watching the ball. Paige’s voice would come out of nowhere— “You were the best one here.”

Or worse— her own — “I saw you watching.” Like it had never left. Like it had carved itself into her.

She hadn’t told anyone about what happened behind the gym. Not her best friend. Not even her notebook, and she wrote everything down—drills, stats, dreams, plays she saw in her sleep.

It didn’t feel like something you wrote down.

So she didn’t. She trained harder instead. Pushed until her calves locked, until her knuckles split. Her dad called it focus. “You’ve always had that extra gear,” he said, like it was a compliment.

But it wasn’t a gear.

It was an ache. A buzzing under her skin. Like there was something she’d almost touched and now couldn’t stop chasing.

Every time her phone buzzed, she thought it might be Paige.

It never was.

—-----------------

The email hit both their inboxes the same Tuesday in December.

Subject: USA Basketball U16 Women’s National Team Invite – Colorado Springs, CO

Caitlin opened it in the parking lot of her trainer’s gym, still in her practice gear, forearms marked up with floor burns. She didn’t read it all at once—she couldn’t. Her eyes bounced to the roster like her body already knew what it was looking for.

Clark, Caitlin – Iowa.

Two lines down—

Bueckers, Paige – Minnesota.

Her chest tightened. Not panic. Not excitement either. Something grayer. Something with sharper edges.

She closed the email. Then opened it again. Then again.

Six weeks. Colorado, Argentina, all of it. If they made the team, they’d be teammates. In locker rooms. On buses. On the same court. Every day.

She said nothing. Just sat with it. Then texted her dad: Need to hit the gym after dinner. Told her mom she needed new shoes. Said she had to tighten her handle. Her conditioning. Her shot.

Didn’t say why.

Paige opened the same email on her bedroom floor, mid-text with a friend who was asking about a party that weekend. She skimmed it. Then scrolled back up.

Clark, Caitlin – Iowa.

A breath caught in her chest. She let it out through her nose like it didn’t matter. Tossed the phone on the carpet and stared at the ceiling.

Six weeks.

No camp to disappear into. No vending machine corners. No walking away like it never happened.

Just drills, flights, games. Same team. Same uniform. Same air.

Someone called her name from downstairs. She didn’t answer.

Eventually, she picked her phone back up. Re-read the email. Scrolled through the roster again like it might change.

Then she said it out loud, just to test it. “Clark.”

Flat. No emotion.

But her ears rang anyway.

—------------------------

Paige barely changed anything.

At least, that’s what it looked like.

She kept up with school, went to pickup runs, put up shots at night in the rec gym across from her church. When people asked if she was nervous, she said “nah” without missing a beat.

Everyone believed her.

But something in her started to bend anyway.

She played more selfish in scrimmages. Tested how deep she could shoot before her coach called her name sharp. She started staying late again, long after the boys cleared out, just flipping the ball off the glass, over and over, like she was listening for something.

She didn’t talk about the tryouts. Didn’t talk about Caitlin.

But every time someone mentioned Team USA, her mind went to the way Caitlin looked right before she pulled up off the dribble.

That coil of muscle. That focus. That ache.

It had been weeks, and she could still feel it. Still wanted to break it.  Or maybe get close to it again.  She couldn’t tell the difference.

One night, she tried to journal. Just to get the thoughts out.

She wrote: Colorado. June. Six weeks. Clark.

Then ripped the page out and didn’t try again.

—------

Everything in Colorado Springs was tighter.

The air, the drills, the pressure coiling just beneath Caitlin’s skin. From the second she stepped off the shuttle and walked into the training center, it felt like something was pulling taut in her chest and refusing to let go.

Caitlin spotted Paige the second she entered the gym. Already on the court, dribbling one-handed, a sweatshirt half-zipped, laughing like the altitude didn’t touch her. Like she wasn’t even trying. Caitlin looked away before she could get caught staring, but it was too late. Something in her stomach had already dropped.

Three days. That’s what the email said. Three days of tryouts, then cuts. Twelve girls. She didn’t know if she and Paige were fighting for the same spot. Point guard. But the not-knowing made it worse.

She couldn’t ask. Couldn’t even imagine saying the words out loud. So instead, she ran harder. Hit her shots cleaner. Talked less. The coaches liked that about her—serious, focused, all-business. No wasted movement.

Paige was the opposite. Loose, loud, always smiling just a little too long. She passed with flair. Scored with ease. But underneath it—if you watched closely, if you knew what to look for—there was a tension to her too. A flicker of something sharp in her eyes every time Caitlin hit a three or blew past her off the screen.

They didn’t talk much. Not really. A nod during warmups. A quick “you been good?” that neither of them answered. But they watched each other constantly. Every drill. Every possession. Like the other’s success made the floor tilt.

The second day, they were assigned to opposite scrimmage teams. Caitlin guarded Paige full court, chest-to-chest, jaw clenched so tight she tasted copper. Paige grinned once after a crossover that almost dropped her. “Easy, shooter,” she said under her breath. Caitlin didn’t smile. Just bumped her a little harder on the next play.

By the end of the day, they were both drenched and snapping at teammates. A coach pulled Caitlin aside and told her to relax. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her pulse was too loud. Her lungs too tight. Her body too aware of Paige’s elbow brushing hers on a screen, of the sting in her palms when she blocked her layup clean. They were playing like something was on fire between them. And maybe there was.

That night, Caitlin couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the look on Paige’s face after a no-look dime she dropped in transition—half-smirk, half-dare. She could still feel the heat of it. The next morning, she ran suicides alone before breakfast. Paige saw her from the upper hallway and didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Watching.

Day three was worse. Everyone was tight. Jumpy. Overcompensating. The roster would go up that night.

They still hadn’t talked, not really, but everything felt louder between them. Every glance. Every moment their fingers almost touched on a rebound or an out-of-bounds save.

Caitlin was missing short. Paige was deferring more than usual. And during a lull in drills, when the second unit was subbing in, they found themselves on the same sideline. Neither of them looked at the other. Not right away. But the silence between them pressed in hard, like altitude on the sternum.

It was taking effort.

Paige was keeping her distance on purpose. Not because she didn’t want to be near Caitlin, but because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she was. Every time she caught a flash of her ponytail mid-drill or saw her name on the whiteboard, her throat went dry. Every time Caitlin hit a three and jogged back on defense like it meant nothing, Paige felt it like a bruise blooming under her skin.

And Caitlin had spent forty-eight hours trying to pretend Paige wasn’t here. She hadn’t looked at her. Not really. But she’d known exactly where she was at all times. Court 2, Group B. White jersey, number 9. heard knew Paige’s voice across the gym before she even saw her. It echoed it in her sleep. And maybe that was the problem. She’d let herself think about her. Too much. Since camp. Since that ghost of a touch that hadn’t left her wrist.

So when they finally ended up subbing out at the same time—mid-scrimmage, third day, sweat-soaked and quiet—neither of them moved fast enough.

The bench was full. Only one spot open.

They sat. Too close. Their knees touched. Neither of them shifted. The gym noise buzzed around them, coaches calling, balls thudding, sneakers squeaking. But this moment was suspended.

Caitlin rolled her shoulder back like it ached. “You’ve been ignoring me.” Paige didn’t answer. Just blinked. Once.

Then again. “I’m not imagining it,” Caitlin added. “Since we got here.”

Paige stared straight ahead. Then dropped her eyes. “You didn’t come say hi either,” Paige said. Her voice was low. Tight.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.” Caitlin swallowed. Her pulse was in her teeth. “I thought…” she started, then stopped. “Never mind.”

Paige tilted her head, not enough to look at her, just enough to hear better. “What?”

“Nothing,” Caitlin muttered.

The scoreboard buzzed. A horn. Someone on the bench barked “switch,” but it wasn’t for them. Not yet.

Paige dug her fingers into the hem of her shorts. “You played well today,” she said suddenly.

Caitlin’s throat tightened. “Thanks.” Another pause.

“You always play well,” Paige added, like it was something she’d been sitting on. “It’s kind of annoying.”

Caitlin huffed once—half a breath, maybe a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

They didn’t look at each other. Someone missed a free throw. The ball hit back iron. “Do you think we’re fighting for the same spot?” Caitlin asked, quietly. More curious than accusatory.

Paige flinched like the question was too sharp. “I don’t know.”

“It feels like we are.”

“Yeah.”

A long beat. Paige shifted, just barely, her shoulder brushing Caitlin’s. Not hard. Not light. Just real. “I’m not gonna go easy,” Caitlin said. The words came out a little hoarse.

“Good,” Paige replied. “I wouldn’t respect you if you did.”

They still didn’t look at each other. Their legs were touching now—warm, sweaty, undeniable. Neither moved. “I liked camp,” Paige said, barely audible.

“What?”

“Camp,” Paige repeated. “Back in August. That was… I don’t know. I think about it sometimes.”

Caitlin blinked fast. Her jaw tightened. “Yeah,” she said, like the word was caught in her throat. “Me too.”

That was all. But that was everything.

—---------

The list went up late. No announcement. Just a quiet shuffle of paper and tape outside the rec room, under a humming light that made everything look a little too sharp.

Girls crowded around it within minutes, some in socks, others barefoot, half-laughing, half-holding their breath. The noise rolled through the hallway—squeals, whispers, a couple stifled sobs. A water bottle thudded to the floor and no one picked it up.

Caitlin saw her name right away. She didn’t even have to read it. Her eyes went straight there, like they knew where to look before she did.

Clark, Caitlin — Iowa

She exhaled through her nose. A shaky, disbelieving sound. Then she stepped back. She didn’t want anyone to see her face. Didn’t want to be asked what it meant. She wasn’t sure yet. Only that something deep in her had loosened. And something else had tightened.

She retreated to the hallway across from the vending machines. Cool tile under her feet. Shoulders braced against the wall. Heart still jackhammering through her ribcage. She texted her dad. Left the message on read from her mom.

And waited. She didn’t know what to do.

But then Paige appeared. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just—there.

Hair damp from a shower, hoodie wrinkled and hanging loose, shoelaces untied like she’d rushed. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, her phone dangling in one hand. She wasn’t smiling.

Their eyes locked before either could pretend not to look. Paige stopped a few feet away. Like her body had made the decision before her mind did.

“Congrats,” Caitlin said. Her voice came out flat. Unsteady. Too many feelings stacked on top of each other.

Paige gave a small nod. “You too.” Then it was quiet. The kind of quiet that hangs heavy. That wraps itself around your shoulders like a damp towel. Not uncomfortable—but undeniable.

Caitlin watched Paige shift her weight from one foot to the other. “You were above me on the list,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Alphabetical,” Paige replied, too quickly. She glanced down. “Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not,” Caitlin lied.

Another pause. Paige tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hand lingered there a second too long, like she needed something to do. “You played out of your mind today,” she said eventually. “That step-back… in scrimmage two?”

“You saw that?”

Paige looked up, expression unreadable. “I see everything.” That knocked the breath from Caitlin’s chest.

She didn’t mean to step closer. She just did. And Paige didn’t back up. Their bags brushed first. Then shoulders. Then nothing but a breath of space between them.

Paige reached up, almost out of reflex, like she might fix Caitlin’s collar or scratch her own jaw. But her hand froze halfway. Hung in the air like it didn’t know what it was for.

Caitlin looked at it. Then at Paige’s face. Then she moved. Just a step. Just enough.

Her hands found Paige’s back without thinking. Without asking. And Paige folded forward into her like it was the only thing she’d wanted to do all week.

The hug wasn’t long. It wasn’t perfect. Their bags got caught. Caitlin’s elbow hit the wall. But Caitlin closed her eyes. Paige’s chin pressed into her collarbone. Their bodies aligned, just barely, just enough.

They weren’t even breathing the same. Paige’s was shallower. Caitlin’s was deeper. But together, it made a rhythm.

Neither of them pulled away first. Paige’s hand slid up, tentative, to Caitlin’s shoulder. Not possessive. Not certain. Just holding.

Caitlin let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in her lungs for three days.

When they did let go, it was slow. Almost accidental. Paige’s fingers dragging lightly off Caitlin’s arm, her knuckles brushing against the edge of her ribs.

They didn’t speak. Not until Paige shifted her weight back, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted.

“Six weeks,” she murmured.

Caitlin’s voice was hoarse. “Guess we’re teammates now.” Paige nodded. But she didn’t smile. She just looked at her. Hard. Like she was memorizing the shape of this.

Then she stepped back. And Caitlin didn’t stop her. Didn’t reach. Didn’t ask.

She just watched her go, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair swaying against her back.

And she didn’t know if she felt relieved.

But her shoulders still buzzed where Paige had touched them.

And that felt like the start of something she wasn’t ready to name.

—----------

They made the team in December, but the real work didn’t start until June. That’s when USA Basketball flew the final twelve girls back to Colorado Springs—three full weeks of training camp before heading to Argentina for the FIBA U16 Championships. It wasn’t a vacation. Two-a-days, weightlifting, film, curfews, media sessions, and constant evaluation. 

Coaches watched everything. Staff tracked every rep. And in between, they lived like a real team for the first time—shared dorm rooms, late-night cafeteria runs, whispered jokes in hallways. Some girls had known each other for years through AAU and circuit ball. Others, like Caitlin, still felt like they were catching up. But by the end of week two, it didn’t matter. They were locked in. Argentina was coming. And they were going to be ready.

And for Caitlin, something started to shift. Not all at once. Not with some big, cinematic scene or dramatic turning point. Just a slow, steady softening—like something sharp inside Caitlin was finally, cautiously, letting go.

It started with breakfast.

Caitlin stopped sitting alone. Not because anyone asked her to. No one made a big deal of it. One morning, Paige was already at the long cafeteria table near the juice machine, talking with Sonia and Aliyah, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, half a banana in her hand, voice rising mid-story about some JV coach who made them do ball-handling drills in the snow. Caitlin hesitated. She told herself it was the open seat. That it was just practical.

But Paige caught her eye before she could change her mind.

Just a glance. No smile. No wave. 

Just a look like: You coming or what? So she sat. Quiet. Focused on her tray. Ate like it didn’t matter. And Paige kept talking.

That was the thing—Paige always talked. Constant, magnetic chatter that filled the air like music. Sometimes it was for attention—louder when the coaches were around, quick with a joke that made even Diamond break—but other times, it wasn’t about the audience at all. It was for them. For you. Whoever happened to be next to her. The kind of talking that made silence feel like a choice.

Caitlin didn’t know what to do with it at first.

She kept waiting for it to turn on her. For the attention to sour. For the girls to laugh at something she said, or for Paige to stop noticing her. She braced against it. Kept her voice low, her walls up. But Paige—Paige never pulled away. Never pushed either. She just… stayed. Loud and easy and there.

By the end of week one, Caitlin was still quiet, but she started drifting toward the group during drill huddles. She made a few dry comments—quick, under her breath, too fast to be self-conscious. Paige would snort, or clap her shoulder once, casual like a reflex. And Caitlin found herself shifting her tray closer at lunch. Not to talk. Just to listen.

By week two, Paige was tossing her a towel without looking. “Clark, you good?” during breaks, like it was routine. Like they’d always been like this.

She said Caitlin’s name like it meant something. Not for the coaches. Not to tease. Just to say hi.

And Caitlin—without even realizing it—started answering. Started texting back. Started sitting with her in the film room, legs stretched out just close enough that their sneakers brushed every time one of them moved.

By the third week, the room assignments changed. Two-person rotation. Paige tossed her bag on the left bed without asking. Caitlin didn’t ask to switch.

The room smelled like mint toothpaste and Gatorade and the soft heat of dried sweat. Paige played music on her phone—low, always changing, sometimes just humming along like she didn’t know she was doing it. She fell asleep fast. Caitlin never did. Not right away.

She didn’t know how to rest with Paige that close.

It wasn’t that Paige made her nervous. Not exactly. It was more like she made her aware. 

Of the way her own shirt stuck to the small of her back after practice. Of the breath in her chest when Paige exhaled, soft and even, in the dark. Of the fact that she didn’t feel as alone here anymore—and that scared her in a way nothing on the court ever had.

They didn’t talk about last summer. Or the panic attack.

But sometimes, when the lights were off and the air buzzed faintly from the hallway vent, Paige would lie on the floor with her feet propped up on the bedframe, scrolling through her phone, and say things like: “You always write in that notebook?”

Caitlin, on her back in bed, eyes on the ceiling, didn’t answer right away. “Helps me remember plays.”

“Is that all you write?” Paige asked, still scrolling.

Caitlin turned her head. “What else would I write?”

Paige shrugged, phone light catching the curve of her cheek. “I don’t know. Dreams. Thoughts. People.” Silence stretched. Caitlin’s fingers curled against her ribs.

Then Paige added, a little quieter: “Your left hand’s better, by the way. Spin move’s tighter.”

Caitlin blinked. “You’ve been watching?”

Paige grinned, eyes still on her screen. “I always watch you.”

That landed. A little too direct. Caitlin’s breath caught. “You mean during practice.”

“I mean... yeah. Practice.” She finally turned her head. Their eyes met in the dark. “Not just.”

Caitlin swallowed. Her mouth felt too dry. “I watch you too,” she said, before she could think better of it.

That made Paige smile. Not wide. Not cocky. Just something small. Soft. They looked at each other for a second too long. Then Paige turned back to the ceiling. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Cool.”

