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zigrethsnotebook · 3 days ago

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Hello @zuekdaria and thank you so much for your kind words!!<3 It means a lot to me that you enjoy my little stories so much🥰

I think your ideas are lovely and I would love to morph them into one story featuring Ford, I hope that's alright with you! I hope you enjoy<3

Still waters run deep

Ford x Reader

words: 2,584

tags: sfw, fluff

You had moved to Gravity Falls early this year and needed a job quickly to get your footing. Something that would get you enough money to pass the time until you found the job you wanted. The Mystery Shack, owned and run by Stanford Pines, or Stanley Pines as you later learned, was the perfect place for you.

You were a good worker in Stan's eyes: always on time, never stole anything and did the work he asked of you. However, he was a little puzzled by you. You weren't the most outgoing person. The only times you talked to him instead of the other way around was when you needed something from him. Be it a new task, some clarification on a task or something else entirely.

He also noted that he never even saw you smile. Stan tried to tell you that it would look better for the customers when you greeted them with a smile at the cash register, but he never actually saw you do it.

However, being the massive flirt he is, he tried to get a rise out of you one way or another whenever he had the chance to. You always kept your cool. Unfazed by the old man and his weird but charming persona.

At least that's the way it looked to him. To you, he was slowly becoming your friend. You liked working for him and just generally having him around. So much so that you subconsciously started to put off looking for a different job.

Summer rolled around and you found yourself in the midst of the Pines' family drama. You didn’t mind that much, they had quickly all become very dear to you.

Then, Stan finished the portal and got his brother back. You didn’t know about the portal, of course. So, when you came to work the next day and saw a man who looked like Stan eyeing the souvenirs in the gift shop suspiciously, you didn’t even bat an eye.

At least not until Stan entered the room as well and you had to do a double take. "Ah, perfect. I see you've already met my brother, Ford." Stan's hand came down on his brother's shoulder who looked at him and then to you. "Oh, hello. I didn’t even hear you enter."

Stan laughed loudly. "Yeah, she does that. Not very talkative. But she gets things done and that's what counts." Ford raised an eyebrow at you, scanning you from head to toe. You didn’t flinch under his gaze, quite enjoying his eyes on you.

As much as Stan was charming and good looking when he wanted to be, his brother was something else. They shared the same good looks, of course, but Ford carried himself better. It made him appear taller, more put together. You liked him.

Stan and Ford quickly came to an agreement that Ford would stay in the basement and keep all his science and research down there, for the kids' sake. What that really meant was that Ford barely saw daylight at all. It quickly started to worry you.

The gift shop was slow one day, so you asked Stan about his brother. "Has Ford eaten today?" Your question was short, but Stan was surprised you asked it at all. "Not that I know of. Why, you wanna bring him something?"

"Yes." Stan wished he could read your expression. Were you just concerned about Ford's health? Did you see something in him? Either way, there had to be a reason and he decided to keep a closer eye on you.

After you got an 'okay' from Stan you made your way to the kitchen and prepared a simple meal. You took the plate back into the gift shop where Stan opened the Vending Machine Door for you.

You knocked on the door to his lab and the door swung open on its own. Quietly, you stepped inside, looking around the new room until you reached Ford, sitting at his desk with his back turned to you.

He was too focused on his work to notice you. Without a word you moved next to his desk, moved a few pieces of paper out of the way and placed the plate onto the wooden table.

Moving his papers was what made Ford look up at you with a raised eyebrow. He eyed the plate you set on the desk. "Did Stan put you up to this?" You found his eyes. Gorgeous big brown eyes. "No." You turned around and left again, leaving Ford looking at the door and the plate in bewilderment.

This became a daily routine. At the end of your shift you would prepare a simple warm meal for Ford and bring it to him without saying much or anything at all. You understood how important his work was and you didn’t want to bother him. Just wanted to make sure that he stays healthy.

A few days into this, Ford came up the stairs suddenly and started looking around the shop frantically. "Whoa, whoa, Sixer slow down. What's gotten into you?" Stan held his hands up as he stepped closer to his brother, calming him down.

"I lost... a creature got loose. It must be in the shack somewhere. It-It looks like a little orange fairy." Stan calmed him down further and asked if the fairy would be dangerous. Ford explained that it was entirely harmless, which seemed to ease Stan's worries. He was always so worried for Dipper and Mabel, it was very sweet.

After they both looked around the shack for a while and came up empty-handed Ford went back down with a sigh and Stan went back to his office. You sat at the register, reading a book. Stan didn’t mind you reading a book at work as long as you did all the things you needed to do.

After a few minutes something caught your eye. At first you thought it was a bee, zooming around the shop but as you looked more closely, you realized that it looked like a little person. This was the perfect opportunity to help Ford with his research.

You grabbed an empty jar from behind your counter and quietly made your way over to the shirt that the fairy was looking at. In one swift movement you put the jar over the fairy, using the shirt as a lid until you quickly put the actual lid on the jar.

You were careful not to shake the jar too much as you made your way to Ford's lab. Down there, Ford was scribbling away in his journal again. Without a word you carefully placed the jar on his desk. He looked up at you with wide eyes. "Thank you!"

You just nodded and headed back upstairs. God, the look on his face was everything to you. You wanted to see his face light up like that again. The rest of your shift you spent daydreaming about Ford and his big brown eyes. Surely, you would see them in your dreams that night.

When your shift was coming to an end you once again prepared something for Ford to eat and brought it to him. "You know you don't actually have to bring me food every day, right?" You looked at Ford. "I know." He furrowed his brows. "Then why do you do it?"