Caitlin stared at the ceiling too, her heart thudding hard in her chest, like it wanted to run ahead of her.

Neither of them moved. But a minute later, Paige’s hand slid up to rest on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers curled loosely over the side, close enough that Caitlin could have reached. Could have laced their hands together. Could have touched her and said nothing at all.

She didn’t.

But she didn’t roll away either.

Caitlin lie awake that night staring at the ceiling, her chest too tight, replaying it over and over like it might mean more if she turned it around enough times.

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

The next day, Paige bumped into her during a water break. Didn’t say sorry. Just grinned, easy and crooked, like that meant something too.

Caitlin swore Paige was touching her more. Not on purpose. Or maybe on purpose in that flippant Paige way—her socked foot brushing Caitlin’s shin under the table, a nudge to the shoulder when Caitlin said something unexpectedly funny, her knee knocking into Caitlin’s during team stretches like she couldn’t help it.

And Caitlin started to get used to it. Started to expect it. Started to miss it when it didn’t happen. Aliyah called them “Team Mutual Silences.”

Sonia said, “They’re like weird magnets. Half push, half pull.”

Azzi just laughed and called them “The Compound Eyes,” which didn’t make sense until someone pointed out that they tracked each other like insects.

They played better together now. Less rivalry, more rhythm. Paige would cut and Caitlin would already be leading her with a pass. Caitlin would switch on defense and Paige would be there, mouth tight, eyes already reading the rotation.

Something was building. Not in a dramatic, “Harry Met Sally” way.

But in a way that made Caitlin stop during free throws just to breathe. In a way that made Paige stare at the back of Caitlin’s neck during cooldowns and forget what she’d been saying.

They were teammates now. But it was starting to feel like something else.

And that something was beginning to hum, low and steady, right under their skin.

—------

The night before Argentina, the team had a “bonding night.”

No one called it a party. Not out loud. They weren’t even supposed to be out past lights. But someone—probably Sonia, maybe Azzi—lifted a trainer’s keycard, and now ten girls were packed into the second-floor dorm lounge under a cold blue glow. The popcorn button on the microwave blinked, unused. Someone had pushed the couches together. Someone else was already barefoot. It smelled like laundry detergent and sour punch straws.

Paige sat on the floor, cross-legged, her back to the wall. She turned a half-full Gatorade bottle of vodka-cran between her hands, watching the red liquid slosh with each spin. She hadn’t taken a sip. She might not. But it gave her hands something to do.

Azzi was giggling on the beanbag chair. Sonia had her legs tossed across Diamond’s lap, both of them nestled into the corner like it was home. Aliyah sat apart, pressed against the window frame, hood up over her braids, her Team USA jacket zipped all the way. Silent, watchful, undecided.

Caitlin perched beside Paige, balancing on the edge of the armrest like she wasn’t sure how long she’d stay. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight. Her legs were bare—freckled, scuffed, and bruised from yesterday’s scrimmage. Paige noticed. She didn’t comment.

Someone passed the bottle toward Caitlin. She shook her head, eyes low.

Azzi leaned in, cheeks flushed. “Wait, wait, wait—hold up. You’ve never even kissed anyone?”

Caitlin froze. “I have,” she muttered. “Just not, like… seriously.”

“Don’t come for her like that,” Diamond said, swiping the bottle and taking a slow, performative sip. “She’s a child of God or whatever.”

Caitlin buried her face in her arms. “You guys are idiots.”

“She’s got time,” Sonia said, dismissively. “She’s just focused. Disciplined. Tragic.”

“Girl plays like she’s married to the game,” Azzi added, cracking up.

The room cracked up with her. Paige didn’t laugh. She just kept turning the bottle cap. On. Off. On. Off. Let the noise rush around her.

The conversation tumbled forward—boys back home, blurry hookup stories, one time Sonia made out with a senior safety behind a gas station. Paige half-listened, half-watched the vending machine light flicker across Caitlin’s face. She was smiling now. Softly. Quietly.

Then Aliyah broke in. Voice calm. “Okay. But what about you, Bueckers?”

Every head turned.

Paige didn’t flinch. “What about me?”

“You’ve had sex, right?” Azzi asked. Too loud. Too Azzi. “You’re, like…hot. And weirdly smooth.”

Laughter. Immediate and sharp. “Azzi,” Caitlin hissed beside her, horrified.

“No, for real,” Sonia said, eyes gleaming. “Everyone at camp thinks she’s some suave little white boy in disguise.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You’re all sick,” she said, but didn’t deny it. That would’ve made it worse.

Diamond leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you actually a virgin?”

Paige glanced at the floor. Then up again, even. “I don’t know. Depends how you define it.”

A long beat.

Aliyah raised an eyebrow. “So… you mean, not with a guy?”

Paige’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Yeah.”

No one moved. For a second, the room held.

Then Azzi let out a slow “Damn,” and someone nervously laughed. Paige looked straight ahead. Caitlin didn’t.

She was still. Too still. Her thigh was pressed against Paige’s now, and neither of them shifted.

“I’m not giving you a highlight reel,” Paige added, voice low. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Diamond let out a bark of a laugh. “Tragic. I had bets.”

Aliyah took another long pull from the bottle and passed it on.

Conversation rolled back into safer territory. Travel plans. Whether the flight to Argentina would have outlets. Someone groaned about media day. Someone else wanted to know if they’d get real jerseys yet.

Caitlin didn’t say anything. Paige didn’t either. But as the others started to doze, curling into couch cushions and balled-up hoodies, Caitlin let her foot drift sideways—just enough to press against Paige’s sock. Not hard. Not obvious. Just contact.

Paige didn’t move.

The room hummed with air conditioning and half-sleep and the sweet-tart breath of too many stolen sips. Paige stayed still for a long time. The bottle was empty. The night too loud in her chest.

She didn’t look at Caitlin.

But her foot pressed back.

—----

It was late by the time they got back to their room.

The hallway lights flickered, low and dull, humming against the silence. Caitlin didn’t say anything when she closed the door behind them. Neither did Paige. They stood there a beat too long in the dark—shoulders slouched, faces soft with leftover laughter, the warm weight of the night still clinging to the backs of their necks.

The buzz from the lounge still rang in Caitlin’s ears. But the party haze had lifted. Now it was just them again.

Paige kicked off her slides by the dresser and peeled off her hoodie. Her tank clung damp to the base of her neck, sweat darkening the fabric where it met her collarbone. Caitlin noticed. Looked away.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth,” Paige muttered.

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She sat on her bed while Paige disappeared down the hall. Pulled one knee to her chest, absently rubbing at the scrape blooming red on her shin. She stared at the wall like it might offer answers.

When Paige came back, barefoot and blinking from the hallway light, she didn’t say anything. Just tossed her toothbrush on the desk and collapsed face-first onto her bed with a groan.

“Jesus.”

Caitlin’s mouth twitched. “You okay?”

“No.” Muffled. “I think I’m still drunk on whatever the hell Diamond was passing around.”

“You didn’t even drink.”

Paige rolled onto her side, cheek pressed to the pillow, hair mussed and falling over her eyes. “Exactly. That’s how strong her chaos is.”

Caitlin laughed once, under her breath. Then silence again. The kind that pressed in at the edges. They lay facing opposite walls, the air thick with everything they hadn’t said.

Then Paige spoke. Voice small, a little scratchy: “Are you mad at me?”

Caitlin blinked. “What?”

“Earlier,” Paige said. She shifted onto her side, pulling her pillow half over her face. “With the Azzi stuff.”

Caitlin sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Paige sighed into the fabric. “Just—the whole sex thing. The way they were talking. About me.”

Caitlin hesitated. “You mean when Diamond asked if you were a virgin and Azzi said you were smooth like a white boy?”

Paige groaned. “God. Please don’t repeat it.”

Caitlin cracked a smile. “You brought it up.”

Paige peeked over the pillow. “I just… I didn’t want you to feel weird.”

Caitlin was quiet a moment. “Why would I feel weird?”

“I don’t know!” Paige said, too fast. “Because they were talking about all of it. And then I said that thing. About not having been with a guy. And you didn’t say anything after. You looked... quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “But not like that.”

Caitlin shrugged, then crossed her arms, leaning back into the wall beside her bed. “It wasn’t weird because of what you said.”

Paige looked over. Waiting.

“It was weird because…” Caitlin stared at the ceiling. “I’ve never done anything. Not like that. Not even close. And they were all acting like it’s normal. Like you’re supposed to already know how.”

Paige nodded. “Same.”

Caitlin turned her head, giving her a look. “You just said—”

“But it’s not—” Paige sat up halfway, pushing hair off her face. “It’s not what they think. It didn’t feel like anything. It was just... stuff. Because I thought I was supposed to. Because everyone else was. It didn’t mean anything.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. “Oh.”

“I don’t even know why I said it like that,” Paige added, voice low now. “They were all looking at me like I had answers. Like I was supposed to know what I was doing.”

Caitlin pulled her knees up again. “So... you’ve been with someone.”

“Yeah.” Paige nodded. “But it didn’t stick. It didn’t feel like... anything real. I make it sound easy, but none of it is. Especially not when it’s about—” She waved a hand vaguely in the air between them. “Wanting stuff. People. You know.”

Caitlin gave the smallest nod. “Yeah.”

They looked at each other across the space between their beds. Paige’s hair had fallen across her eyes again. Caitlin felt the weight of it all settle in her chest.

“I’m not mad,” she said.

“Okay,” Paige whispered. “Cool.”

She turned her face into the pillow again. Voice muffled now. “I just keep thinking I’m gonna mess this up.”

“This?”

“The team. The trip.” A beat. Then, quieter: “You.”

Caitlin stilled.

Paige didn’t look up. “I haven’t said anything real in weeks. I make everything a joke. It’s what I know. People expect me to be fun and chill and good at this. And I play along. But most of the time I’m just winging it.”

Silence stretched between them. A little softer now. A little safer. “You don’t have to,” Caitlin said.

Paige turned her head to look at her again, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. “Yeah, well. You barely talk, so we balance out.”

“I talk when it matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige’s mouth twitched. “When’s that?”

Caitlin didn’t smile. “Right now.”

Paige blinked. Waited.

“I don’t get you,” Caitlin said, quieter now. “But I think about you. More than I should.”

The words sat between them, heavy and bare.

Paige’s chest rose slowly. “I don’t get me either,” she said. “Still figuring me out.”

They were facing each other now. Not close. Not far. Shoulders nearly touching. A breath between them.

Then Caitlin added, even softer: “We don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

Paige looked at her—really looked. Something flickered in her face. A little shift. Like she believed her.

“Okay,” she said. “Cool.”

They didn’t touch. They didn’t move.

But they stayed like that. Quiet. Steady. Still learning how not to run.

[thebyunhip]

spcie up our love was useless and a little cringe, but fun

[the-halfling-prince]

Rip Shawn Hunter you would've loved American Girl GotY 2009 Chrissa Maxwell's best friend doll Gwen Thompson

[dokyumms]

don't say "i do"

one year ago, your parents made you and wonwoo break up for the sake of an arranged marriage and he left your life with a simple click of the front door. one year later, you're finally getting married, and you're already regretting every decision you've ever made. the worst part? you bump into a familiar face right as you're about to walk down the aisle. ♫ now playing: "try again" - jaehyun, d.ear

pairing: ex!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, comedy? idfk

word count: 2.1k

cw: arranged/forced marriage, cursing, original male character, mention of drinking/alcohol, running away, kissing

a/n: a request for my lovely moot @jjjjeonww! inspired by a reel she sent me, but then i lost it so i'm just going off of what i remember... if this looks rushed, it's probably bc it is 😭 (i've been working on this for days ok) also changed my formatting AGAIN but ANYWAYS enjoy kings

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

when you made the choice to send your ex an invitation to your wedding, you didn't think he'd even receive it.

it was an irrational decision, one you'd made after a few too many drinks with your friend.

"won't your parents be mad though?" she asked, watching as you finalized the decision, sloppily writing down his address on an envelope on your living room floor. you really did save an extra invitation just for this, but you were too scared to really do anything with it until that moment, too intoxicated to logically think this through.

"eh, they're already making me marry some rich asshole, the least they could do is just let me invite one person." you shrugged, tossing it somewhere on your "to mail" pile and leaning back against the base of the couch.

this was all really dumb, it really was. there was exactly one week before your wedding, yet you were drinking cheap soju in your living room at 4 am and making bad decisions. inviting your ex to your wedding was a pretty good example of one.

at least your friend not only has a higher alcohol tolerance than you, but is also better than you when it comes to wise decision making.

"i don't know, wonwoo most likely believes that you broke up with him because you fell in love with someone else. i wouldn't show up if i were him."

you groaned, she was right. when you refused to break up with wonwoo for the sake of some money your parents would gain from a marriage with some rich guy they knew, they took matters into their own hands. they had a whole professional letter writer (whatever job that was) analyze some essays you'd wrote for college and write a letter to wonwoo, saying that you two should break up because you lost feelings for him and found someone else.

the letter was planted in your kitchen for him to find, unknown to you. so when wonwoo confronted you about it, you had no idea what to say, but he took your speechlessness for an answer and left. you couldn't even blame him. the letter was written with your exact handwriting as well as your tone of voice, you would've thought you'd wrote it as well if you weren't, well, yourself.

that day, you lost the love of your life and learned that your parents were crazy lunatics.

"well, this might not even be his address anyway, mingyu probably sent me the address of a dumpsite."

"you seriously asked his best friend??"

"who else was i supposed to ask?"

"yeah, there's no way that's his address then. he also must think you dumped wonwoo, remember?"

"well, i rented him a camper van in france for a week and basically paid for that whole trip, so he sent me that."

"are you kidding... rich people are so stupid. so stupid!" and the night ends with laughter, the letter long forgotten.

but before you know it, it's your wedding day, or what you've been calling it: doomsday.

you didn't even write a vow because who even was this guy? exactly. you hardly even knew him, let alone enough to write a whole vow for him. thinking about kissing him was just making you gag.

whatever, at least you look pretty. the one good thing to come out of this wedding might just be your dress, but it's not like the one guy you actually want to marry will see it, so now you're just sad again.

your heels click and clack as you make your way toward the doors leading to your demise. it's okay, just close your eyes and pretend he’s wonwoo. what was his name anyway? you're pretty sure that it was jaewon or something- or maybe jaehyun?

well, you don't have time to contemplate the groom's name anymore, because you're literally right in front of the doors now. the typical wedding music is playing, awaiting your arrival. you take a deep breath. your dad wasn't even considerate enough to actually walk you down the aisle, so much for being so eager for you to get married.

okay, you actually have to go now, but you start to second guess yourself. after this, you might just be bound to some barely known rich guy for life. the exit door is so close, why don't you just run away?

you turn to look at your hopeless escape, but instead of a door you see... wonwoo? a very good looking wonwoo at that.

he's standing kind of awkwardly, looking at you as if he's in some sort of daze. he's dressed in a suit and wearing a new pair of glasses. other than that, he looks just about the same as you remember, and for some reason, you're relieved.

when he notices you looking at him, he coughs, shaking his head.

"sorry, i was looking for the restroom,"

you almost want to tease him for the lame excuse, but you’re probably not in the place to do so. looking around, you try to locate a restroom, but to no avail. you’re honestly still in shock that he’s even here.

“um, i don’t really know my way around here either, sorry…”

he chuckles lightly, “it’s okay, no worries, y/n.” he says, adjusting his glasses before speaking again.

“you look beautiful, by the way.”

it’s barely above a whisper, a voice he only used when you’re both in bed and he’s feeling particularly flirty, peppering your face with kisses and giving shy compliments against your skin.

you begin to forget that you’re not actually getting married to wonwoo, but reality hits when you take into account the situation you’re in. you’re talking to your ex right before you’re supposed to get married to another man.

he seems to notice your dilemma, rubbing the back of his neck. “you should probably go in soon, you know? can’t have them waiting on their bride forever.”

you wait for a minute to answer, “…but what if i don’t want to?”

wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, confused. “what are you saying?” you can barely hear him over the pipe organ that begins to replay the wedding song; you’re running out of time.

is this really worth it? losing the love of your life for some cash? no, it's not, and you're definitely not missing the one chance you have at this moment.

it's not like your family really needs it anyway, you think.

“fuck it,” you mutter, kicking off your heels and taking a hold of his wrist.

he watches you, even more bewildered than before. “y/n, what are you doing-“ and you’re making a sprint toward the exit with him in hand. you’re well aware that he has more than enough physical strength to hold you back, but he doesn’t, just yelping after you as he tries not to trip.

this was nowhere near what you'd thought escaping a wedding would be like. when you day-dreamt about it, it'd played out as something cringey, like wonwoo busting through the door right before you say "i do" or something. right now, you absolutely have no idea what you’re doing, dragging wonwoo out of the wedding venue with no plan whatsoever.

"y/n! what about your wedding?" he asks as you both step out of the emergency fire exit (yes, you seriously used the fire exit as an escape. that's what it's for... right?). you don't answer his question, waiting till you're both a safe distance away from the venue.

you learn quickly that taking off your shoes was the best and worst decision of your life. you know you would've tripped if you tried to run in heels, but the feelings of gravel against the bottom of your feet might just be worse than that.

suddenly, wonwoo abruptly stops, making you turn around. you're both still in the middle of the parking lot, not nearly as far away as you would like to be, but you stop anyway.

"if you really want to run away from your wedding for some reason, can we at least take my car?" he offers, catching his breath while pulling out a pair of car keys from his pocket. in the distance, you hear someone or two call out your name.

"yeah, that's probably a good idea."

so now you two are in wonwoo's car, driving to what seems to be his place. his car hasn't changed in the last year, the familiar scent of his air freshener gives you some sense of nostalgia. the drive feels like old times, like when wonwoo would drive you to your university or when he'd take you out to the museum in another city, soft music playing as you two sit in comfortable silence.

but unfortunately for you, there's not exactly time to reminisce because you have a lot of explaining to do.

"so, why'd you back out of the wedding? wasn't that the guy you, um... left for?" he asks. you can tell he's trying to be cool about it, but the way his grip on the wheel tightens just a bit gives him away.

you grimace. yeah, it wasn’t your fault, but you still feel a pang of guilt surge through you at the mention of of the break up. slowly, you begin to tell him everything: the letter, your parents, all of it.

he still looks skeptical, but you see the tension in his shoulders fade as you talk. before long, you both arrive at his place.

"wait for a moment," he says, getting out of the car. you think he's going to get something, but he simply walks to the other side of the car and opens your door.

"thanks..?" you tell him, sort of stunned at his courtesy. he just smiles at you, standing there for another moment. "well, i was going to carry you, if that's okay."

you swear you feel your eyeballs bulge out of your eyesockets as you stare at him like he just asked you to do a backflip. he laughs softly at your expression. "your feet- they hurt, don't they?" he asks, gesturing to your feet that are littered with little specks of red and debris from the pavement you ran on earlier.

"it doesn't really hurt that much won-" you try, getting up from the seat, but wonwoo gently pushes you back. "just let me, shouldn't i take care of my bride?" he argues, scooping you up with ease and kicking the car door shut with his foot.

you squirm in his grip as he carries you through the entrance of his place, only letting you go once he seats you on the couch. like his car, his apartment looks relatively the same as you remember, and it honestly still feels like your second home.

"do you have anything on you? like your phone?" he asks, sitting down beside you. you shake your head, all of your belongings are still at the venue because as stated before, you did not think this through. it suddenly dawns on you that you might be screwed. "it's okay, at least no one's going to barge in here." he laughs, trying to lighten the mood a little, but he sees that it doesn't do much.

"hey, look at me," he urges, tilting your jaw so you're making eye contact with him. "i promise you, it's going to be fine. we'll work this out," he assures you.

"i just have one question," he starts again, "do you still love me?"

you swallow, hard because yes, of course you still love him, but would he even forgive you for leaving him? it wasn't exactly your fault, but you feel guilty about it anyway.

he waits patiently for your answer, keeping the eye contact between you two as you respond.

“well… yes?” you say hesitantly, scared of his reaction. he wouldn't throw you out of the house or something, he's definitely not the type to, but it's still nerve-wracking: confessing your feelings to him all over again.

he smiles softly at your answer, leaning in a little. "so you wouldn't mind if i did this, right?" despite having some clue on what he's about to do, you raise an eyebrow before he gently presses his lips against yours.

your eyes close at the familiar contact, god, you missed this. it’s short and sweet, wonwoo breaks the kiss before you become too engrossed in his lips.

“well? don’t leave me hanging,” you pout. he thinks for a moment, trying to figure what you’re talking about before he makes a noise of realization.

“i love you too, was the kiss not enough to say that?”

you smile at him; he smiles back. yes, you just ran away from your wedding and people are probably looking all over the place for you, but who cares? certainly not you.

“let’s get married,” he suddenly decides, “we’re already dressed for the occasion anyway. you think the venue is still open?” you know he’s probably joking, but you look at him and seriously consider his suggestion.

“wait… maybe it is. let’s go check!” you bounce off the couch, dragging wonwoo with you. “wait, y/n, you’re not wearing any shoes!” he shouts after you.

—

“you really forgot my address? it’s been the same for years, y/n.”

“what? so i spent all that money on mingyu for no reason?”

“ah, so that’s the emergency fund he used to go to france.”

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

[trampleddoves]

bad idea right

Holiday break with your new stepfamily gets more interesting when you catch your stepbrother's lingering glances.

Pairing: afab!reader x stepbrother!Spencer Content: angst + slight smut, 2.7k words, DDDNE, no kinks, but Spencer is your stepbrother (set just before-s1), reader is a college graduate and mentioned to wear dresses and makeup, reader gets tipsy, complicated family dynamics and unhealthy coping mechanisms, making out, dry humping.  Notes: MDNI. I do not condone the choices of the characters, this request truthfully just brought to me a fully-fledged idea that I could not ignore. Once again, scroll away if this isn’t your cup of tea. Title is indeed from the Olivia Rodrigo song, which I extensively listened to while I wrote. This isn’t even that smutty, but I really enjoyed exploring ideas of resentment simmering beneath the surface. I suppose this affirms a previous anon who accused me of being a freak—evidently. Of the highest order. Welcome. I bear cookies and milk. They’re poisoned.

Winter break. The chill wraps around the air like an overbearing mother—inescapable, looming in corners you wouldn’t suspect—although Spencer Reid wouldn’t know what having an overbearing mother entails. Diana Reid had never been overbearing even in her lucidity but the comparison seems apt. A certain foreboding attitude hangs over the house. Gathering here, with his father’s new family, a measly, pathetic attempt to be closer. 

He’s never particularly gone through the usual sulking phase of adolescence. Too busy growing up, being good, working hard to hide how he’s splintering at every corner—a young boy burdened by the weight of his genius and a mother absent from reality. A life without the support of a father. 

A father who is now desperately trying to reconnect, accepting him—forcibly, under the guise of love—into the fold of his new family. It’s all so performative, but then again Spencer knows all about performative. Having spent years trying to seem okay, like his mother isn’t rapidly deteriorating, hiding the fact that she’s unfit to be his guardian behind clean, well ironed clothes and his remarkable academic performance. His entire life is a laughable farce, so he sees through everything—the perfect spread of Christmas dinner, being forced to open presents in the morning together—they’re all facades precariously balanced on everyone’s cooperation. 

He'd played the part, baring his teeth as a way of smiling—he's never quite properly learned how to smile, having little cause for the action—posing for pictures, thanking his new stepmother for the new copy of Foucault’s Madness and Civilization. 

It’s a good gift, even though he’s already read the material. Shows that she made an attempt to know about him. Spencer could admit that the woman is kind, thoughtful, stable, he could see how his father would fall in love with her. But there's the underlying implication—she's nothing like Diana Reid. 

He decides he hates her the day after Christmas. He decides William Reid doesn't deserve her either. 

It feels like now he’s getting his life’s worth of teenage angst. After Christmas is over, he locks himself away, talking only when talked to. His father and stepmother are gone today, attending a fancy brunch with their shiny new friends, so Spencer ventures out of his room cautiously. His quiet footsteps are simply manifestations of his unease. Trying to create the least amount of noise, take up the smallest space. He does not feel welcome here, and he doesn’t want to.

Winter break. The chill insists upon invading the house, despite the heater. 

Yet you’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of cereal in nothing but a slinky, emerald green slip. 

You. The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

His stepsister. 

He pauses at the doorway, mouth dry, eyes trained on the way the fabric falls over your body, reflective silk casting shadows and highlights and making every single curve seem so supple and soft and oh so tempting.

He clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” you look over your shoulder to regard him. He’s found that you’re even more displeased by this arrangement, this quick merging of two families. Traditional holiday festivities ring hollow now, obviously ornamental to make the marriage seem less dismal. Your way of showing your displeasure is the exact opposite of his. Instead of holing up in your room, you’re always outside if you can help it. He’s not sure where, but it’s obvious that neither of you are happy.

He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He’s finally reached a point where college graduates are age appropriate enough to be considered his peers. No longer the youngest person in the room. But at this point, his social grace is completely in reverse to his intellect. That is, nearing zero. He has no idea how to talk to you.

“I’m gonna meet a couple of friends for lunch,” you say, lifting the spoon to your mouth. His gaze follows, before he finds clarity and looks down.

“That’s good,” he mumbles, walking to the fridge and finding the milk carton.

“You wanna come?”

“Not really.”

He sees you shrug from the corner of his eye. Part of him wants to retract his rejection, but you’re already rinsing your bowl. Soon you’ll flounce off, and he’ll be alone. Good, he decides. It’s better off like this, holding you at a distance. He doesn’t need more fuel to add to his inappropriate attraction to you.

Leave it to him to mess this up. He doesn’t even want this new family—he’d much rather spend Christmas in Nevada. A small room he rents near Diana’s sanitarium, so he could spend time with her whenever he can. Still, he can’t believe he’s committing to this cliche. Nerdy step brother ogling his beautiful step sister. It’s as if he carries some permanent malady, inflicting it upon everything he touches.

“I’ll see you later then, Spencer.” your touch on his arm makes him flinch. 

He ducks and nods, hiding away from the odd look he’s sure you’re giving him. A look everyone gives him, even his mentor, the only man who could ever keep up with him. Weakly, he answers, “Yeah. Later.”

Later turns out to be way past dinner; Spencer is alone for far longer than he anticipated. His father and stepmother return around dinnertime, the woman drunk and stumbling about. William Reid pats his son on the shoulder, before quickly retiring to the master’s bedroom, “We’re both exhausted, Spencer. Make sure your sister gets home at a reasonable hour.”

What constitutes reasonable? He’d never gone out and partied when he was studying—or after, if he’s being completely honest. Still, he nods at his father, deciding there’s really no harm waiting up for you. 

It is quiet when you stumble into the house, but there’s a light in the kitchen that makes your heart rate spike. Your mother? William? Are you in trouble for staying out? Can you even get in trouble when you’re an adult? What are the rules for adults still living with their parents? You’re unsure. There’s no curfew, but the presence of the light reminds you all too well of past conversations when your mother had caught you sneaking back in.

It’s easy to regress back into the habits from your earlier years when you’re around her. Locked in this perpetual dynamic of mother and child—mother and daughter, which is arguably even worse—where you’re meant to forever stay young, her baby as she likes to say, with a beaming smile as if that would soothe the sting of having to move back home after college. 

Tail tucked between your legs, accepting defeat. You had plans of making it in a big city—didn’t everyone? But money and luck and a whole other host of factors are not on your side, so you’d begrudgingly accepted her offer. Come live with me until you get your feet solidly planted on the ground, she had said. Conveniently leaving out the part where she remarried. But you didn’t want to be homeless, so you had smiled through gritted teeth and moved back in, accepting William Reid as your new stepfather, as if your old, real father wasn't buried six feet down the ground only eight months ago.

It’s his son now that’s waiting in the kitchen. Spencer. Scrawny, bug eyed. Your mother had gushed about him in the past few weeks—apparently, he’s finished three PhDs., and is being considered for the FBI even though he’s technically too young to even apply. He’d never be like you, struggling to get past the first interview. No, he’s too brilliant for that.

He looks up from his book as you pad through the halls. Dim light softens the gaunt angles of his face, making him almost handsome. He smiles, and the illusion is gone, replaced by the reality of what he is: a boy still fumbling about how to be a man. 

“You’re back,” his voice is soft as he closes the book—some Italian writer you remember reading for a literature class.

You walk past him, grabbing a glass. “Yeah. Why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, training his eyes on the floor, but not before you catch his gaze lingering at your bare legs. “It’s so quiet around here.”

Right. He still lives in the city where, even in the dead of night, there’s an undercurrent of sound. Still accustomed to the slight hum, the pulse that lets you know there are other people awake around you, doing night shifts, or partying, or making love. Here in the quiet suburbs, with the strict homeowner’s association, a car revving down the street would be the cause for a noise complaint.

“Hm,” you gulp your water, “Should’ve come with me.”

“I didn’t want to intrude on you and your friends.” he replies, eyes flickering back to you. Clear amber, even in the dim light, “I hope you had fun, though.”

Try as you might, you can’t hate the guy. He’s much too earnest, too bumbling to ever be of any real danger. Besides, he’s stuck here just as much as you are, into this stupid tableau of family values your parents have forced upon you. Your resentment would only be wasted on him, especially since his resentment is just as obvious.

So you flash him a smile, lips reflective and mimicking wetness thanks to the lipgloss, “I did, thanks. How’s your book?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes trained on your mouth. 

“Spencer?”

“Oh, it’s good,” he turns his gaze back to his copy, old and worn, with papers sticking out of them, “I’ve read it before, I’m just reading through my annotations.”

“Ah,” you nod. Of course he’s the type to annotate. And reread said annotations. You walk closer, leaning against the table beside him. The way his eyes dart down your bare legs, not in full display, within touching distance, fills your mind with dangerous thoughts. So you steer the conversation that way, pressing his buttons ever so slightly, “Sorry you’re stuck here by the way. Could’ve been out getting laid at D.C.”

He shakes his head, a self deprecating smirk tilting at his lips. “I’m not—that’s not really my thing.”

“No?”

“Girls don’t really find me appealing.” he mumbles, risking another glance at your legs. You wait for the usual self pitying speech, the one with underlying anger and misogyny, but it doesn’t come. He simply looks wistful.

You find yourself filled with genuine intrigue, “No?” 

It’s interesting how the same word could carry such a different meaning with the slightest shift in inflection. Spencer seems to pick up on the softness of your voice.

“No, I don’t really—I spend most of my time reading.” he tells you.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your time holed up in isolation,” your finger touches his chin, tilting it up to meet you. A strange sense of power fills your stomach as you watch his pupils dilate. “You’d find someone.”

You have a plethora of fucked up things upon which you can place the blame for why you do the next thing—your life not going the way you want it, the growing resentment for this entire holiday, your alcohol addled state of mind. That’s a problem you’ll figure out in the morning. Right now, you’re leaning in to kiss him. Your lips are sticky against his dry ones, palms cupping his jaw as you move your lips gently.

For a moment, you’re afraid you’ve misread the signals—he’s rigid, as though frozen by the permeating frigidity of the house. You consider pulling away, but then he is kissing you back. Slowly, at first, matching your pace, but then your tongue darts out to drag across the seam of his lips, mouth parting, and suddenly he’s moving with desperation. Kissing you as if he intends to meld your mouths together, making the prettiest little noises from the back of his throat.

There’s little time to think, not when there’s so much resentment and frustrations pouring out of both of you and into the kiss. He’s trying to keep up with your anger, but inexperience makes him uncoordinated. It’s sloppy and just on the edge of painful, clashing teeth and tongues poking harshly into crevices, not with the intention to explore but to take. 

When you tug at his pants, he pulls back, holding onto your hips like you’re some sort of lifeline. “W-we shouldn’t,” he pants.

“No?” you press your palm on his crotch, raising a brow at the obvious erection hiding beneath the fabric. 

He moans, eyes squeezing shut. “This is wrong, you’re drunk and—and my step sister.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumble, moving to straddle his lap, dress hiking up to your hips and giving him a full view of your legs. Your cunt goes directly over his crotch. Only a few scraps of fabric separate you, and the thought makes you moan, makes you nip at his lower lip. He stiffens in response, face bright red.

“At least deny the step sister part,” he complains, resting his forehead against yours.

You don’t have anything to counter it, at least not with words, so instead you move your hips over the spot where you’ve settled. A moan trembles from his lips as you grind on his crotch, seeking friction from the growing bulge. You swallow the sound with another kiss, and this time he doesn’t fight it. 

“It doesn’t count,” you say in between kisses, hands tangling in his hair, “If we don’t actually fuck.”

He laughs, breathless and disbelieving, his breath warm on the skin of your jaw where he’s begun trailing kisses. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yes, it does.” you insist, grinding your hips on his crotch, moaning as the thin lace of your panties grow soaked with your arousal, making the friction feel that much sweeter. “Makes perfect sense. Perfectly logical. It’s just masturbating then.”

Spencer is whimpering into your neck, large hands holding your waist to keep you balanced on his lap. “That’s still wrong.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you haven’t been jerking off to the thought of me.” That’s a risky sentence; you’re not actually sure. But with the way his hips jerk up into you, you realize he has done it. Lowering your voice, you lean in and bite his ear, rocking your hips into a rhythm that mimics the movements of sex. “You have, haven’t you? That’s why you spend all that time alone in your room?”

“I—fuck,” he groans, nails digging into your hips as he ruts his hips up to match you, “Yes. Yes, yes, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Spencer.” you moan, arms wrapping around his neck. “God, this feels so good.” Pleasure courses through your veins, heightened by the alcohol and the fact that neither of you shouldn’t be doing this. Beneath you, the chair he’s sitting on scrapes on the kitchen floor, creaking slightly from your rocking bodies.

“Yeah,” he groans, teeth clamping around the sensitive part of your throat. You hiss at the sting, grinding down on his erection harder, an action that sends his body into a fit of tremors, stiffening and then shuddering as he muffles his moans against your skin.

He’s coming, you realize, and the fact makes you go harder, eager to chase your own orgasm. His length is still rock hard, easy to rub your sensitive clit on it to find stimulation, and soon, you’re quivering on top of him as the pleasure finally snaps and overtakes your body.