You thought for a moment, not quite brave enough to tell him just how much you care for him. "It makes me happy." Ford's expression softened and he chuckled lightly. "Well, you could have fooled me. I was worried you saw this as just another chore."

"I don't." Ford smiled at you and you felt like you were about to melt on the spot. "Well, in that case, thank you very much for looking out for me." You nodded and left the lab again.

Ford looked at the door for a moment after you were gone. He could not read you at all. It drove him a little wild. He seriously thought you hated having to come down here every day until mere moments ago.

He continued his work for a little while after he had eaten your food. Then, as he brought the empty plate back upstairs and found Stan in the kitchen as well, he decided to talk to him about you. But Stan was quicker.

"So. How's the food?" He smirked at his brother as he watched Ford clean the plate. "It's really good. But you know that already." Stan raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ford looked at Stan as he clarified. "I mean, you know her food is great because you ate it, too?" Stan scoffed. "No, smart guy. She only makes it for you." This took Ford by surprise.

To think that you only brought him food? Made it only for him? Why would you do that? Ford looked at his brother for help in organizing his thoughts. Stan chuckled at Ford's confused expression.

"Well, if I didn’t know any better, I'd think she has a crush on you." Ford stilled. Could that be? "But you know better?" Stan laughed, shaking his head. "Can't say I do."

Ford went back to his lab, trying to clear his head with science. But now, all he could think about was you.

Life continued the same as before. You came to work, did it quietly and efficiently. At the end of your shift you prepare some food for Ford and bring it to him. And, over the course of a few days, you watched his expressions change.

He had started out barely acknowledging you and the plate at all but now, every day he smiled a little smile at you. It made your heart flutter while also feeling appreciated for the work you were doing.

Today was another slow day in the shop when Dipper and Mabel stormed into the room. Dipper was holding something and looked to be running away from his sister. It was her glue gun.

Dipper had backed himself into a wall as Mabel tried to reach for the object. "Mabel! Grunkle Ford's Journal doesn't need to look cute! It's serious scientific research!" Mabel stood on her tiptoes, reaching upwards. "Science can be cute, too!"

A gentle smile graced your lips as you watched them. You put your book down and walked over to them. Being taller than both of them, you plucked the glue gun from Dipper's hand, turning both of their attentions to you.

"Mabel, I know you mean well. But maybe ask your Grunkle if he wants a cute journal?" She looked at you with big puppy eyes. "But... what if he says no?" You smiled at her. "Then I will let you turn my journal cute."

Mabel's eyes widened and a big grin appeared on her face before she hugged you. She quickly made her way down to the lab. Dipper looked at you suspiciously. "You write a journal?" You hummed. "Not a big scientific one. But I like to keep track of my life."

Dipper nodded in approval and then walked back to whichever part of the house he came from. You walked back to the register and placed the glue gun in one of the shelves behind it.

You didn’t know it at the time, but Stan watched every bit of this interaction between you and the kids through the security camera. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you smile at them. And you talked so much!

He took the tape and made his way to Ford as inconspicuous as possible to show his brother this new side of you. When Ford saw it, it warmed his heart. The men only knew you as this cold exterior, but to see some of the warmth underneath it? He wanted to see more of it.

Ford asked Stan for some more of the security camera footage of you. Stan raised a brow at him but obliged anyway. Ford had to look through the videos, surely, this hadn't been the first time you had some reaction to something?

On a tape from two days ago he found something. You were reading a book like you so often do when not much needs to be done. And there he saw it, the slighted crease between your eyebrows and the tiniest tilt of your lips downward. You were frowning at your book!

Ford felt like a child at Christmas, giddy from seeing you express any emotion at all. He now had a new mission. A new experiment if you want. He wanted to hear your laugh.

A few more days passed and somehow, Ford felt like you were even more distant. And he hadn't even started on his new mission. But you weren't even meeting his eyes anymore when you brought him food. Said even less.

He made his way upstairs, feeling it necessary to ask you about it. But when he got to the gift shop, you weren't there. Ford looked around the house but didn’t find you. Eventually, he decided to climb to the roof. An elevated position would surely help locate you if you were outside.

But he didn’t need to look anymore, because you were sitting on the little balcony, quietly sobbing. He felt his heart shatter.

Carefully, he moved to sit next to you and as he did you silently jumped, not having noticed him join you. "Hey, it's alright. I didn’t mean to startle you." You sniffled, wiping the tears from your face and trying to keep it together.

"What happened ...if I may ask?" He was careful, he didn’t want to scare you off with being too forward. But he also wanted nothing more than to hug you tightly and tell you that everything would be alright.

"Too much..." You shook your head, sorting your thoughts before continuing. "Job search is not going well." Ford felt something in his chest tighten. You wanted to leave the shack? "My landlord is about to throw me out. And my family wants me to-" Your voice broke off, unable to finish.

Ford looked at you. "Would a hug help?" You looked at him as well, meeting his eyes, your tear stained cheeks reflecting the sunlight in a bittersweet picture. You nodded.

Ford's expression softened as he moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. After a moment you let your arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer, as you took the warmth radiating off of him in. It helped to ground you, remind you that not everything is terrible.

Letting his own affection for you overwhelm him, Ford pressed a gentle kiss into your hair. The moment lingered for a little bit. Then, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You pulled away from him, feeling better. "Thank you."

Ford nodded, offering a smile. You two sat next to each other for a while, just enjoying the view and each other.

Even though he hadn't reached his goal of hearing you laugh yet, Ford felt like he was slowly getting through to you. Slowly understanding you. He felt pride in being the one to help you feel better today.