He holds you tightly to him, arms around your waist as you try to regain your breaths. “W-we can’t do this again.” he whispers, voice hoarse, arms trembling despite their tight grip on you.

“Right,” you murmur, gingerly climbing off his lap, “Just this once, never again.” 

His arms linger, wanting to keep you against him longer despite every brain cell yelling at him about goodness and morality and legal complexities. Reluctantly, he lets go.

You regard him, strangely sober after such a high. Cheeks flushed, a stain at his crotch, the very picture of ruin. With a smile, you bend down and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Keep this between us?”

“Of course.”

You make two promises that night. Only one of them is kept.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

what it’s like to bring the jjk boys to…have dinner with your family!

ft. fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, geto suguru, ijichi kyotaka, inumaki toge, itadori yuji, kamo choso, kamo noritoshi, mahito, muta kokichi, nanami kento, okkotsu yuta, panda, ryomen sukuna, todo aoi, yaga masamichi, yoshino junpei, zenin naoya

warnings: not all of these are romantic! reader is lowkey desi coded in some of them. reader is mentioned to have a brother, dogs, aunts/uncles, and cousins in some of them. reader slanders like 75% of the characters. honestly the characters might be ooc too i wrote this two years ago for fun and giggles and just found it again and wanted to post. also tw naoya!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

Literally perfect

Your parents love him

Your dogs love him

You love him

Was kind of quiet at first but settled in eventually and opened up a bit

Was still kind of reserved but that’s to be expected from him

Your mother found it sweet that he tried to hide behind you when your uncles started interrogating getting to know him 

He let your younger cousins play with his shikigami so that your dogs could get a break from being bothered

Really liked the salad your mother made and asked for the recipe

1000/10 

FUSHIGURO TOJI

Actually not too bad

Was polite enough and liked the food

Showed your parents pictures of Megumi as a baby

They were suitably impressed

Your cousin asked him where he goes to the gym

He told him he doesn’t believe in gyms (thinks they’re oppressive institutions designed to disadvantage the poor?)

Did give him a discount code for some random protein powder that he’s sponsored by though

Asked your parents to donate to his charity

They were happy to do so and thought it was amazing that he has a charity

You decided not to tell them that his “charity” is literally just his bank account

4/10 for scamming your family

GOJO SATORU

Solid 7/10

Goofs around a lot but he did come so he gets points for that

Your parents hated him at first but then he showed them the album of cute Megumi pictures he has saved on his phone and they switched up

“He’s so responsible for raising a kid so young! And it’s not even his!”

Bullshit

He does NOT raise Megumi and you were the one who sent him half of those pictures 

Demoted to a 6/10 just for that but at least your parents like him

Also the fact that he had an album was cute

Somehow managed to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum

Your brother kept making fun of his eyes being so blue so halfway through he had to switch the glasses out for the blindfold

Surprisingly high spice tolerance

GETO SUGURU

Honestly really a fun guy!

Actually brought his own dish to the dinner??

AND IT WAS GOOD????

Your mother wants you two to get married now

Asked if he could take some leftovers back for Mimiko and Nanako

Which was very considerate of him actually

Your mother told him he didn’t have to return the dishes she packed the food in

Let your brother win at Scrabble

Listened to your mother talk about the auntie drama

Apparently he’s going to start putting coconut oil in his hair now

Your parents are going to adopt him and kick you out

9/10 would’ve been higher but he didn’t beat your brother’s ass at Scrabble (he wanted to “make a good impression”)

IJICHI KYOTAKA

Similar to Nanami in that he and your father got along really well

Your brother called him “goofy”

He had to go to the bathroom and cry after that

He did compose himself and came back to eat

Can handle spicy food quite well

Complimented your mother’s cooking

Brought flowers as a thank you for the dinner

Was super sweet and grateful to be invited at all

11/10 would definitely invite him again

INUMAKI TOGE

Everyone was really excited to meet him

Let your cousins play with his hair and do his make up and paint his nails

Was your partner for Charades and you two won by a LOT

Kept sneaking treats to your dogs

Your mother ordered seafood for him because he could only speak in rice ball ingredients and she thought he really wanted salmon

He did eat it though

He would be a 10/10 but he accidentally used his Cursed Speech on your aunt so 8/10

ITADORI YUJI

Somehow lit the grill on fire

Managed to put it out but he did lose his eyebrows in the process unfortunately

Looked stupid without eyebrows

Spent most of his time hanging out with the little kids

Your family actually really liked him though

He’s too sweet to dislike

Helped wash the dishes and did not break any

7/10 because you almost had to call the fire department

KAMO CHOSO

Showed up an hour late

Was friendly but kinda nervous and awkward at first

Loved the food

He and your brother are best friends now

Genuinely he gets along better with your brother than with you

Impressed your father with his history knowledge

3/10 was too perfect and now your parents keep asking why you’re not more like him

KAMO NORITOSHI

He hates kids

Spent the entire first half running away from your cousins

Once he finally escaped he got along great with the adults

They really liked how responsible and mature he is

Thought it was impressive that he’s going to be the clan head

Your aunt told you that he was a keeper and you should “marry for money, hope for love”

Started crying when your mother asked him if she could hang up his jacket for him

It reminded him of his own mother who he was forced to leave as a kid 

All of your aunts have unofficially adopted him now due to his tragic backstory

Deserves 10/10 just for being relatively normal 

MAHITO

-892378/10 your parents couldn’t see him because he’s a curse

He was very happy to hear that and nearly destroyed your house

You had to call Geto halfway through to chase him off

Your family was thrilled to see Geto again though so at least there’s that??

MUTA KOKICHI

Sent a robot in his place obviously

Everyone wanted to know why you brought a robot to dinner

They thought you had hit a new low

You had to explain that Mechamaru was basically his body because of how weak his actual body was

Nobody believed you

-3/10 he was nice but it was overall a humiliating experience

NANAMI KENTO

Cannot eat anything spicy

Started tearing up at the appetizers alone

Had a massive stomach ache afterwards and his face was red for like twenty minutes 

Your father liked talking to him about business and the economy and shit

Did not get scared when asked about his plans for the future

Actually has plans for the future

Your brother is kind of gay for him tbh (??) and threatened to marry him if you don’t 

10/10 because he still finished everything on his plate so he didn’t seem rude even though he was lowkey dying 

OKKOTSU YUTA

Tried his best

Your dogs tried to leave with him because they liked him so much

He brought gifts from Africa for your entire family

Did stop a toddler from getting kidnapped

Is physically really good at grilling but emotionally cannot handle the stress

Had a mental breakdown when you asked for a vegetable burger

Made the discovery that he really likes corn and proceeded to eat all of the corn you had bought for the night so nobody else got any 

Summoned Rika and allowed your cousins to use her as their dress up doll

Rika was very nice and enjoyed the experience

She wants to be a fashion model now

2/10 he burnt your vegetable burger and you were really looking forward to having some corn

PANDA

Is a panda

Your younger cousins thought he was adorable

You got asked multiple times if he was a furry

5/10 he was only invited because he had nothing else to do and you had to chase him with a hose beforehand because he refused to bathe

RYOMEN SUKUNA

-1244129/10

An asshole but what’s new 

Told your family to “go back to where you came from”

Degraded your parents

Degraded you

Degraded everyone really

You got into a fight with him and Gojo had to intervene

Did ask for one of your mother’s recipes so he could get Uraume to cook it for him

She did not give it to him

TODO AOI

See you thought this would be hell on earth

But it wasn’t???

Played with your dogs

Carried your cousins around on his shoulders

Your uncles were impressed by his muscles

He saved a kitten that was stuck in a tree

Did not ask a single person about their type in women

Annihilated everyone in Wii Sports Resort

Absolutely sucked at Just Dance though

He thought he was too manly for the wrist strap but then he threw the remote into the TV while playing Wii bowling and it broke

6/10 he said he’d pay for a new one

YAGA MASAMICHI

Literally your boss

Only invited him because you wanted a raise

He liked the food

Exchanged sewing tips with your mother

200/10 you got the raise

YOSHINO JUNPEI

Really cool!

Gave everyone good movie recommendations

Someone gave him a baby to hold and he nearly dropped it

Burnt his hand on the grill

Found your uncles’ shitty jokes funny so they all liked him

He was decent at debating with everyone and having intellectual conversations even though he cried whenever someone disagreed with him too harshly

Your parents were very dismayed to see the cigarette burn scars on his face

Your mother told him he could always come to your house if he needed to

4/10 because he almost gave a baby brain damage 

ZENIN NAOYA

Told your parents about your sex life

Called your mother “woman”

Your cousins have a crush on him solely based on his looks

He thinks he has a harem now

0/10 they are all like 13 years old

[0mg-bird]

i would love it if you wrote anything with a shy reader and bob, but no pressure!

Two shy characters? I love it.

Shy Reader x B. Floyd

Summary: At the Navy bar your friends drag you to, you come across an aviator who isn’t like the rest of them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, fluff!, Bob is so cute I wanna put him in my pocket even though I know he’s a grown man.

A/n: I did something a little different than my Jake story, hope you don’t hate it <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I really wish we could have just stayed at the restaurant.” You awkwardly laugh as your friends, Ashley and Steff, pull you along with them.

“Oh come on, it’s my birthday so we’re going to get drunk and find a soldier to take home. One for each of us.” Steff says, already slightly tipsy from dinner.

You hide your frown, adjusting your curled hair and fiddle with your top.

You’ve never been into the Hard Deck, that’s what starts off your unsureness. You weren’t one for public outings, you enjoyed the company of your friends but they were always more adventurous than you.

There’s music playing and lots of people mingling, you’re practically hiding behind Ashley, following the two through the bar.

“You need a drink, you’re too stiff.” Ash says as the three of you sit at the bar.

“I’m always this stiff.” You reply, sitting on your stool. “Well, let’s fix that.” Steff giggles before ordering three drinks.

You chat and your anxious feelings subside, as soon as you get to thinking that bar scene really isn’t that bad, you hit a curve.

“God, they’re all so gorgeous.” Ash practically moans and you follow her line of sight to the group of uniforms behind you. They’re all playing pool and talking, all clad in tan and name badges.

“I like…that one- no! Him, yes, the tall one.” Steff bites her straw, motioning to a dirty blond with broad shoulders and great biceps.

Ash hums in agreement. “I like him too.”

“Well it’s my birthday so pick again.”

They have the argument for another minute or so, then as you finally dissociate from them, they’re telling you they’re going to go say hi.

“What? No just stay here…please?” You beg, not wanting to be left alone.

“We’ll be right back, I swear.” Steff says, kissing your cheek. “Have another drink and you’ll be fine.”

You groan and rub her lipstick off your face, then turn to the woman behind the bar. “I’ll have another Long Island, put it on the party girl’s tab.”

She smiles. “Coming right up.”

You blow out a puff of air, then look around. You must look awkward, sitting by yourself, not chatting like everyone else. When your drink comes, you look sip on your straw and look over your shoulder to see if your friends have gotten any farther with the guys they’re talking to. You smile at the way Steff is feeling her guy up, as you go to glance away, something catches your eye.

Someone.

He’s sitting on a stool, not fully engaged with the rest of the squad. As your eyes catch his stare, he looks away for a moment, then looks back.

A genuine smile he gives you, and then it’s your turn to slightly smile and look away.

Bob’s eyes keep shifting to your seated position across from him, and by the third time of his drifting off, Phoenix is onto his game.

“Are you gonna sit here like an idiot all night or are you going to talk to her?” She asks.

“What? I don’t know what-”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been staring at her like a puppy for twenty minutes. Go talk to her.”

The thought of approaching you seemed like a death wish. You were gorgeous, and any other previous times he’s approached a gorgeous girl, it ended with some sort of question about what Hangman was up to.

“No, she looks busy.” He says, looking back to the sunflower seeds in his cup.

“Busy doing what? Stirring the ice in her drink? That girl is bored out of her mind, Bob, go put her out of her misery.” She has a demanding tone that makes him stand, still unsure.

“What’s he doing?” Fanboy asks, noticing the way Bob slowly inches forward. “He’s gonna go talk to the girl he’s been ogling for too long.” Phoenix says.

“You go Bob!” Payback encourages, really just joking.

“Get me a beer while you’re at it!” Fanboy calls.

“Me too!” Phoenix and Payback add.

He walks with hesitation instead of determination, the entire time he thinks it’s a ridiculous idea.

He stops at the spot beside you. “Penny, can I get three beers?”

By his sudden presence, you startle, slightly jumping in your seat.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare yuh.” He apologizes. You’re more beautiful up close, timid as you tell him it was okay.

“Why’re you sitting alone? If you don’t mind me asking?” He asks and you bite your lower lip, fighting a smile. “My friends are busy groping your friends over there.” You joke.

“Makes sense. You’re not a fan of their antics?”

You shake your head, nose scrunching. Bob takes in a small breath. “Well, I think it’s a real shame that you’re sitting alone. Why don’t you go back to your friends?”

You like his accent, it feels southern but you aren’t sure.

“Really, I’m fine. I’m not exactly a fan of the attention being on me.” You admit.

As Penny places three beer bottles in front of him, he grabs them up. “I think you should join me.” He rushes out, his tone just as surprised as you are.

“Join you?” You ask, looking to the group. Two guys are shoving each other back and forth, seeing who will fall over first. You’re not satisfied with the idea of involving yourself with that. “I think I’ll just wait for my friends to come back.”

He takes a seat beside you. “Can I join you then?”

No guy has ever been so persistent with you before, you’re not sure what to do. You look at his name tag.

“Okay, Floyd, you can stay but I’m kind of boring.”

He shakes his head. “I find that hard to believe and uh, you can call me Bob, everyone else does.”

Having him up close, you recognize how handsome he really is. Not the obnoxiously attractive that the rest of his crew is, he’s more reserved. You like that. His glasses are quirky and different, making him look all the better.

“I’d hate to keep you from your friends, Bobby.”

No one’s ever called him Bobby before, the way it sounds coming off your lips is addicting.

“Trust me, you’re doing me a favor.” He jokes. “You got a name?”

You look at your shoes and tell him. When he tries it out, you blush.

“I like that name.” He compliments.

“I think it’s kind of boring:”

“It’s not boring.”

You like the way he’s being so kind, most guys would have tried a pick up line by now, but Bob sits with utter curiosity in his eyes.

“So, you from here?” You ask, sucking on your straw.

“No, I’ve lived in Lemoore for a while but I’m stationed here until further notice. I grew up in Kentucky actually, then I joined the Navy and haven’t really been back.” He explains, watching the way you rest an elbow in the bar, then lean your head on your hand. “What about you? Are you from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m from up North actually. But I went to school down here and fell in love with it so here I am.”

The two of you are quickly immersed in conversation about childhood and travel and Bob watches you come out of your shell.

“You don’t want anything?” You asked, motioning to the bar.

“I don’t drink.” He explains, though he’s distracted by Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin who suddenly is crowding your space.

“Excuse me, is this guy bothering you?” He asks, joking around with Bob.

“Don’t you have a blonde to attend to, Bagman?” Bob questions, making the man drop his smile.

“I’m getting her a drink, her friend too.” He says before ordering two vodka sodas. He looks back at you. “Your party girlfriends are wanting you to join them.”

As you open your mouth to respond, a shout comes from the group. “Bob! What happened to the beers?”

Bob groans, then stands to gather the beers that have been sitting for twenty minutes. “I should get back to it.” He tells you with a smile, walking away.

You look around, confused. Maybe you put him off, maybe you gave the wrong signals. You grab your drink, finishing it quickly, and before you can second guess yourself, you follow after him.

As your presence is recognized, the crew halts in conversation.

This was a bad idea. You could turn back, it wasn’t too late.

As you go to do just that, Bob speaks. “Hi again.”

He’s motioning to the stool he was going to sit on, offering it to you instead.

You slowly sit, deciding on being brave.

You’re introduced to the rest of the group, and as you remember why you didn’t want to be around the guys your friends wanted to, Bob is there, talking to you so the others couldn’t. There’s plenty of jokes made that you force yourself to laugh at, just so you wouldn’t seem awkward, but the tale tell sign of you constantly checking the little leather watch on your wrist showed you were ready for some peace and quiet.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Bob’s voice is low next to your ear, it makes a shiver run through you.

As you look up, his face is surprisingly close to you. You slowly nod. “Okay.”

In the moment that everyone else is distracted by the two girls who adore the attention, the two of you head for the door. You don’t pull away as Bob clutches your hand, keeping you close as he leads you past people.

The music is immediately quieted as you make it to the fresh air, the gentle sound of the waves coming in is relaxing.

“I don’t love the crowds either.” He says as you make your way across the sidewalk. You’re busy looking out to the sand and waves. “Ash and Steff are really more the fun ones, they can have a good time with a group of people watching…I cannot.”

He likes the sound of your laugh, the way the white moonlight is hitting your features makes you seem radiant.

“I always thought the Navy would make me a more sociable person, I guess it has but I think it creeps people out, how quiet I am.” He chuckles.

Completely content with strolling beside you, he gives off an energy you feel utterly comfortable in.

“I like that you’re quiet, most Navy guys aren’t.”

He playfully squints at you. “You talk to a lot of Navy guys?”

Reevaluating your words, your cheeks flush. “No that’s not what I meant, I just meant that- they’re all a certain way- not that I would know! I have never slept with any man of uniform!”

Bob stands in surprise at your ramble, finding it humorous. As he laughs, you cover your face, embarrassed.

“Hey, I was just teasing. I swear, I was teasin’.” He grabs your wrists gently, prying your hands from you so he can look at your red face. “Come on, pretty girl, look at me.”

As soon as he says it, he feels embarrassed himself. The name just slipped out, he should’ve halted the words, he needs to apologize-

You look up at him, doe eyes and a small smile.

Your hearts pounding, your close proximity to him has you feeling hot. As the low crash of waves mixes with the ringing in your ears, you wonder what it would be like to live on the wild side, to do what people do in bars. If you were brave and stepped out of your shy personality, would he let you kiss him?

Bob’s gazing down at you, he’s trying to figure out what’s turning in your mind. One hand lets go of your wrist, it gently cups your cheek.

“I’m going to be bold.” You state with a determination that makes him nod.

“Okay.” Is all he says.

The hand he has a hold on, goes to rest on his chest. You’re surprised at the hardness of it, sure you knew he had to be physically fit to be in the line of work he’s in, but his body is so unsuspecting, it honestly makes him utterly attractive.

He watches you hyper fixate on your touch on his chest, and the warmth of you is enough to make him feel buzzed.

He doesn’t want to rush you, but every second where you don’t pursue whatever thought you have, is killing him.

You start thinking against it, you don’t want him to think you kiss strangers, it’s not who you are at all. You swallow hard, about to call the whole thing off and tell him goodnight. When you raise your head though, he’s lifting your face to his. You’re captivated, he’s embracing you so tenderly, kissing you with an unsure and unfamiliar passion.

You sigh deeply, he holds your hand to his chest, your free one slides over his shoulder. Slowly, shyly, your lips move against his, falling into a gentle rhythm.

Your heavy eyes are shut, the utter feeling of him is making an electricity flicker through you.

After a moment, he pulls away, both hands cradling your face now.

“Please tell me that’s what you were going to do.”

You nod with a fever. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”

He kisses you quickly once more, just to get it out of his system. “What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks.

“Probably nursing Steff’s hang over, but if you call me I’ll do whatever you’re doing.”

He grins, liking the idea.

You continue your late night walk, and inside the bar, Coyote looks to the vacant stool with confusion. “Where’s Bob?”

The crew stops, then looks to the empty space.

“Stealth pilot, I’m telling you.” Hangman says. “This guy is always disappearing and popping back up again.”

[sqgeism]

❥﹒ken sato x gender neutral reader

✦. synopsis — romantic headcanons about our favourite baseball player!

✦. love mail — i finished the movie and i loved his character development, simply the sweetest thing <3

✦. tags — SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, kenji sato x reader, i have not written in several months, i wrote this w my brain off ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) aka i was just SPITTING whatever brain rot came to mind

I imagine Kenji to be the clingy, but doesn’t want to be type. He loves you, so much, so dearly. But affection isn’t his strong suit, especially not after what happened with his family. He shut out emotions for years, at least towards others. So this feeling of love, a nostalgic one, tends to clash with the walls he’s put up. He’ll hold you in his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, only for hours later to cringe at himself. He’s talked to you about it a thousand times, and he’s listened to you reassure him twice as many. He adores your patience with him, it's something he’s never really had.. especially with so much pressure on his shoulders.

Explaining his identity was surely no easy feat, you thought dating the most iconic and popular baseball players was the hardest thing? Imagine dating Ultraman, who came home to you every other week with some new injury. You always wondered why the reason was so simple for such a complicated wound, “I spilled boiling water on myself,” He explains with burn marks that are far more severe than expected. “I fell down the stairs”, he’ll say after landing in the hospital.. It didn’t make sense. And now that it does and you know the true reasons, your concern is far worse. Though he doesn’t mind the extra attention you give. ;)

Meeting his dad for the first time was.. nerve-wracking. You know how Kenji talks about him, and you weren’t sure what kind of impression you’ll make. But here you were, sitting on a couch and fiddling with your thumbs until you hear a doorbell. Before Kenji could even stand, you rushed to your feet and practically sprinted for the door, only to open it slowly and gently to reveal the kind old man standing outside. “Hello.” Cut to maybe an hour later, you’re laughing at old pictures of Kenji as he sits next to you and an arm wrapped around your shoulder. The two had a long path of forgiveness and understanding ahead, but Kenji appreciated that you brought him and his father together.

Thought the dad was scary? Imagine his daughter. As expected, the moment you walk into the room - distress. Emi’s starting to cry, an unfamiliar presence is in the room and it scares her. You’ve done a few babysitting jobs here and there, and she was really just like a child. Kenji apologized for her outburst and transforms to calm her down, opening the lid and picking her up under her arms. “No no, don’t cry.” His voice soothes her, and almost immediately - she’s okay again. It’ll take a few minutes, it really isn’t long until she trusts too you. Kenji found it adorable, how you played with her so casually.. many would be terrified, and rightfully so - but to him? It just displays your kind heart. My God did he love you.

Remember first headcanon? Right, to add to that, he’s not very good at vulnerability either. He’ll love to comfort you when you cry, or hold you when you need him. But if the roles were reversed? Absolutely not. He’s uncomfortable and you can see it, one look into his eyes and it’s like looking through glass.. he hates being open about his true feelings. Even if it’s with you.. the walls he’s built for 20 years aren’t easy to break, you know? But if you’re patient, and you take your time and say the right words – he’ll crack. And like a dam breaking, the water flows in an uncontrollable wave of sadness. He’ll sob, he’ll break, and he’ll need you more than anything. He doesn’t know how to feel about breaking down, but the way you hold him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to comfort him, he could get used to it.

But on a lighthearted note, he loves dates! Most have to be in his home, because Emi can be clingy (got it from his dad), but you don’t mind. It’s sweet, he’ll have you play baseball with her or all you do is cuddle ontop of her, it’s the cutest little thing. But other times, when you go out– it’s just the two of you. And upon special request from Kenji for Mina to babysit her while you're there, you two get alone time. and it’s everything to him. The smallest affection has his heart racing like a teenage boy again, wrapping your arm around his, holding his hand, kissing him? Goodness, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it. You and Emi are his world, and he’ll do everything to protect it. Other days, you, him, and and his father go out to the home in the woods for some personal time. You get to talk about his childhood with him and you talk about yours. There’s such a tender and unforgettable atmosphere when you’re with them. And you truly feel like you belong.

Overotectiveness, he was full of it. He’s lost so much, and all he wanted was for you to not go either. Nothing, nothing could stop his rage at the idea of you being hurt. You, Emi, anyone else important to him. He’ll take on the world for his family, and by the will of his parents he has. The pain he’s endured, the scars you scold him for so much are for you. If one threat escapes the city, that’s one likely chance he loses you. So he does everything he can to handle it. You’ve never gotten hurt, but the idea of it is enough for him to strive to be stronger.

While recovering from the explosion, you never left his side. It pained you to see him so still, lack of life. He’d usually be pacing back and forth in the room, rambling about something, and when you’d call him a nerd or dork, he'd run to you and playfully attack you with kisses. His arms around you tightly as you two would laugh your worries away, you didn’t have that privilege. You’d either laugh alone or not at all, the pain all too much. When he wakes up, best believe you’re there, and you just cry at the sight of his arms opening. You know his body is far too unstable for a hug, so you squeeze his hand. How grateful you are to feel him squeeze back.

With Mina and Emi gone, the house feels a little more lonely.. but Kenji’s adjusting. Especially because you moved in! He’s able to spend more time with you in bed since he didn’t have to tend to Emi, which was a nice plus. He woke up earlier than you (force of habit.) and he’d just.. stare. Maybe it was a little creepy, but seeing you sound asleep in his arms gave him such joy. He loved the little domestic moments he shared with you, it had him appreciating all the smaller things in life. Like sharing a meal with you, or watching movies together. You made him love the simpler aspects of living.

[arahdow]

SKILLED FINGERS

Pairing. Sonic x reader, Shadow x reader, Silver x reader, Knuckles x reader

Content. fem!reader. the way they would unclasp a bra. suggestiveness, nsfw. silver’s the shortest but the freakiest hehe. kinda ooc characters. MDNI

Word count. 1.5 k

A/N. I suddenly had the urge to write about this while talking with a friend abt how there’s men who can unclasp a bra with one hand but there are others who really struggle hehe so yeah!! i had quite the time of my life writing this sjdjs and the playlist filled with sex songs really inspired me, so, here!!

+ I was quite surprised with silver’s!!!! my hands moved on its own ! and the one with shadow, i actually got inspired from a fanart i saw on pinterest 🥵 so yeah, i did my research JDJDJSJ

++ I also wrote this while being REALLY sick so forgive me if there’s something poor written :( not beta read !!

SONIC

He gets really excited, and actually knows how to do it but because he’s impatient he can’t find it in himself to take his time

Both of them came back from a mission on green hill. The truth was that Sonic had actually gone to another place for a week now, this was the first time they saw each other after a week, and spending their first moments fighting wasn’t her cup of tea.

But now they were coming home.

Panting into each other’s mouths, his body guiding her to the edge of their bed. His hands were everywhere at the same time, his heartbeat was quick as he kept kissing her. Without parting, she got on her knees on the bed, Sonic quickly followed her. 

They both were now kissing on their knees, her hands roaming around his back, playing carefully with his quills, then coming up to cup his face, caressing his cheeks. 

The blue hedgehog took the girl from her waist and pulled her close, until she was almost sitting on his lap, both her knees on the sides of his thighs. Taking her top off of her in such a hurried way, she thought he was about to rip the piece of cloth from her body. The man was so excited, impatient. Parting from her lips for a moment, his hand roamed on her back, finding the clasp of her bra quickly. 

Giving her a smirk with hooded eyes, he started moving the clasp around, back and forth, pulling, pushing. Nothing. The girl came back from her dazed state and noticed that Sonic was actually having a hard time taking the undergarment off of her. 

Waiting for a bit, looking at his concentrated eyes, she started to giggle a bit. 

“Need assistance, love?” She asked, her hand going to her own back to end the blue hedgehog’s suffering.

But Sonic had none of that. He slapped her hand away and groaned. “I can do it! I’ve taken it off of you other times, why can’t… I… Now?” He struggled, his voice getting desperate.

She let him keep on trying until she couldn't wait any more. Sliding her own hand towards the clasp, she undid the bra easily. Sonic murmured a low “mhm”, as he continued on kissing her chest, stomach, sliding down. He looked at her with hooded eyes, his face pressed against her thigh as he admired the view.

“Gorgeous.” He winked, brushing his lips on her skin as he started doing hickeys on her thighs. If there was something Sonic quite enjoyed, it was teasing. And it showed.

SHADOW

VERY SKILLED. Doesn’t exactly know why he knows how to do it, but he’s cocky about it, nonetheless.

Shadow had just gotten home from beating the shit out of Sonic. It was a hobby at this point, not even something necessary. He came through the door stretching his arms over his head as he walked into the kitchen. 

His significant other was making dinner, thank chaos because he was actually getting very hungry from the previous activities. Smiling at him, the girl looked up from the stove, as she turned it off.

“My love! How was hunting Sonic?” She asked jokingly, as Shadow got close to her, carrying her to sit on the counter, his gloved hand taking her face using his thumb and index finger to hold her chin.

“I still have lots of energy, mhm.” He replied huskily on her ear, as he kissed her cheek, then her jaw and last her neck. “Are you going to do something about it?” 

After a few more words from him and a couple of kisses down her clavicle, the room got quite hot, and it wasn’t for her cooking. 

“Mhm, Shadow… The food.” The girl tried to complain.

“Shh, I'm having quite the feast here, doll.” He replied simply, his mouth still latched on her skin.

In seconds, Shadow put his hand in front of her. She knew exactly what he wanted. Using her teeth, she chewed the tip of his white glove, taking it off slowly. His breath hitched for a second.

Because that was a rule when being intimate: No clothes between both of them. Including his gloves.

As his hands returned on her body, he touched her naked back. She quickly felt his fingers looking for the clasp of her bra. She was about to offer to take it off herself, when he found it, the thing gave in rather quickly, making her gasp.

Shadow looked at her in the eye, his eyes scanned her flustered expression and smiled cockily. Sliding the straps off her shoulders, slowly, teasingly. She could actually feel his heartbeat as her hands pressed against his chest. The hand that wasn’t sliding the strap was caressing her thigh. His lips pressed as he stared at her chest. 

A glint showed on his red irises. Oh man. 

SILVER

Not very skilled with his fingers BUT he uses psychokinesis ofc

The girl knew she wasn’t playing fair, but she wanted to push as many buttons as she could. Actually buying those pheromones she saw on the internet, and this could go either too good or nothing could happen. She didn’t believe there were any bad consequences for her actions.

Until now.

Well, it wasn’t that bad…

But the way Silver’s face was actually smashed on her neck, licking, biting, kissing and more made her brain turn into a non thinkable goo. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, grabbing, caressing her skin, like he wanted to combine both their bodies. 

Not only that, but he was rutting against her leg, desperate whining noises coming from his throat. The girl was losing it too, but it was obvious his body was actually on fire. His cheeks blushed a pretty red, and he actually managed to drool all over her sternum.

Her hand threaded on his quills, sliding down until she could feel his chest fur. Doing an experimental tug, the man nearly came on the spot. A breathless moan left his lips as he continued panting over her, his hands positioned on either side of her head. 

The girl kissed him hungrily, getting excited by the whole situation. 

“Love…” She tried speaking but Silver grunted, taking his girlfriend with one arm under her back, making her sit in front of him. His pupils were blown and his breathing was accelerated. He had no time to think about that damn clasp, so he snapped one of his fingers, the cyan aura forming on his hand and then, the girl felt the bra fall off her chest.

Using his psychokinesis to do such a thing turned her on, she wondered what else he could do with such power.

KNUCKLES

He just rips it off

It was common knowledge that Knuckles wasn’t the most patient or delicate guy, especially when it came to having intimate moments like this one. Rouge threw a little party for her birthday, everyone was invited and, being the showy bat she was, it was quite a formal party. So the girl decided she was about to go wild with her dress.

The piece she wore was a deep green, sleeveless dress. The neck of the dress was high, the thing hugging her curves. it looked rather simple until you looked at the back of it, a slit running all down the low back. It was gorgeous, and she felt untouchable with such a piece.

Amy actually helped her choose the dress, and she also recommended using a specific type of bra so it wouldn’t be noticeable. The straps turned and twisted, it was something difficult to put on, but she didn’t mind, as long as she looked good in the dress.

And now it was time for the reveal. Knuckles actually wanted to wear something nice, so he dressed up (she helped him choose his outfit. He also asked to help her with hers but she declined saying she had a surprise for him). 

Walking out of the room, the girl walked confidently towards her boyfriend sitting on the sofa, his legs spread and his elbows were positioned on his thighs, making him lean forwards. Too caught up in his mind, he didn’t notice until the girl was beside him. She cleared her throat and that did the trick.

His eyes flew open as he got up from the sofa, walking towards his partner. 

“My… You look gorgeous.” He said, kissing her cheek, that’s when he positioned a hand on her back noticing the slit. He swallowed, nervously. “Say, doll, what if we arrive a few minutes late?”

He asked, his hands starting to roam, sitting on her butt. The girl smiled, patting his chest. “Rouge will kill us if we arrive late.”

Knuckles hissed, finding a button that undid her whole dress. “I think we’d survive.” Were his last words before he carried the girl to bed.

Kissing and palming all over her, the man took a look at her bra and without a second notice, he ripped it off from her. She let out a surprised gasp. 

“Now how am I going to use the dress, Knux!” She exclaimed, feeling him grin, his breath caressing her chest. 

“Use it without that bra, it would look better, doll.”

[fallenprophets]

Home.

Jinx x reader

Summary: set between Act 1 and 2 of Arcane season 2. You find a moment of calm at home with Jinx, Isha, and a stray dog you've found along the way.

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane season 1, tooth-rotting fluff (I hope) not proofread

No use of Y/N, no pronouns used for reader, no gender specific terms etc...

A/N: WHOO first piece of writing by Lev on this blog yippee!! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this lolsies. Please interact! I'm taking requests teehee

You don’t remember the last time you felt this at peace. 

It is like a buzzing, filling your chest, lifting you practically off your feet as you make my way home. 

This feeling is manufactured- it is not coming from the outside. It comes from deep inside your chest, thrumming happily, snuggled between your lungs, right below your heart. There are reasons for this warmth, this light- well, one reason. Her name is Jinx. 

When you say you’re going home, all you really think of is her. Yes, her lair is home- it is warm, and cozy, and as safe as a hot air balloon suspended above what seems to be an infinite void can be- but without her, it would be nothing. 

She is the light that fills your chest, with her bright smile and ridiculously long blue hair and perfect pink eyes. She is the weight on your lungs, making it hard to breathe when you think of her. She’s all the cheesy, corny shit the romance authors you hated so as a child wrote. Only instead of being a character, only words on a worn out page, she’s real, and she’s only a two minute walk away from where you are now. 