And maybe he could talk to your landlord for you. Or he would just offer you to stay here with him, even though that would be way too direct. Either way, he looked forward to every moment he would be able to spend with you.

#zigreth answers #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #zigreth writes #stanford pines #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader

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billysgirllol · 3 days ago

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“i did have a dolly, her hair was made out of yarn cause of course there wasn’t any means for a real doll even if we wanted one. it was one of the things that got left behind when our covey got pushed out of our last home by peacekeepers. all i have left of childhood toys is my mama’s bear she made for me, over yonder. sittin’ on the bed with a missin’ arm. reva blue the rainbow bear, or probably should be rainy bear now since she must not feel so fun anymore with no arm.” lucy gray frowns, “reva blue is her birth name, though. reva means rain and blue because rainbows start in bluer skies after the rain.” giving a little explanation, the bear is light brown with quilted rainbow ruffles sewed into her waist with a purple heart sewn onto her left foot, a yellow heart sewn into her right foot. her rainbow skirt is in better shape than hers, even if she’s took some wear and tear of her own with that missing arm. lucy gray thinks how she feels a lot like that bear, still trying to be colorful in these conditions because that’s the type of person she was born by heart as — staying relentlessly optimistic, but slowly officially losing her light. wearing her rainbow but becoming torn apart. “nice knowin’ how terribly biased an’ judgmental she is.” really— she’s shocked why coriolanus was even enamored by her for a few seconds. or how. since, she would figure he’s exactly like his grandma’am. thinks anyone other than capitol is the only worthy people in his mind. her mind is puzzled he could find anything attractive about her at all, since she feels like she should have been horribly ugly to him. how could he fake starry eyes and exchange kisses with her if he thought she was gross? but she should have been gross to him so her mind is burning trying to understand him even more. “of course. but one passed when i was younger and then the other i had that was livin’…i’m not sure anymore. we moved so often, but mamaw couldn’t just pick up and leave, so she stayed. i’m not sure if she somehow still might be there or she got rooted out too. or somethin’ else.” she could have died by now, that was a few years ago now. either way, the loss of so many family members weighs down heavily never knowing their fates. “well, that’s how people get you vulnerable. they pretend to fix things an’ be nice, but they can have killer motives behind it all.” lucy gray points out, placing the knife down on the bed while other hand is pulling loose the strings on her corset. “that’s interestin’.” thinking out loud, meaning his new name. william henry bonney. opening the door on the closet filled with pans and other miscellaneous things, she uses it as a cover. tugging the corset off, her long sleeve and then the ruffly multi colored skirt— throwing each of the pieces onto the bed. her hands dip down in her bag and pull out a soft lavender colored skirt and a white long sleeve with floral and butterflies on the front of the collar where it ties in the front and a tiny bow hangs down. wobbly legs step into the light purple skirt, feeling dangerously lightheaded before tugging on the shirt. closing the closet door back, she leaves her arms hanging out of the shirt, sleeves loosely hanging at her sides.

billy… brows creased at the familiarity. did he or dr gaul purposely choose the name billy to be even more twisted? she’s staring over at him like he fully offended her alone just by his name: billy. of course he offends her, because he must have remembered billy taupe. “there’s a scrape on my shoulder from tree limbs getting a hold of me takin’ it’s time healin’. and then there’s one like it on my leg, from scrapin’ it on a rock.” reluctantly sitting back down in front of him with that same scowl still on her face as she keeps dwelling on this name billy, there are scatters of bruises and cuts on her shoulders now that they’re bare not just the one she’s sugar coating on her left shoulder just because it’s a little more significantly different in size. the biggest though, is on on the inside of her upper leg where her knees meet. the second one that’s actually getting potential to set up for infection. moving her skirt until it’s bunched up in her lap, revealing the icky red scrape on her left leg starting above her knee and ending somewhere down the inner part of her upper leg.

“right.” because he’s not somehow coriolanus himself, mhm. if he was the type of person to play dolls with their bigger cousin or sibling, then he’d be an entirely different person. “if you’re somehow not coriolanus… then yes, coriolanus, you mentioned havin’ a sibling once. right before the games, you told me when we were learnin’ about each other.” lucy gray answers, helping lifting her foot up. this isn’t very coriolanus either… helping her like this. once, he did— when he used to wipe her tears and he used to call her his sweet. but all of that could’ve and must’ve been just a game. and this nice act— doesn’t mean dr. gaul couldn’t programmed him to make him nicer just to get her to fall for his trap. “good question.” on how to really believe he’s his own very different person. “probably so, since she definitely didn’t like me.” and the reminder of his mother is terribly sad, but it’s no excuse for him turning out callous and a murderer like he has. “we’ll see, if you ain’t tryin’ to kill me then maybe you aren’t him.” even if so, he could be waiting for the perfect time to retry it all over again. “what’s your name then?” questioning as she shows a little sign of discomfort at the blisters burning until they settle at the feeling of the medicine doing it’s job. her feet, once covered in socks, feel better than they have in a long time. “thanks…” whether he’s doing it genuinely or not, she’s still thankful for relief from the discomfort on her feet. “alright. i’ll get up now, first. change into a comfier skirt and shirt then i’ll show you the cuts.” it’ll be easier without all the ruffles in the way and her corset is restraining from pulling her sleeves down. scooting off the chair, she stands up and makes her way to picking up that skirt and shirt.

#verse: thg.

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pinksdoodles1 · 8 months ago

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a while back i gifted someone close to me a journal. small thing, for that year. i figured they'd use it to write down appointments, memories, and generally just keep their schedule organized.

i later found out they hadn't used it at all.

i wasn't angry, but i was a bit... disappointed? dejected? i guess. they had seemed to love it at the time, only to then never use it. i asked them why, and their answer was basically "the journal was so pretty, i didn't want to ruin it with my horrible handwriting." baffled me enough i didn't have a proper reply.

i think about that sometimes. about how i myself have got piles of art supplies - sketchbooks, pencils, markers, acrylics and oils and a dozen other things - all gathering dust in the corners of my room. about how i never use them, because they're fancy, and pretty, and costly, and i don't want to "waste them" on my drawings. on my simple, horrible little drawings.

about how i think my skills are just not good enough, to be worthy of those gifts. about how i keep waiting, years and years, for my skills to be good enough to be worthy of them.

and about how they'll keep gathering dust, because perfection will never come.

how do people feel when they see i have never used their gifts at all?

#just... some thoughts i have had bouncing around in my head #there's no clear. neat conclusion to this. i'm still figuring things out #munching on it and chewing on it #that journal conversation. where they talked about their handwriting. i think that made something click in my head #it moved a puzzle piece into place. i think #in a “is that where that comes from?” way #looking back on it i wish i could have told them something comforting #you were worthy of this gift the moment i thought of you when i saw it #you could have scribbled on every page. and that would still have been alright #if i didn't want you to use it. i wouldn't have gotten it for you #do you understand. do you get it. are these the right words #you're worthy of the love i send your way #i have a messy relationship with worthiness as a concept. i don't know how other people see it #i don't even know how /i/ see it #i don't know. i don't know #i just know that i wanted them to use it. and that maybe that's how other people feel when they gift me things as well #that maybe i should heed my own advice #pinkstalks #procrastination #though it might be some sort of low self-worth

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musicrunsthroughmysoul · 1 year ago

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I'm finally working on my analysis post about “Wonderland” by Big Country again and I'm about to cry because writing this has given me an even deeper appreciation of it AND OH I'M REALLY GONNA CRY OVER A FUCKING ROCK SONG? YES. No, I cannot tell you something new there. LOL

#crystal visions of lilies in the valley #btw yes I finally figured out how to marry my monstrous 'Stuart Adamson is a genius' paragraph with my verse-by-verse analysis!#I love being a writer actually because oftentimes it's basically like completing a puzzle #only the puzzle isn't concrete so sometimes I put the pieces in the wrong place but then I move them elsewhere and it's fixed :)#I am not about to think about that analogy in terms of songwriting though. I do not understand it so my mind will turn to mush.#and I do not intend any irony in that. analyzing poetry and literature I get. the process of songwriting I DO NOT!

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whatwouldvalerydo · 15 hours ago

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If we look back at the time stamp on this post many would be like "WTF". Mostly because I don't tend to advertise old posts and most of the times I tend to reblog stories or one-shots only once.

But I think it's time for the creator to take the chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by characters I created and talk about love. Not about a partner, but about love of creating.

So here I go.

"For more than a year now I have been struggling to sit in the center of a stage that is my own world really. I have taken a stand, way in the back, trying and forcing everything in my soul to be able to stand and still create something. Have I reached an epiphany? No. Am I still here? Yes.

Love for creating, writing, drawing, anything really, is courage. Courage to open ones heart and bleed out experiences and knowledge while also sacrificing time. Every part of your creation holds a piece of you. Love for creating is the ability and knowledge that once you do put something out there, it's a part of you.

Creators are puzzles. And each of us take a piece of the big picture and place it on a blank canvas. Sometimes we think we know where the piece should be, other times we are certain only to arrive the next day, look at it and shift pieces around. Love for creating is doing it until we are whole again, all the puzzles pieces fitting.

And then we move on to the next. Because love for creating is endless."

For this month of @hp-12monthsofmagic I decided to have all my characters and talk about what love is for them. Hope you like it.

A dim light is cast in the middle of an otherwise pitch black room. Eight chairs make a perfect circle, names written down on them. Somewhere in the distance a door opening is heard, several footsteps resonating against the floor as eight people make their way towards the chairs assigned to them.

Some of them exchange a smile, a small greeting, while others look around the room, not a word being offered. But they all know who each and every single one is. They all also know the assignment handed out, however no one wants to go first.

The sound of a lighter is heard, eyes turning towards Gareth Farr who just lit up a cigarette “So, how do we do this? From old to new, new to old, or perhaps the ones who have been more silent as of late would like to start?” he asked, eyes travelling towards Leila Hellebore, her letting out a low hiss “Now, now, why so rigid? We are here to talk about how we see love. The sooner you speak the sooner you can get this over with.”

“Then you do it.” She snarled, eyes averting towards the darkness surrounding them.

Lifting her hand, Victoria Summer smiled “I can go first, although Oli is usually better with words that me.” A light being cast on her, Victoria squinting her eyes, sheltering them with her hand “I know love is different for everyone, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s warmth, like a lazy summer afternoon in the middle of a glorious garden filled with the most exquisite scents.” The light above her started changing colors, a pink hue taking over “It’s trying, it’s about making a choice and never giving up.”

A scoff was heard from within the room, however Victoria did not even look at the woman, instead continuing “It’s about passion” the light above turning more towards red “in all its meaning. About finding in that certain someone the world. Overwhelming, but beautiful nonetheless. Gareth, you can continue.”

His brows lifted, him nodding his head only once “Certainly.” Sitting up straighter, he tried to ignore the bright light shinning above him “Love in my case is a lesson, a very hard one to learn. Unfair at times” the color changing to grey “but regardless it is rewarding. I believe I have loved truly only once in my life despite the number of partners I had or will have. Times certainly played a part, my status even more so. But love also came in a different form and it was then I learned that was enough as well. Love is kind, it teaches you, humbles you in ways you never thought possible. Love is a trickster, but I think it gives you just what you deserve or need, not what you want.”