You have a satchel slung over your shoulder, the Dog (you don’t know when it became your dog; it just appeared by your side one day, and hasn’t left since) trotting along beside you. Its fur is matted. You reach down and scratch between its ears as you near the Last Drop, smiling to yourself. Never had you thought you would be living this life- on your way home, supplies for Jinx in your bag, the Dog padding alongside you- it is so domestic, so soft, so clean (despite the grime of the Fissures, the thickness of the air, the moaning of the people crowding the sides of the streets). This life is so unlike anything you remember your parents having. 

You take the quick route into Jinx’s lair, the dog following happily, its pink tongue lolling. You should name it, you think as you step onto one of the propellers. 

After Silco had died, you had expected the place to fall into disrepair; you had thought the lights would stop twinkling, and the tinny music would stop playing, and the workstations would gather dust until finally the propellers snapped and fell, taking Jinx with them. And yes, that had started to happen. But then, Jinx had met the kid. Isha, you had called her. All of you, huddled around an old, matted baby names book one of you had found at a scrapyard, pointing out names to each other. Isha, the kid had pointed at, a huge, toothy grin splitting her round face. One who protects. You had closed the book then, knowing that it was perfect. Jinx had smiled at you over the newly baptized Isha’s head, and you had smiled right back, squeezing her hand in yours. You had tossed the book down, into the void below. 

Now, your home was transformed. Jinx’s creepy dolls were gone, replaced with different colourful toys and gadgets picked out or made by Isha. The walls were covered in crayon drawings of all kinds of things- dragons, flowers, the three of you in fields of green and blue and pink and orange. There was a tent set up in the corner, full of Isha’s belongings. It was where you all slept, huddled together like a litter of cats. You love the place. 

At first, you think they’re both out. You call out, and when no answer comes, you venture further in, dropping your bag by Jinx’s workbench. The Dog sniffs around, its tail wagging as it comes closer and closer to an odd lump covered in blankets. You grin to yourself, putting a hand on your hip, tapping your chin with the knuckles of the other. “Hmm,” you muse to yourself, purposefully ignoring the giggle coming from the blankets, “wowie, I wonder where Isha and Jinx could possibly be.” You go in the opposite direction, checking under the workbench, scratching your head. The Dog watches, its eyes saying Can’t you see them? They’re right here! You wink at it, and it sits, tilting its head. “They must have gone out,” you declare loudly as the giggles intensify. “Guess I have this whole place to myself! Finally, I am rid of those stinky-“ 

As you are talking, you approach the mess of blankets. Before you are able to finish that last sentence, a small orange and blue bundle barrels into your legs, almost knocking you flat on your back. Isha launches herself into your arms, grinning her toothy grin as you spin her around. 

“Oh my goodness!” You cry, “where were you hiding? You really are a master sleuth!” Jinx, still have tangled in the blankets, barks a laugh. You hug Isha to your chest and raise an eyebrow at her, mouthing you couldn’t hide anywhere better? She flips you off, but she is smiling. 

She stands and joins you and Isha, her hand finding the small of your back, the other going to Isha’s shoulder. 

“I have a surprise,” you whisper to the child, “but don’t tell Jinx, mmkay?” 

Jinx tilts her head, still smiling. Isha nods solemnly. 

“I found waffles,” you breathe, looking at Jinx out of the corner of your eye. Isha gasps and puts her hands over her mouth. Through trial and error, you and Jinx had discovered that the little one seemed to live for waffles. You now went out of your way, as the only one with your face not plastered all over the place, to find the sweet treat. 

“Gee, I wonder what the surprise could be,” Jinx says, playing along. She follows as you carry Isha to your bag. You set the kid down, the Dog nuzzling into her hand. You rifle around for a moment, and finally pull out the waffles. Jinx lets out a loud gasp, and Isha turns to her, delighted, pleased with herself that she was able to keep this secret. 

“Waffles?” Jinx cries. Isha claps her hands together, startling the Dog. 

You all sit together in the tent, sharing the waffles off the same plate. Isha (who thinks she’s being slick) keeps sneaking pieces of her food to the Dog, who delightedly licks it off her hand. She giggles every time, earning an affectionate look from you and Jinx. 

Once you have finished the waffles, you push the plate away and lie down. Soon, Isha curls into a ball in the space between your knees and your stomach, settling her head on your legs. Jinx dims the lights, then joins you; the two of you become a protective cocoon around the now snoring Isha. The Dog squishes itself in between you and Isha, resting its head on the kid’s side and looking up at you adoringly. You brush a strand of hair from Jinx’s face and smile. She smiles right back. She’s been smiling so much recently. 

“This is perfect,” you whisper to her once you’re sure Isha is fast asleep. 

She smiles, but doesn’t answer. One of her hands rests on your waist, and her fingers trace soothing patterns there. 

“I thought,” she begins, then stops, frowning. Her other fingers tighten around your hand. “I thought that, with Silco gone, there was nothing left for me.” Her words hurt you; it stings somewhere deep in your stomach to hear that she is in any kind of pain. 

“But then… I met the kid,” she continues. “And then I found you.” 

You feel an overwhelming wave of affection for the girl lying in front of you then. A girl you had once known what feels like a very long time ago; a girl who had once had blue eyes and the same wide, toothy smile as Isha. A girl who had been part of your distant past, who was now back in your life. She was right; despite having known each other your whole lives, you have really only just found each other. 

“And- and I realised that maybe, maybe Silco wasn’t all I needed. Maybe…” she trails off, but she has said enough. You shuffle forwards (careful not to disturb Isha or the dog) so that your forehead is only centimetres from hers. She meets you halfway, pressing her forehead to yours; your noses brush, and you smile, reaching up to cup her face. 

“I love you, Blue,” you whisper. A name, who she has always been to you. Blue. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Blue like the warm, the fluttering bird nestled in your chest. 

For a moment, you think she is going to cry. But she only pulls you closer, and whispers the same words back to you, your name uttered like a prayer. 

You close your eyes and smile, and her breathing slows. 

As you fall asleep, you think: 

You have never felt this at peace before. 

[mygjkk]

just to fight?

(Ambessa Merdarda x Reader)

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summary: Ambessa, impressed by your skill, challenges you to train with her. She’s a teasing woman, but you sure didn’t expect the fight to become more than that.

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rating: explicit, minors dni

language: english

tags: #f/f #arcane #leagueoflegends #lol #Ambessa Medarda/Reader #Ambessa/Reader #Ambessa Medardaxreader #Ambessaxreader #AmbessaMedarda #LightDom/sub #OralSex #Sex #IWroteThisInsteadofSleeping #Training #TrainingCamp #TrainingFight #SoftAmbessaMedarda #ReaderInsert #y/n #wIw #UselessLesbians

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61339111

notes: I haven't written anything in a while. Wrote this when i should just be sleeping but this woman doesn’t leave my mind! Correct me if you see any errors and comment your thoughts about it <3 I don’t play league so…arcane !!! I accept suggestions to write fanfics about arcane characters x reader…and other fandoms…but i might take a whileeee to do them.

I hope you like it byee

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"I would like you to accompany me"

"Where?" That's what you wanted to ask, but you just say it in your head. You wouldn't have the courage to question Ambessa Medarda's word, because despite everything she was your lord, the person you should follow and obey

「• • •」

You had found it really strange that, for the first time since you joined the Noxian army, the warlord had come to see one of the daily training sessions, this never happened. You didn’t understand her motive, yet, to the surprise of many, there she was, attentive to everything your colleagues and you did

You were physically tired of having trained all afternoon, but the training was the usual for you.

You had been a soldier long enough to get used to that heavy training routine, but your boss's attention made everything much heavier, you felt you couldn't fail

You rarely did it, to be honest. You weren't extremely strong, like many, but you were agile and intelligent, which made you survive until now

「• • •」

While walking through the corridors you couldn't stop questioning yourself about where Ambessa Medarda would take you, it was rare for her to call someone particularly for whatever it was and distinctions were only in special times. You hadn't done anything wrong either, at least not that you consider.

"You look scared. That is something that doesn't look good on you." - She says with a firm and almost defiant tone.

"I just... I just wanted to know what's going on…”

"Why so much curiosity? Are you afraid?" - When she says this, she stops walking slightly and looks you in the eyes.

"N-no." - You said as firmly as you could, the last thing you could do was embarrass yourself in front of the person who has the most authority before you.

"That's good."

After some time walking Ambessa stops in the hallway, you almost bump into her, distracted by the million thoughts crossing your mind. You two are strangely close to Ambessa's office, which you thought would be your stop today. Of course, it wouldn't be a good thing if it were.

Nonetheless she opens another door.

Was it a...private training chamber? It was much cozier than your regular one, but why would she have taken you there?

"Won't you ask any questions? I didn't think you were so coy" - It seems that whenever she opens her mouth it's to provoke

"I apologize."

"Don't."

"Why am I here?"

"Why should you be, little lamb?"

When you hear her call you that you look into her eyes with a certain intensity, it annoys you when people try to diminish you, but then you realize that you can't look at someone like her that way and your expression changes

"You can get upset, that's how people fight better.”

"Did I come to fight?"

"To train with me"

"Why?"

"Because I want to." - Her face is serious. It is not an option, it is what you have to do. - "Now stop chattering and let's start" - She says as she enters the room and goes to the fight area.

You do the same.

Really, you should have noticed before, she was dressed in a training uniform, just like you, so it was obvious that she had come or was going to train, but you had no idea that she invited soldiers to train with her.

"Do you usually train with...soldiers?"

"Only with the ones I like" - She says cunningly. She's someone who likes to take advantage of situations, and she might not even really like you, but when she passed through the corridor and I saw you fight so foxily she couldn’t stop thinking if she could break you.

It's a constant within her, that of power.

You don't seem very confident about your future performance fighting against her, but you accept the fact that she chose you and you feel happy about it. You don't know very well how to react to what she said, so you simply put yourself in a battle position, preparing to start fighting.

She seems happy with your initiative and gives you a slight smile.

"Let's see how much you can handle." - It looked like a threat coming from her. You didn't know how far this training could go but you were definitely going to be beaten up, even so, you didn't want to lose your pride.

"Let's go then.”

Ambessa is a warrior, always imposing and focused on her goal. She knows she is completely in control, but in a training battle, what is at stake is not only winning, but also observing the other, understanding movements and weaknesses and in this you usually always overcome.

When you start the fight by deferring a punch in her stomach, her face doesn't reveal any emotion, but her eyes are sharp.

She even smiles a bit and moves with the precision of a predator around you, which leaves you apprehensive about whether you should have done that or not.

Her strong and dominant posture and her muscles are prepared to move at the right time, even so the way she is surrounding you is provocative, it makes you anxious.

Ambessa gives then the first step she advances quickly, but you, attentive, manage to escape quickly.

She admires, in her conscience, the grace with which you did it.

Without wasting time, she tried again, advancing with an accurate punch. But you now even more focused, you used your agility to escape, turning quickly and moving away from Ambessa with a light jump. You were trying to process how the rhythm of the fight was going to be. Your breathing was faster, but you managed to stay calm, controlling your steps and positioning yourself strategically. Ambessa doesn't seem surprised by your speed because that's precisely why she chose you in the middle of all the soldiers she saw. Quickly the lord composed herself, ready to resume the attack.

With a slight smile, she advanced again, now more cautious, studying the movements you did. She knew she could break you anyway.

However, you used your distance to buy time, moving fluidly, trying to predict Ambessa's attacks. When she approached, you leaned back, avoiding a direct blow. With a quick impulse, you got up, trying to hit a counterattack punch. But Ambessa dodged with surprising agility, always in control of the situation.

Over time, Ambessa felt that she needed to intensify the battle. Her patience runs out quickly, and she no longer wanted to play with the opponent. Her eyes shone with a fierce determination. She advanced harder, moving more brutally, trying to catch you by surprise. Ambessa used her height and strength advantage to surround you, without giving you space to escape again. With a quick and decisive movement, Ambessa grabbed your wrists, forcing you to stay on the floor.

You tried to fight against it, but Ambessa's strength was overwhelming. With a precise blow, Ambessa immobilized you, holding you tight, until there was no way to escape.

With a instigative smile, she leaned a little closer, and the provocation came out naturally.

"I thought it would be more difficult... Where was all that strength you seem to have?" - Ambessa's tone was full of fun, playing with your visible frustration.

But you didn't give up. With impressive agility, you used the moment of distraction to unexpectedly escape from Ambessa's domain, turning around and trying to take advantage of the gap. You didn't have the strength to completely immobilize Ambessa, but your determination made you try at all costs. With considerable effort, you tried to spin and position yourself behind Ambessa, trying to apply an immobilization technique.

Ambessa, now with a wider smile, noticed your effort and the difficulty you were having to apply the blow. - "Oh, so here's your great hidden force, little lamb."

"That's not my name.” - You answer. She laughed softly, more impressed with your persistence than with your attempt.

"Good try, but you will need more than that to get me, child." - With this, Ambessa got rid of you and the fight continued.

At a certain point you were already exhausted, your movements slower, your breathing heavy. Ambessa knew it was the right time. In a quick movement, she used her strength to knock you to the ground again, immobilizing you with precision, leaving you with no space to escape. Despite trying to resist, you no longer had the necessary energy to continue.

Ambessa, with a satisfied smile, kept you on the ground for a moment. - "You tried, but it wasn't enough..." - she said in a soft voice, but you felt that she couldn't finish the sentence because she didn't know your name.

With a certain shortness of breath you say - "Y/n"

"There's still a lot to learn, Y/n, but I see great potential in you."

You, with your eyes still full of determination, looked at her, but the tiredness was evident. Ambessa finally released you, helping your body up.

"You tried very hard, I admire that" - She said with a kinder tone. - "But it can't always be about winning, right? - She provokes.

You looked at Ambessa, still hurt by the defeat, but with a sincere smile on your face.

"Thank you for choosing me to fight," - you replied, with a renewed determination.

Ambessa watched you with a respectful look, placing a hand on your shoulder. Then her expression changed, something sly there in the middle.

She approached you

"Do you think I would call you just to fight?"

She doesn't seem to be joking when she says that and you get confused for a moment. Like what the hell was she saying.

Her hand goes up from your shoulder to your chin and stays there.

Ambessa can't deny it, she feels attracted to women who are strong, who don't give up and the fact that you have the courage to continue training with her pleased her. Not to mention that she may have chosen you for being agile and looking determined, but she also chose you because you were beautiful.

Your head is at a million per hour.

Ambessa Medarda, one of the strongest warriors who has ever stepped on earth, is touching you as if instead of having just fought with each other, you had met at a bar and she was ready to take you home.

You've had sex with women, that's not even the problem, but in what world would a woman like this look at you in such a...seductive way.

"I-I don't think I understood…” - It's the only thing you can say.

"I can make you understand.”

And with that she grabs your head and pulls you for a kiss so intense that you lose your balance and your head turns in confusion.

It takes time for you to realize what is happening, but the moment you orient yourself, you do not miss the opportunity that is given to you.

Maybe you're even dreaming, then you give everything you have in that kiss and hold yourself in her arms.

She seems to like it and one of her hands lowers to your waist and pulls you for your bodies to touch. The hot feeling inside you makes you feel like it's the first time you've ever been touched by someone.

Your lips separate, but she doesn't let you go and looks at you.

"Did you understand now?"

Maybe you're crazy. Maybe it's your soldier instincts. But you're ready to do anything this woman asks you.

So, puzzled, you just nod your head to say yes.

"Good." - She smiles at you and grabs you by the thighs making you jump to her lap.

From one moment to the next you are carried to her room and during all that time your lips did not come off. It was also impossible when everything in her was honey, the taste of the mouth, the color of the eyes...

She closes the door by leaning you into it, with you still on her lap.

"Before anything else. You have to realize that this won't be a habit."

Well, it could be, but you didn't want to know about it now, if it was supposed to be only once then let it be now.

"There's no harm in that." - You hug her neck and kiss the woman in the most seductive way you can.

Ambessa likes that, the submission and acceptance you have right now, without losing your determination. It's a turn-on. She smiles in the middle of the kiss, but doesn't stop it. Instead she puts you on the floor, with you still clinging to her neck, but she takes the edge of your uniform sweater and starts pulling to take it off and you without hesitation put your arms up and leave it there, helping her.

"No bra? To fight?" - She really wasn't expecting that.

"They stick too much." - For some reason you're not ashamed, you're more proud of what's happening than anything else, you feel incredibly good about yourself, it's not just anyone who goes to Ambessa’s room to fuck. With her. You think.

"I respect that decision" - She smiles at you and kneels in front of you. Your surprised and try to make her get up, but she rejects your attempt to help her.

It's impressive, she's still incredibly big on her knees. Her face is directly in front of your breasts. You flow a little, you don't believe what's happening.

There is no hesitation in Ambessa when she starts sucking one of your nipples, while grabbing your other breast.

Immediately you feel amazing, you breathe deeply. With goosebumps all over your skin, it was impossible to get more excited, but maybe you even got.

She bites the sensitive place. You feel weak and can't take it anymore, you let out a moan.

Ambessa of course, appreciates that and starts delivering kisses all over your chest, as if your body was a temple in which she prays.

You take your hand to her hair, and almost caress the strands. It's surprising that she's not being very rude so far.

Until now...

She stops kissing you and gets up, starting to take off her shoes, which at this point were already making her uncomfortable.