His eyes circled the room, landing on Leila, however he nominated Angela King. Offering a shy smile around the room, she finally spoke “I don’t know much about it, I’m currently trying new things, taking a leap so to speak, but I think a leap is a good way of describing love. It has a power like no other force in this world, be it for family, a partner, a pet, oneself or a certain thing.” The light above her started turning yellow, Angela smiling “But it’s beautiful, it’s…it should be amazing despite the struggles you endure and take to get there. That’s what I think right now. Jin, would you like to try?”

“Of course.” He took a small bow, thanking her for her words before he told the room his own vision “I never really experienced love like you all. When I see and hear how the majority of you perceive it, I truly know there is a difference. I have several wives and have had several men in my bed during my existence, however that does not mean I do not understand love. It is just different for someone like me.” He looked up, squinting since the color did not change “It is about sacrifices, putting others first before yourself, selfless if you will. It should be effortless, a base, a stable one at that.” The hues of his light finally turning towards a light brown, Jin Watanabe shaking his head, eyes locking with Talia Crane.

“Don’t nominate me, I’ll go last.” She stated, Jin pointing towards Jonathan King.

Lifting his hand, he awkwardly waved at everyone “Love” a smile forming on his lips instantly as he thought about Lachlan “is for me and I have to agree with Jin, should be effortless, but it doesn’t always go like that. I think it takes time, time for one to realize exactly what they want from love. It should be easy, but it’s not. It’s messy, it’s about being up late and night thinking about someone, listening to songs and your mind going to that person and it’s confusing as Hell. But when it happens, there’s nothing that can compare to it. It’s like your entire body is filled with this energy, your soul burning for one thing and one thing only. It’s scary” the light above him shifting between blue and green as he spoke “but it’s like finding home in the eyes and arms of that one person.” The room remained silent, some nodding, Jonathan turning to Scarlett Tempest.

Flipping her hair back, she rolled her eyes “Of course you’d fucking nominate me. Fine, let’s play this stupid game. Love. It’s overrated, oversold, tacky.” Checking her nails she reached inside her bag pulling out a pair of sunglasses “This light has better not be with high UV. Now back to the matter at hand, I think that somehow despite all the shit in this world that it’s for everyone and each of us have someone set for them. Not a soulmate, but close. It should feel safe, it should be like falling for your best friend” she pointed at Jonathan “or finding that person again” she said pointing at Victoria “and yes, it’s confusing and some days you want to strangle them when they rant on about Pokemon and health points and skills in I don’t know what game, but it’s endearing as well. And love should feel like you belong. Leila dear?” the light above her turning green as she finished speaking.

“Call me dear one more time and I will hunt you like one.” She frowned when the light shined on her, however she started speaking “It is strong yes, that is the definition of love, strength. It is about making a choice and having the power to abide by that choice. Never easy, never without a struggle, but rewarding. When you finally reach that calm” blue shinning over her “and the certainty that no one can touch you as long as you are by their side, that is power. That is love. A roar inside one’s soul, stronger than magic, freeing. It is freedom.”

Looking over at Talia, she glared upwards when the light shinned upon her “Love.” She smirked, shaking her head “It’s nothing but trouble.” Looking over at Gareth, she asked for a cigarette, continuing to speak once one was lit between her lips “And it’s different every time, just like each person, never ever the same. It’s sad and cruel or at least we make it like that. A sentiment that disturbs the very depths of you.” The light shut down, darkness surrounding her “Fitting” she scoffed “so I will keep it short. Yes it fuels and consumes you. It elevates and it crumbles you to dust. It’s disturbing enough and we allow it. When you live long enough your perception changes. And I envy the mortals because most of them see the better part of it.”

Taking a long drag, smoke left her lips “But I have seen the light and the dark. There are good times too, I won’t lie, but I’m still trying to understand it. And the more I live, the more it eludes me. But then again I’ve always been a sucker for love, so I’m curious to see what will happen when and if my heart will ever decide not to love. Not to consume the one near me. We will see.”

“So you are saying love is bad and it changes as years progress? Do I have that right?” Gareth asked her.

“Depends who you’re with. It can suffocate you or help you to finally breathe, sometimes both. Odd no?”

“Very.” Jin spoke, being the first to get up, all lights going out, before a bright white light came on “I do believe we are done. And that we are also not yet done with our journeys. There is much to come, much to be felt. I can only hope the best for all of you and myself included. Now shall we? I believe my home is far better suited than this empty shell of a room. Let us go, I have more stories to tell. Leila, you too and do not hiss at me.” Smiling at the group, he turned towards the door they all walked through.

#a lesson on love #val talks #val rants

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areislol · 5 months ago

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being transported into their world

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, not proof read 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! girls in the astral express are mentioned for a bit, i mentioned both dan heng and imbibitor lunae so don't mind that! mentions of self attempt/bodily harm for blade, boothill is ooc probably, spoilers of penacony quest, skipping herta space station (will be mentioned in other chapters though!), sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. i've been thinking about a self-aware au but a honkai star rail version for a couple of weeks now after my reverse isekai'd genshin sagau series. also this may be a bit biased towards dang feng (imbibitor lunae) because uh i like him, maybe you can tell?

►— wordcount. 4.5k

part 2

for days they've felt uncomfortable, well, slightly. it only began to happen a couple of months ago when they felt as if something, no... someone was controlling their every movement and choice.

during their adventures, they felt an unsettling sensation creep upon them like a shadow in the night—a feeling of being watched, of a presence looming over their every move.

the presence was overwhelming, their body would stiffen, and they felt as if something like a heavy, invisible blanket was casted upon them.

at first, the passengers in the astral express dismissed it as mere paranoia, attributing it to the heightened tension of their journey or maybe the warping effects in the train. but as days passed and the sensation persisted, they couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that they were not alone, that someone or something was observing their every action.

at times, they would catch fleeting whispers carried by the wind, faint voices that echoed in the corners of their minds. yet, despite their efforts, they could never make out the words, the words slipping through their grasp like elusive dreams.

as the feeling grew more pronounced, thoughts began to gnaw at their consciousness. who or what could possibly be speaking to them? why is it that every now and then they would feel a sudden boost and surge of power?

they knew deep down that the only being in the universe could make them feel that was,it could be no other than their creator.

the mere thought that their creator was dropping hints of their arrival was exciting. and only when the astral express crew noticed how each and every one of them felt the same exact things—looking around the moment they heard a voice, their body in sync as they tensed up... it was all too coincidental not to notice.

as they talked with one another and pieced the puzzle pieces together, using the information they found along the way travelling to each region, it all became clear.

it was a pivotal moment in their journey, the truth was revealed. in a flash of realization, they discovered that the presence they felt, the elusive voice they heard, was none other than their creator—the architect of their existence, the mastermind behind their trials and tribulations.

dan heng, himeko, welt, march and caelus had a hunch that it was their beloved creator, it couldn't be anyone else. everything added up, everything made sense. they acted like mad scientists, scurrying to their rooms and digging around every nook and cranny of their room, finding any evidence and papers that mentioned you, the creator.

as they all met up back on the train they carefully placed each and every newspaper and article about you. they had to make sure that it was really you. some of the articles that dan heng bought were from way back, thousands of years ago, he refused to tell anyone where he had gotten them from.

"in the vast expanse of the universe, where time flowed like a meandering river and galaxies danced in an eternal cosmic ballet, there existed a being unlike any other—a being known simply as a creator. born out of the primordial chaos, the creator was a solitary entity who traversed the endless void, seeking purpose in a universe devoid of meaning.

for millennia, the creator roamed the expanse, witnessing the birth and death of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the ebb and flow of cosmic energies. yet, amidst the vastness of space and time, the creator found itself consumed by an overwhelming sense of ennui, a profound boredom that gnawed at their very essence.

then, the creator embarked on a journey of creation—a quest to fill the void with worlds of its own design, to sculpt realities from the raw clay of the cosmos. with a mere thought, the creator breathed life into barren planets, adorned them with oceans and mountains, and populated them with a myriad of creatures both strange and wondrous.

as creator delved deeper into their newfound passion, they discovered a love for the act of creation—a love that transcended time and space, a passion that ignited a fire within its soul. with each world it fashioned, each story it crafted, the creator found solace in the act of shaping reality, in the sheer joy of bringing something new into existence.

for six thousand years, the creator laboured tirelessly, weaving tapestries of worlds and galaxies, each one a testament to its boundless imagination and creative prowess. from the smallest blade of grass to the mightiest empires, the creator poured their heart and soul into every facet of creation, infusing each world with a unique charm and character all its own.

yet, amidst the infinite expanse of its creations, the creator remained a solitary figure—a godlike being adrift in a sea of its own making, forever yearning for companionship in a universe devoid of peers. and so, the creator continued their eternal quest, weaving worlds out of boredom and growing a love and passion for creation that would endure for eternity. and we, this universe, was crafted by none other than the creator, the place we call home. it is said that only after six thousand will the creator return to us, to watch over us once more."

the article itself looked worn, it wasn't signed by anyone, and no one knew who wrote it, or how they got the information. but it seemed plausible. millenniums... it has been well over six thousand years, it was about time the creator descended.

they had to be prepared, they had to tell the rest of their friends and families, the world. as much as they would like to keep the information to themselves they knew that you deserved a much better, bigger and more beautiful welcome.

sampo, gepard and luka were more than stunned and nervous, to say the least. their creator... was finally returning back? upon hearing the news from caelus they were sceptical at first, deep down they really wanted to see you in your glory, to finally meet the creator, but at the same time, it was nerve-wracking.

what should they say? what should they do in preparation and celebration? what gifts and offers should they give to you? nothing would do. they were positive that anything they bought, even if it got them in debt, would suffice. you deserved more than a measly couple of dishes and the most delicate and fitting garnets.

it was embarrassing really, their hearts racing as they tried their best to think of what to bring to your feet. but one thing they all had in common was their loyalty to you. if it was their life you wanted then so be it.

sampo is sampo, he was sure that his creator's glory and attractiveness were over the top, he would be sure to compliment you as many times as his mouth could allow, but he was sure that your beauty would be intimidating. no matter your looks your presence was more than enough.

gepard is nervous. his mind is full of "what ifs" and "what should i.." not even his sister can calm him down. every morning and night when he closes his eyes he's anticipating the day his sister barges into his room, yelling that the creator had finally descended. although he isn't quite sure of what to offer you he knows that whenever you need him, whatever you call him for he will be there in less than a minute, by your side or feet if you prefer.

whatever you ask of him, whatever favour you need from, he will never say no.

luka on the other hand is absolutely pumped to meet you! he had heard stories of you when he was a child, and from the stories told by the adults they described you as a kind being, who soon fell in love with the art, beauty and joy of creating. well, their most favourite was creating worlds.

he was absolutely sure that you would be the most kindest, heavenly person he had ever met, what was there to worry about now? luka knew that if he ever laid eyes on you he would fall in love no doubt, he would do anything for you. maybe you would agree to watch his wrestling matches?