"Go to the bed.” - It was an order.

You did it like that, she turns to you.

"Take off your clothes.” - One more order. It was strange to receive orders of this kind, but coming from her, there was nothing else to do but obey.

You did what she told you while looking into her eyes, however you didn't show yourself much, because you didn't know if she was impatient or not, when her gaze seemed to devour you on the other side of the room.

"Good girl.” - She says when you're done. The comment makes you happy. - "Now lie down on the bed and spread your legs wide.”

That moment was like being on the edge of a cliff: curiosity and desire call you to move forward, but shyness holds you, making your body feel tense, but still, the desire to overcome shame and do what you really want, and give her what she wants, is stronger. So, even with your heart beating a thousand, you move on and do as she asked you. You feel the cold hit you on the uncovered skin when you position yourself, your body shivering once again as she begins to approach the bed.

She positions herself between your legs and takes off her own shirt, then the bra that held her breasts. After that she puts both hands on each side of your head and you realize that she is giving you an opportunity to touch her and explore what is in front of you. Immediately you affectionately touch the scars that pass through her chest. She seems to melt with that touch and caresses your hair.

After that you touch her breasts, your care makes her laugh a little.

"Do you think I'm made of porcelain, doll?"

You wanted to answer yes, that what you had in front of you was too precious not to be careful with, but you realized that she was just provoking you.

"You're very beautiful" - You simply said the most honest thing that went through your head.

She seems to be almost shy about it, the compliment moved her somehow.

"I know.”

Soon after she says that, she comes down on you and starts distributing kisses down your thighs. You can't do anything else but close your eyes and appreciate all the sensations it brought you.

She began to kiss the inside of your thighs and climb dangerously slowly, you already knew what was coming so you held her hand that was still hovering on the soft sheets of the bed, since the other helped in the caresses.

After a while, the kisses and the licking passed near your vulva, circled it. You couldn't stand that slow speed, it made the heat between your legs unbearable.

"My lady..." - You sighed so low that she didn't even hear it, you didn't know if you should call her that. - "Ambessa." - This time louder.

She stopped - "I know you're impatient, but you have to enjoy the moment, doll.”

"The moment is being very long, I want you in me. Now." - It sounded even quite sturdy for someone who is begging for her own boss to fuck her.

Ambessa smiled when she heard that and without taking her eyes off you licked your core from the bottom up, very slowly, dragging all your wetness with her tongue.

That alone gets a moan out of your mouth.

"Oh my..."

For Ambessa this is like asking for more.

She wet her mouth and then slowly began to insert her tongue and move it up and down. It made you go crazy. You didn't care at all, you just moaned as much as you needed. She loved it. You were careless in the right moments.

She increased the length of her tongue to go into you slowly and continue the circles inside you for a while.

She felt your juices and just swallowed them without stopping the motion, tasting you as if you were a candy.

Right when you thought you were going to cum that way, she just brought in a thumb and started to slowly touch your clit, circling around it gently while her tongue was working inside of you.

After a while like this, you thought you were going to reach your climax, you even used the hand that wasn't in her hair to stimulate your own nipple, but when she realized this she stopped, restarting your orgasm to move her tongue up, bringing one of her fingers into your entrance.

But suddenly she changes her mind and maturely decides to insert two fingers in tou.

You gasped, not expecting that much of a stretch on you, but the feeling of burning was so good you moaned in pleasure.

When she realized that you liked it, she continued and moved in and out while sucking your clit, going faster as you became closer to cum.

You were moaning loud and the sensation was so intense that while shaking you were squeezing your legs with her head in the middle.

You released yourself in her, she felt a hot sticky load on her fingers and didn't stop.

You were stimulated far beyond orgasm, which made you scream a little and try to pull her head up by the hair but she, with her brute force, kept herself in the middle of your legs and made you come again soon after, as if by magic.

It had never happened to you before. You're breathing heavily and you look at her completely defeated, with your eyelids heavy from all the effort you made today. She withdraws from your thighs and puts herself on top of you again, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead.

"You did amazingly well, doll"

"M-me?" - You try to speak between sighs - "I think...you're the one who di...did"

She shut you up with a kiss.

"I think you are now my favorite soldier, Y/n" - She told you but you were already seeing stars of so much tiredness, so you just smiled. She noticed that.

"Come here" - She picks you up and puts you in her bed, a very affectionate act, you weren't expecting that.

She covers you with her silk sheets and enters the other side of the bed grabbing you in a careful hug, in which your head rested on her chest.

"And you?" - You hug her waist. For some reason, in the middle of your sleeping and after sex haze, you feel that you are failing her by not making her feel pleasure back.

"I'm fine..." - She says and then brings her mouth closer to your ear and you can feel the warm air of her velvety voice. - "Hearing you like that was enough for me."

And that's how you went into a deep sleep, which you no longer remembered it was possible to have. Of course, it had to be this woman bringing it to you.

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 8

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: Eddie tries to make a connection, but unfortunately he is Eddie Munson

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of Rachel, Rise of Hellfire characters

Word Count: 4.5k words

Authors Notes: Okay, this chapter is all over the place and I'm sorry about that. I re-wrote this a few times and I'm still not happy with it but it gets us where we need to go, like a sketchy gas station. Also this is ANGST.

Master List

Eddie felt confident about three things about himself; he knew he was a good Dungeon Master, he knew that he was skilled on guitar, and finally he was able to get a fairly good read on people if they could talk to him like a normal person for three fucking minutes.

That third thing was very helpful with the first. By knowing his players and how they worked and what made them tick, he was able to craft amazing stories that were satisfying to his players and their characters. 

It was also helpful when Eddie was earning his extra money on the side. Knowing who was genuinely safe to sell to was important when it seemed like everyone and their mother had a target on his back for no good reason. Stacy had been safe to sell to with her no-bullshit approach. The art kids were a safe bet in most cases when they needed to be “inspired”. And Chrissy Cunningham... well, he gave that shot but she never showed up. 

You had talked to him as a person the day that the two of you had snuck off for a smoke break when you were supposed to be calling businesses. You made small talk with him about his club. In those moments you treated him like an actual person, and he thought that maybe he had been wrong about you. 

And then he walked into school and saw you talking to Stacy. You looked pissed and Eddie, being the virtuous man he was in a small town, decided to eavesdrop on the conversion. 

“What’s your problem this morning?” Stacy laughed as you rummaged through your locker as best you could with one hand. 

“Eddie. Eddie is my problem. He’s always my problem.” You groaned. “I’d be perfectly fine and dandy otherwise.” 

Right, of course. You were just humoring him these past few days. Eddie always thought that you wore your emotions on your sleeve like he did. You had shown your dislike, but he thought you would have calmed down after the time you had spent together. 

Eddie kept listening though, because he wasn’t about to be that dipshit that heard something out of context just to misinterpret it. Maybe you weren’t talking about him. Maybe there was another Eddie he didn’t know. Hell, maybe you had a personal grudge against Van Halen. He’d have to judge your taste, but at least it wouldn’t be about him.

Why did he care so much?

“I’m really just exhausted.” You sighed. “I’m feeling too much at once lately, and all I want is a normal boring day. Between the wrist, my grades, Benson, and the whole Eddie thing- I’m just about running on fumes.” 

The whole Eddie thing. So there was a thing with him. Was he why you were exhausted? No, you just said it was more than him. Eddie found himself hoping that he was closer to the bottom of the list. 

The two of you had, what he had thought, was a really pleasant conversation when the two of you hung out behind the school. You had listened to him talk about his hobby, you two had discussed the alignments of water fowl. Eddie thought that things were going to be more amicable between the two of you. 

Guess not. 

Eddie moved away before he was caught eavesdropping. 

He tried to shake it off. It’s not like this was unusual; Eddie was used to people (usually his customers) playing nice in private and then ignoring his existence once back in society. 

It just didn’t make any fucking sense to him, no matter how he turned it in his mind. Those people never listened to him ramble about his game, let alone remember enough details to bring up so naturally with him. 

The whole Eddie thing. The conversation between you and Stacy shifted to other things and Eddie walked away. He’d rather you just come out and tell him what was wrong rather than just seeth at him from a distance. Everyone else in this shithole had the decency to make it clear what about him they didn’t like. And what a list there was! His hair, his clothes, his music, his grades, his speeches, his outspokenness, the way he’d lean into being a Satan Spawn to piss everyone off even though it was a load of bull- there was a long list that you could pick from!

If anyone had to make a guess, it was probably because you were so quiet about your dislike that pissed him off. If you would have just given him any of the reasons you didn’t like him then he could shrug it off and move on. Eddie wasn’t as self-aware as he would assume he was in this situation, and so your continuous ire irritated him to no end like a scratchy tag on a new t-shirt. It was always just barely there, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. 

All he needed was one reason to drop it and to just carry on. And so, at the end of Benson’s class he offered to carry your books for you again and escort you to the cafeteria. You had gaped at him for a moment, probably for continuous nerve he had to speak to you when others were around, but accepted his help. 

The small talk was nothing to write home about; the test, Spring Day, your “extra credit”, and of course the infamous Pep Rally Incident. 

“You looked like you would have been anywhere else during the pep rally.” you had said. 

“I tried to skip, but I got caught.” Eddie had been skipping pep rallies for so long, and no one had ever given a shit before. In his humble opinion, they should be begging him to stay a thousand feet away from the gym at all times, lest his lack of school spirit affect and disillusion his fellow classmates. 

“Try breaking your wrist next time. It got me out of it.” Eddie hated that you amused him. Why were moments like this so easy, but you always looked at him so intensely? What was The whole Eddie thing?  

“You broke your wrist trying to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize to anyone in this shithole.” Eddie said without thinking. He’d be willing to apologize if he was wrong, being no stranger to humble pie as one Ronnie Ecker would know. Other than that one summer of groveling so that he wouldn’t lose his best friend, there was no one at Hawkins Hell that was worthy of his forgiveness. 

“Not even your friends?” 

“If I had an issue with one of my friends we’d talk about it.” Eddie looked at you, hoping that you’d get the hint. He just needed one reason, a single reason why you didn’t like him so that he could file you away with all the other people in this town. 

He tried to pinpoint the expression on your face. Surprise, or maybe embarrassment for being called out? Whatever it was, Eddie had struck a nerve and he knew it. 

Stacy, the busybody, interjected before you could say anything and promptly shoo’d him away when he declined to join them. 

The rest of the school day went by as usual. He did get caught trying to skip last period but as he was already serving Benson after school, he was let off with a warning this time. Eddie was beginning to suspect that the teachers here were growing bored of targeting him, especially with graduation looming over the horizon.

Eddie pushed aside his pride as he pulled your desk towards his as the two of you worked on the test. He tried to ignore your presence, pretending he was a wizard deep in study as the two of you poured over the books. He tried to imagine you as a toad, but your hair looked (and smelled) too nice for that. A cat would have to do. Eddie wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but they always seemed to like him better than anyone. 

With the test turned in, and with his dismissal, Eddie booked it out of the classroom with you not too far behind. He made sure to give you the slip, not wanting to be more of a thing than necessary. 

Outside, it was pouring rain and he was parked on the far side of the parking lot and he really wasn’t in the mood to get drenched or struck by lightning. So he figured he could dick around school while teachers and clubs continued their more voluntary after school activities save for the detention room where Eddie passed by and waved with a wiggle of his fingers to the teacher. 

He supposed it would have been too much to ask that the rest of his day could go by without incident. 

“Forget about the freaks, I need your help!”

What the fuck had that been about? Everything had happened so fast, he barely had time to register it until him and Dustin had been out of Danny’s sight. The cause of the fight didn’t matter, Danny had probably said something stupid and Dustin had said something too smart for his own good and Eddie had shown up seconds after Dustin had been slammed into a locker. 

It had been a while since someone had picked on his friends. Eddie had made a point to be such a spectacle that the worst that they could expect most of the time was a snide remark or a look. No one wanted to fight someone who they thought was genuinely out of his mind. 

The incident would have been unremarkable if you hadn’t shown up, drenched to the bone and screaming about homework. You looked almost as insane as he had felt. Was that your way of trying to help, or were you that shook up about your school work that you demanded help from someone who had probably never even opened a book before? 

“That’s the girl that keeps staring at you.” Dustin said, once they were out of the way. “Guess she saved our asses.”

“Right. Saved.” Eddie said, not fully convinced. He had met a lot of people in this small town, but none of them were as confusing as you. 

Once Dustin was safely in his mom’s car, Eddie ran through the rain to get into his van where he cranked up the stereo as loud as it could, hoping to drown out his thoughts. If that didn’t work then a sample of his stash at home would. 

---

Eddie would know Kenny’s copy of The Shady Dragon Inn anywhere. The edges were singed from the time the original dungeon master decided it would look cool to set the front cover on fire a little to give it the feel of having been burned by a dragon. There were tears and creases and notes all over the pages from past campaigns, and it filled Eddie with nostalgia for his first party with Kenny and Ronnie and the others. 

This module was less of an adventure and more of a guide for DMs to create NPCs with a few pre-generated ones, as well as a layout for the titular Inn. Eddie would never admit it, but creating NPCs could feel monotonous and was his least favorite part of creating his campaigns. He’d rather be designing villains and crafting dungeons and puzzles and monsters. Besides, there were a few in here that Kenny had used before that he thought would work for the next adventure. 

The last time he had seen this book it had been sitting on the dining room table at Kenny’s place over winter break when they had met up to shoot the shit. So how was it now sitting on his desk in the middle of school? Eddie doubted that his kid brother knew his schedule well enough to plant the book and he had thought Kenny would be showing up this week for Hellfire just to say hi. 

Forgot to give this to you yesterday. 

The sticky note that was slapped onto the front cover wasn’t signed, but Eddie had seen enough of your handwriting the other day to know it was yours. How the hell had you got your hands on this?

Every time Eddie thought he was going to leave you alone, you pulled him back in. 

This time, when he offered to carry your books, you didn’t stare at him so dumbfoundedly. You just nodded, and kept your head down at the floor as you two walked. 

“Where’d you get this?” Eddie asked, holding up the module. 

“I met your friend while talking to Zack.” you said, looking like you had personal beef with the linoleum. “He wanted to drop it off to you and I said I could hand it over. Then you ran off before I could.”

It was as good a reason as any. 

“You didn’t read any of it, did you?” Eddie asked, his voice overly suspicious for dramatic effect. “It’s full of dark magic and satanic spells. Really intense stuff.” 

“I opened it out of curiosity and my wrist started hurting again.” your voice was deadpan. “I told my mother and she took me to a priest who immediately performed an exorcism. I am no longer allowed to have pea soup.” 

Eddie laughed, genuinely laughed harder than he meant to. He threw his head back like a little kid, and the sound of his mirth echoed through the hallways and forgot that he didn’t know what your deal was with him. In a moment like this he could pretend that you two could have been friends. 

For a second, he wished you two were, unknowing in that moment you were wishing for the same thing. 

“I didn’t read it.” you lied after his laughter had died down. You juggled your books as you swapped them out at your locker and grabbed your lunch box. Eddie would never know that you had rushed your math homework this morning at school before handing off a copy to Danny, as you had stayed up far too late reading the module and taking notes. 

“Good, I’d hate to be the one to corrupt your pure soul.” Eddie said, which made you snort loudly in turn. 

“Good, because I’m saving that for someone special.” you said, looking at him for a moment before realizing you were mad at the dirty floor and looking away. You were quiet for a few seconds, and Eddie was about to say something before you spoke up again. “Sorry about yesterday. I panicked.” 

Once again, you were apologizing but he wasn’t sure what exactly for. Was it for calling him and Dustin freaks? Probably not, that was just true. 

“Guess you really needed that homework, huh?” Eddie asked. 

You just shrugged, with a nonchalance reminiscent of how he’d responded a few days ago when you were asking about where he lived. He knew a touchy subject when he saw it.

“He’s not hurt is he?” you asked. “Your friend, I mean. The freshman.” 

“Henderson? He’s fine. He’s a fighter.” Well, technically he was a bard which didn’t exactly have the best hit points. But the kid was scrappy, and had faced worse bully encounters. 

“That’s good.” you sighed. 

“He says you saved his ass.” Eddie said casually. “If you hadn’t shown up and freaked out things might have been ugly.” 

Your face scrunched up. “Well, glad I could help. Danny’s an idiot. It was a crap shoot if he even knew what the homework was.” 

Once again, Eddie delivered you to Stacy and declined her invitation to sit with them. For a moment, he considered taking up her offer just to see what you would do. He imagined the faces you’d make if he sat across from you and Stacy; if you had been that mad at the floor just from him walking next to you, then you’d probably end up burning a hole in your lunch by sitting with you. 

---

With the final bell of the day rung, Eddie found himself walking into Benson’s class with you as the last student staggered out. The two of you sat at the front desks, waiting for your marching orders. 

After a few minutes, Ms. Benson looked up at the two of you. “What are you two doing here?” she asked. 

Eddie looked at you, and then back to Ms. Benson. “We’re here to help with Spring Day?” It was more of a question than an answer. 

“Hm? Oh, no you’re not.” she said. “That’s what the Student Council is for.” 

This time you and Eddie looked at each other, and you spoke up. “But you said that if we helped you’d give us extra credit.” 