jing yuan, blade, imbibitor lunae, and luocha are the most excited of all, sure, everyone is elated to finally meet you with their very own eyes. but them? oh lord... they all believe to be your worshipper, having heard tales of you from their parents, this alone caused them to be awe and love-struck with you.

they were a firm believer in you, you did no wrong in their eyes. all your actions and words were justified. they followed your principles, they made sure to announce their presence every time they came to your altar and placed down the most expensive jewels, dishes and gifts. (they had a shrine of you at home don't worry)

jing yuan was the one of the firsts to get hints that you were finally returning, the divine foresight fu xuan always looked so weary and cautious, but as time grew she began to be more... happy and elated, yet everytime he questioned her she was tense up and smile like it was nothing. and only when he pried did she say that she saw things, saw a blurred face, and heard a voice. "don't be alarmed... i'm here to tell you that.."

he made sure that everyone who worked under him and every prominent person knew of this, he began to make preparations of your arrival, he cancelled all meetings and plans, only focusing on you and your arrival. everything had to be perfect. he had even forgotten about the wanted criminal blade. jing yuan booked the most fanciest restaurant for a month max, he wasn't sure when you were coming, of course, so a month it was.

jing yuan prepared every entertainment and paid the orchestra, he wanted everything to be perfect, even the most minuscule details.

blade's loyalty was and is only for you and only you. he may be cold and stone-hearted (we all know it's false) but if it's you... whatever you ask for he will do it no doubt. he refuses to take orders from a stranger even if it is his friend, but if it's you? say no more. blade knew you were a kind soul, you needed protection from the other so-called "enemies" (he proclaimed it!).

he swore that you saved his life, years ago when everything was tumbling down, when his feelings got the better of him, he tried doing the unthinkable, as he blacked out he suddenly "saw" something.. a beacon of light, it was magical and airy, he tried his best to grasp onto the light but obviously could not.

it floated further and further away, and he followed it, his eyes glued only on the beacon of light. as it stopped moving, so did he, he continued staring at the light as it shrank into a ball, it didn't speak, it didn't look anywhere, it stayed there. suddenly he woke up, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. what was that?

sweat clung to his forehead when jingliu found him, concerned she rushed over to him, he refused to say a single word. he was left perplexed. what was the ball of light? why did he feel so at ease? why did it only appear after he...

he would make it his mission to meet you before the rest do other than the astral express crew and become your bodyguard, even if you deny his offer he will stick with you no matter what. of course, he would respect your boundaries but he knew that you didn't have the heart to deny anyone, especially your creation.

imbibitor lunae absolutely adores you, even if he was reincarnated the memories still pass on. and the tales being told by the grown-ups were famous around his area and still is. from the earliest days of his existence, tales of the creator had woven themselves into the fabric of his consciousness, painting a portrait of a being of boundless kindness and infinite compassion.

as a child, imbibitor lunae had listened with rapt attention to stories passed down through generations, tales of the creator's benevolence and the miracles they wrought upon the world. and in the quiet moments of the night, he would gaze up at the starry expanse above, whispering prayers to the creator, his heart overflowing with admiration and reverence.

when news of the creator's imminent return after six thousand years reached his ears, his heart soared with unbridled joy. in no time he set about preparing for your arrival, pouring his heart and soul into crafting the perfect gifts to present to his divine benefactor.

drawing inspiration from the tales of old, he fashioned intricate trinkets and tokens of his affection, each one imbued with his unwavering devotion and love. amidst the swirling maelstrom of feelings, one thing remained constant: his unwavering love for the creator.

imbibitor swore that once he felt or sensed a sign that would be arriving he would immediately act, he would be the first to meet and lay his eyes on your divine figure. slap him as many times as you want if you found it rude, he would only thank you.

luocha, despite remaining calm and composed on the outside, internally, he was freaking OUT. luocha found himself grappling with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions. on one hand, he felt a profound sense of excitement at the prospect of meeting the creator, the architect of his existence and the source of all that he held dear.

yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling of inadequacy, the fear of not being able to live up to your expectations.

his mind raced with a flurry of possibilities. what gifts would you appreciate? what could he offer to express his gratitude and reverence for the being who had breathed life into his world? with each passing moment, the weight of the impending meeting pressed down upon him like a heavy burden, filling him with a sense of anxiety.

despite his inner turmoil, luocha maintained a facade of calm and composure, determined not to let his anxieties show. with a steely resolve, he set about meticulously planning and preparing for your arrival, carefully considering every detail in his quest to find the perfect gift.

he even resorted to asking the children about what gifts he should bring, and yes, they did laugh at him but helped him nonetheless.

from ornate trinkets to rare treasures, luocha spared no effort in his search for the ideal offering, pouring his heart and soul into each carefully chosen item. yet, even as he laboured tirelessly to ensure that everything was perfect, doubts continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind, although one thing was for sure, if you didn't like any of his gifts he wouldn't be upset rather, maybe all you wanted was his whole body and life, and he would not hesitant once to give it up for you.

they all couldn't wait to meet you.

aventurine, sunday, gallagher and boothill are freaking out. horribly. mainly aventurine.. once the news had reached them from the astral express that it was possible (about 98%) that you were the comet arriving in a week... oh boy were they NERVOUS. everything HAD to be perfect. they had everything to thank you for, during their life and death situation they were lucky enough to survive—thanks to you.