“No.” Ms. Benson said again. “That wouldn’t be allowed. I had you two come to do personal detention to make up work. That’s all. You two can go now.” 

“This was detention?” you asked. 

“Am I still banned from Spring Day?” Eddie added. “And what was all that work for anyway?” 

Ms. Benson sighed deeply and spoke slowly. “I would never have any of my students take over any part of planning a school event if they were not part of the student council. Even if I did I would never give them a task that I, myself, was given. You two are done. Go.”

Neither of you needed to be told twice. The two of you got up and left the room quickly, closing the door behind you. 

“....Did she just pawn her work onto us?” you asked, looking at him with so much confusion that your issues with him or the floor were ignored for the moment. 

“Yup.” Eddie said, shaking his head with a chuckle. 

You rubbed your face, looking out a deep sigh. “At least we did get some extra credit?” 

“Looks like I’m still banned from Spring Day.” 

“Is it really that fun anyway? None of the places we called seemed... fun.” you said. 

“It’s more fun than sitting in detention all day.” Eddie replied. “I was just gonna skip anyway.” 

“I guess we’re done then.” Did you sound disappointed? Must be his imagination. 

The two of you walked in silence to the parking lot. Eddie found himself unusually quiet, reflecting over the last few afternoons with you. He would be the first to deny it, but he was almost disappointed. When the two of you were alone, you were nice to be around. 

“Ah. Well, shit.” 

Eddie looked at you, and then followed your gaze to the parking lot where he saw Stacy riding off  with Chrissy Cunningham. 

“I take it that was your ride?” Eddie asked. 

“Not officially,” you sighed. “Thought I’d catch her before she left. I wouldn’t wanna be the third wheel anyway.” 

Third wheel? Chrissy’s sparkly signature on your cast didn’t give off ‘third wheel’ to him. 

Eddie considered leaving you here, you probably had a ride home with your parents later in the day. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, not knowing which answer he wanted from you. 

“I... really?” you looked up at him. “I’m in the opposite direction of Forest Hills.” 

It would be so easy to decline, rescind his offer. 

“I’m going that way anyway.” Eddie shrugged, lying through his teeth. “I need to swing by somewhere first anyway if you don’t mind.”

If he scrounged up some change, he could make a quick stop. 

“I’d honestly really appreciate it.” you said, sounding genuine. “I don’t mind if you need to stop somewhere. I’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

Taking to heart that you meant the school and not his presence, he led you to his van. He strode forwards faster, using the distance to shove some things into the back seat as quickly as possible so that there was room for you. His van was messier than usual, it usually was in the colder months and he’d been telling himself for weeks that he’d clean it soon. 

You didn’t say a word or make a face as you hopped into the passenger side seat. Eddie’s van made a startling noise before coming to life and you winced as his radio blasted music on max volume. 

Eddie quickly scrambled to turn it down to a level more reasonable for normal ears, and you relaxed a little. 

“What are we listening to?” you asked, glancing down at the small stack of tapes on his center console. 

“It’s a mix tape I’m working on for Dustin.” Eddie said. “Only the first side is done.” 

“The freshman from the other day?”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving him a good lesson in rock and metal.” 

“What about minerals or crystals?” 

It took a moment for your joke to register completely with Eddie, and he stared at you for a moment. “No.” he said bluntly. 

“I thought witches liked crystals!” 

“Witches aren’t a playable class. Wizard would be the closest, maybe a mage.” Eddie said. “There might be a specialist wizard that would use crystals as components. Some spells might need them.” 

“Your game is a lot of work, huh?” you asked. “There’s a lot to remember.” 

Once again, you were showing interest in his game. There had to be some common ground there and once again, Eddie was never the type to turn down earnest questions about the game that gave him a feeling of belonging. 

“Oh yeah.” he agreed, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it into the back seat. “It’s easier if you’re just a player, but when you’re running the game you have to remember everything else.”

“Are those real?” you asked suddenly. “Your tattoos, I mean.” 

Eddie looked down and held out his arm towards you. “They better be with what I had to pay for them.” he said. Tattooing was technically illegal in Indiana, and so he had to really search for someone who was willing and able to mark him up. He had to pay and barter his way through what he currently had. 

Your hand was hesitant and surprisingly gentle as you touched the ink Wyvern on his arm. There weren’t exactly a ton of people in Hawkins with any kind of tattoos, as they didn’t really reflect the wholesome image of an upstanding citizen. 

“Did they hurt?” You asked, looking closer at his arm, as if you were really taking in the details. 

“The one on my collarbone hurt like a bitch.” Eddie admitted, pulling his shirt down to show off the black widow. 

“I like the bats.” you said. “I think they look badass.”

“They were the easiest ones for me.” Eddie said, trying not to look too pleased with the compliments. 

“They look better than a bunch of random signatures.” you said, touching the cast on your arm. Eddie looked it over, and remembered the thick expo marker he had jacked from one of his classes. 

“How attached to Jason Carver’s name are you?” Eddie asked. 

“Not at all. I didn’t have a choice with that one. Chrissy wanted to sign it and he was there so...” 

“Perfect.” Eddie grabbed the marker and pulled off the cap with his teeth as he pulled your cast towards him. “Any requests? Should be easy enough to cover up.”

“I- anything. Dealer’s choice.” There was a challenge in your eyes that Eddie wasn’t about to turn down. 

Being careful not to cause any harm to your wrist, he made quick work of scribbling a couple of bats on your arm over Jasons’s name. It wasn’t his best work; the texture of the plaster of your cast wasn’t exactly the easiest to draw on, but he managed. The result was a colony of bats, with one turned into a dragon for good measure*. 

When he released your arm, you took a look down at it and smiled- one of those real smiles that you had given him a few days ago. You were attractive when your face was relaxed like that. 

“So, am I a badass spawn of Satan, now?” you asked with a look in your eyes that gave Eddie a weird but excited feeling in his chest. 

“Not exactly, but if you walk around with that you might end up a social pariah which is a good starting point.” He shrugged, finally starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“I guess I’ll have to start somewhere.” 

The two of you were a few blocks away from the school when Eddie had an idea. If you were really interested in the game and being a Spawn of Satan and his game, he should take you to the next best thing to Hellfire Club.   

Eddie pulled into the parking lot of the shopping center, not noticing how quiet you had suddenly become. He didn’t always have the cash to get something from the game shop, but- “I need to pick up some dice anyway, I think one of the freshmen is eating mine. Let’s go.” 

“No.” 

Eddie looked over at you and you were looking guilty, like you’d rather be anywhere else. You had your head down again, now deciding that the old can of TAB near your foot was the real problem. 

“There’s not gonna be anyone in there. It’s usually just Chris working.” Eddie said. “He’s kind of an ass, but-”

“I can’t.” your voice sounded a bit choked. “You go ahead. I’ll guard the car.” 

“Are you-”

“Dude, just go. It’s fine.” You snapped. 

It was the most openly hostile you had been to his face, and Eddie felt a flare of anger in him and he got out of the van. He was pissed as he got the dice, and pissed as he drove you back home in silence. 

Fine, he tried. With you it was one step forward and a mile back. You could hang out in private but wouldn’t date to be seen with him anywhere else. 

You gave him directions to your home, and there were times where you looked like you wanted to say something but couldn’t. 

When he finally pulled up into your driveway, you hopped out fast but didn’t close the door yet. You didn’t look at him when you spoke. 

“Sorry. I just- I can’t go in there. It’s not you.” 

“Right.” Eddie said, not believing you. He was starting to get annoyed at your constant apologizing. You’d say something, then apologize, and then the cycle would repeat. 

“I mean it!” you looked up at him. “I- I just can’t go in there.”  

“Why not?” Eddie said. 

You looked guilty again, and your looked like you were going to panic at the question. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He finally said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” 

You closed the door without protest, and you watched as he drove away. He saw you through his mirrors as he drove down the street and you looked... bad. For a moment he felt like he was making a mistake, but when you kept insulting him and turning around to apologize... what was he supposed to do? He’d seen this pattern before. 

---

“Stacy.... What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

---

Author Notes: No dividers right now, as I am at work and there's a lady in my ear complaining about pizza for the stupidest reasons. I'll come back later and make it more pretty but I need the boost from posting something.

Tag List: 

@eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart @bambibiest @mylovelycrazyworld

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@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld @thepinkpanther83 @justalotoffanfiction

@littlemissholy @rizzraa @vajjaa @ihaventgotaclue-really

[dumb-ster-fire]

The Inner Circle Banter x reader - Part 3

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Azriel's mate!reader

a/n: I saw this quote on Pinterest. Credit to whoever wrote it—if you’re the author, please leave a comment or send me a DM so I can give you proper credit.🤍

The quote is: "There’s nothing sexier than when an untouchable, godlike character—someone who’s never cared about anyone other than themselves—meets someone who disarms them completely, and they’re just like… ‘oh. oh. my love for you is going to destroy me.’"

Masterlist

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

The River House was wrapped in golden late-afternoon light, casting long shadows across the room. The Inner Circle had settled into one of their rare moments of peace, scattered across couches and armchairs in the living room. Nesta and Y/N lounged together on the biggest couch like two queens surveying their court, books in hand and feet tangled under a plush blanket.

Azriel sat nearby in a deep wingback chair, a book open in his lap, though his eyes drifted more often to Y/N than the page. Cassian lay sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, already halfway through a bottle of wine. Feyre and Rhysand were curled together on the opposite couch, soft smiles and a shared blanket between them. Mor was draped upside down over the arm of an armchair like a bored cat, her long legs swaying in the air. Elain sat curled beside Lucien, who was absently playing with her hair. Amren, naturally, had claimed the entire chaise by the window and dared anyone to challenge her.

The quiet hum of turning pages and clinking glasses filled the air—until Y/N spoke, voice slow and thoughtful, the way someone might drop a pebble into still water just to watch the ripples.

“There’s nothing sexier than when an untouchable, godlike character—someone who’s never cared about anyone other than themselves—meets someone who disarms them completely, and they’re just like… ‘oh. oh. my love for you is going to destroy me.’”

Nesta blinked, then snorted. “You’re talking about yourself and Azriel again, aren’t you?”

Y/N smirked without looking up from her book. “If the wingspan fits.”

Azriel made a sound that was half amusement, half exhale. “I was literally just sitting here.”

“And yet,” Y/N said with faux-innocence, “you’re exactly the type. Mysterious. Lethal. Tragic backstory. And then—” she turned her head slowly to look at him, her voice dropping—“undone by love.”

Cassian cackled from the floor. “It’s always the quiet, broody ones. One moment they’re brooding on rooftops, the next they’re writing poetry in the margins of someone’s journal.”

“I have never written poetry,” Azriel muttered, though his ears were faintly pink.

“I bet it would slay, though,” Mor chimed in, flipping her hair as she grinned upside down. “Something like: ‘Your eyes are like daggers and I want them in my chest.’”

“I’d read it,” Elain said quietly, smiling.

“Would you bind it?” Lucien teased.

Y/N tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “See? I’m not crazy. That godlike archetype—cold to the world until they fall head-over-heels for the one person who can undo them—it works. Every time.”

“I will admit,” Rhys drawled, “Feyre did completely destroy me when we met.”

Feyre laughed, swatting his arm. “Please. You were already halfway ruined.”

“Oh, I was absolutely feral.” Rhys grinned. “Still am, really.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “This entire room is filled with ‘godlike tragic men’ undone by their equally dramatic women. We’re just calling it what it is now.”

Amren didn’t even look up. “Some of us were never touchable to begin with.”

“And some of us,” Mor said, raising her glass, “have always been the destroyers, not the destroyed.”

Y/N clinked her own glass to Mor’s without getting up. “Cheers to that.”

Azriel was still staring at Y/N, shadows curling gently around his hands, his voice low as he said, “If anyone’s going to destroy me, I want it to be you.”

The room quieted for a beat.

Then Cassian muttered, “Damn. I take back everything I said. That was hot.”

Y/N grinned, victorious. “Exactly.”

Nesta just shook her head, turning the page of her book. “We live in a walking, talking fantasy novel.”

And no one argued.

Y/N arched a brow, her book forgotten in her lap as laughter danced in her voice.

“We may have just broken the fourth wall,” she said dryly, glancing around at the room full of literal gods and warriors all casually comparing tragic love tropes like it was book club.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, his eyes never leaving her. “What wall?”

Cassian raised his glass. “What’s a wall to a godlike character undone by love?”

Rhys smirked. “We tore that wall down five dramatic monologues ago.”

Mor gestured grandly from her upside-down perch. “Darling, we live in the space beyond the fourth wall. Where the angst is eternal and the sexual tension is a structural support beam.”

Amren didn’t even look up from her wine. “I told you all you were fictional.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Speak for yourself. I’m far too handsome to be made up.”

Elain giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Nesta closed her book with a snap. “If this is fiction, I demand a rewrite for better snack availability and less emotional trauma.”

Y/N smirked, stretching like a cat. “Honestly, if we are fictional, someone out there better be swooning over this banter.”

Azriel leaned in slightly, shadows trailing across the space between them. “If they’re not, they’ve got terrible taste.”

“Confirmed,” Y/N said with a wicked little grin, “we’re in the deluxe edition.”

The whole room burst into laughter—warm, alive, and just self-aware enough to feel like magic.

Y/N slowly turned her head, an amused spark lighting in her eyes—the kind of look that promised chaos and charm in equal measure. She gazed not at anyone in the room, but somewhere just beyond it, as if staring through the walls of reality itself. Her voice dipped into that dangerously seductive, teasing register—the one that always made Azriel’s shadows freeze mid-air.

“Hey. Yeah, you. Whoever’s watching this unfold like it’s the greatest slow-burn of your life…”

She arched a brow, resting her chin in her hand with mock seriousness.

“If you’re not swooning and fangirling over Azriel, what do you even do with your life? Like—are you okay? Do you need help? Blink twice if you’ve somehow missed the smoldering stares, the quiet heroism, the voice that could melt the winter off a mountain—and the wings? The wingspan?”

A pause. Her lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk.

“He’s brooding, loyal, lethal, emotionally repressed and poetry-level romantic. And he sings. To me. While sailing under the stars. Shirt clinging to him like a second skin. And you’re not swooning? Be serious.”

The room had gone quiet. Mor looked like she was about to start clapping. Feyre had covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Azriel just blinked at her, shadows frozen mid-drift, like they too were unsure what just happened.

Cassian let out a loud, “Damn,” from the floor, hand on his heart. “That was so hot I might swoon, and I’m not even the target audience.”

Lucien deadpanned, “Speak for yourself, I’m making notes.”

Azriel leaned forward, voice low and dangerous in a way that made the room tilt ever so slightly.

“If they weren’t swooning before…” he said, eyes locked on Y/N, “they are now.”

Y/N tossed her hair over her shoulder, pleased as a cat who’d just knocked over a priceless vase.

“Good. As they should be.”

Nesta sipped her wine and muttered, “We’re not characters, we’re the fantasy.”

And somewhere, out there, a thousand readers screamed into their pillows.

[incognit0slut]

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

.

a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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[aficionadoenthusiast]

*me, with tears of frustration in my eyes* rick didn't include annabeth's crush on luke or luke's pseudo-crush on annabeth for no reason! it is not something that needs to be cut because it's 'gross'! it serves thematic purpose! it adds to characterization! guys! please!

annabeth is twelve, and luke is the guy she's looked up to since she was seven. she not only has that bond, but she has the admiration from him getting his own quest. she has a lot of hero worship going for him, and it's really not unreasonable that she would like him or even that she would think of him as more than a sibling. beyond that, it's a great example of how a person who has never received real, unconditional love can become unhealthily attached to someone who is not good for them just because they've been shown a modicum of respect. if you want to look at it from a percabeth perspective, it could even tie into how her character has to learn the difference between love and kindness from a place of love and respect (i.e. percy) vs love and kindness from a place of obligation and manipulation (i.e. luke as kronos' vessel)

on luke's side, especially with him calling her his little sister now (in the show) and him literally turning into kronos later, it's symbolism for how he's being pulled farther and farther onto the dark side. as kronos takes over his body, he sees her less and less as a sister and more and more of something else, something that would be considered dark and unhealthy by anyone not on the dark side (for good reason), until eventually she has to remind him of their years on the run when he considered her a sister: "Family, Luke. You promised."

you're supposed to be grossed out by it! that means the theme is working!

you're supposed to see a traumatized 12 year old with a crush on her 19 year old mentor and think, "hey, that's weird! i wonder if her not getting any love or attention until she met him plays a role in their relationship?" and eventually see a 24 year old get a villain-induced crush on a 16 year old and think, "hey, that's really weird! i wonder if his turn to the dark side and how that turn happened twisted his view of her?" and ultimately think, "i wonder what that says about the type of trauma that develops in kids who grew up thinking they were unloved, especially since the author specifically wrote the book for his son with disabilities, the author who used to be a teacher, a profession that regularly encounters kids that are actively being abused and neglected?"

anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

edit: this post is not speculation! i'm not trying to say i don't think they're going to include annabeth's crush! i am perfectly aware that we are only two episodes in! this post is in response the people i keep seeing say they're glad because they think Luke's little sister comment means they're not going to include the "gross stuff from the books" (other's wording, not mine), and I was trying to explain why including it would be a positive. sorry, i really thought i made that clear