it was only natural to return the favour, you created them, their personality, their arms, legs, their body, you sculpted their face, you made them. you made the very world they live in right now, the world they call home... they were sure you were by their side, making them make the right decisions and the right thing. aventurine? oh, the amount of MONEY he will spend buying everything he thinks you'd like, the fanciest, most elegant and most expensive shoes, clothing and accessories. he would rent out an entire week or months of work at a restaurant if you'd like to dine alone or with a couple of people. he knows his luck is a part of him, he can only pray that he'll meet you first with his luck.

sunday... just the sound of your name makes him tear up. he could've sworn that one time you spoke to him, your other-worldly echoing voice speaking to him directly about the loss of his dear sister. and here he stood in his room, looking out the window, and in the far distant a light shimmering as it swiftly dived down. a shooting star. he knows that with everyone getting the news they're all aiming to be the first to meet you, and trust me, he does want to meet you FIRST. the second you land he'll be there right with you and guiding you to safety—penacony.

but first, he must pinpoint where exactly you'll land. and with his power and influence he will most definitely try his best to find you and be sure to hide you from everyone else... he needs you, desperately.

gallagher and boothill have exactly the same thoughts. to present themselves good to you and spend every minute and second with you. but with everyone gossiping and spreading rumours about your arrival it's hard to be unique. everyone wants to be with you, everyone wants your favour. but they could never worship you as much as them. they had dreamed of this moment, it seemed unreal to meet their own creator but nonetheless, they clung to their hope and boy did it not go to waste.

boothill basically pauses any mission he needs to complete, that can wait. you are eternal. he's practically on edge with the fact that at any moment the comet would crash through and there you'd be, dozing peacefully.. like an angel. he won't hesitate to cause some trouble or initiate some violence if it means that they don't get to see you first.

gallagher on the other hand tries to stay hidden and in the shadows. of course, he'd like to meet you face to face but with the feeling of an overwhelming and looming divine presence, it's all too much. and if that's too much then what would he feel when you stand right before him? he's like an overprotective dog, fiercely loyal and clingy. even if you can't spot him he'll be right there, lurking and watching.

dr. ratio and argenti are absolutely and 100% loyal and would do EVERYTHING in their power to meet you, even a glance would do, anything to feed their curiosity and desperate need to know the creator. so when they get wind that you were supposedly descending down... they freeze on the spot, their breath hitches as their eyes widen. could it really be?

dr. ratio was always a curious boy, and he has you to thank for giving him consciousness and the opportunities to venture out and earn knowledge and eventually spreading his knowledge to his students (preaching i guess you can say). he's a bit biased when it comes to talking about you to his friends or students, and speaking your name in a more positive light, not that anyone minds, if anything they agree!

although he isn't much of a gifter or "i'll spend my money on you" he's more of a "anything you want just tell me". if you told him to drop his precious books to come and tend to your needs he would do it in a heartbeat.

to argenti you are the standard and epitome of "beauty". the beauty he has been searching for his entire life. he intends to shower you with compliments and roses freshly picked by hand unless you're allergic or not a fan of flowers, fear not! compliments should do! be ready to be bombarded with such positivity, compliments and gifts from the knight of beauty.

anything you wish for he will try his utmost best to get it done perfectly and quickly. "your hair looks so pretty like this..." say no more, he will always style it and keep it exactly like that! "my feet feel so sore from all the walking" ?!!? why is his dear walking anyway!?!? don't worry, he'll massage it for you! "ugh all this work is making me tired" move aside, let him do the honours!!

It was a long ride home from work, you were currently in an almost empty bus, glancing over the top of your phone you read the time. 11 P.M.

Was it that late already? You knew this office job would be the death of you. You never wanted to work at a place like this, the cubicle life bored you and it was just so... depressing. That was the only way to describe it.

You decide to pass the time by playing your all-time favourite game: Honkai: Star Rail. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face as you began to grind relics and exp for an upcoming character. It definitely worked in keeping you busy and awake as time passed by slowly.

All was well, everything was fine. You had everything planned in your head. Get home as soon as possible, take a nice warm and rejuvenating shower, get five hours of sleep, go back to work and repeat.

The more you thought about your daily routine the more you realised how depressing it was, but what could you do? That job was the only one that was hiring and had average pay and things like that are rare, especially when you decided to live in the city which was your first mistake.

You were barely getting by in the city, the crime rate increased, there were more breaks in, pickpocketing and murder. But despite all of that you decided to rent an apartment where it was less populated, the rent in the heart of the city was way too high.

Pushing all those thoughts and information aside you let out a defeated sigh, leaning your head on the window as you continued to tap away on your phone.

If only life went just a little bit easier on you.

Everything was fine. The silence was comfortable and the low, soft rumble of the engine kept you awake, until a loud deafening crash jolted the bus, sending people flying and falling onto the ground.

Letting out a scream you grabbed onto whatever you could to keep you steady—the head of the chair in front of you. Although it didn't do a good job of keeping you still you couldn't care less, because as you lifted your head, your eyes caught something massive charging straight at you, and before you could react, a blinding light engulfed you, followed by an eerie silence.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself tightly packed against something dark and rocky. Just great! Something had happened to the bus and knocked you out.

You looked around, it was pure blackness, like a void. Maybe this was what happened after death... Out of all things and especially the time too!

Feeling confused and scared you try to move your body to shift into a more comfortable position but due to the lack of space, you could barely even move an inch.

Suddenly, a crack was heard. And you froze.

Then another crack, and another, the darkness began to crack and splinter and not long after half of the egg-shaped looking ball broke in half as it fell to the side.

Shards of obsidian-like material fractured and scattered around. A large amount of dust, and shiny glitter-like specs flew everywhere, it was extremely dusty.

Unfortunately, you inhaled the smoke, coughing and sputtering, you waved their hand in front of your face, trying to dispel the particles as you squinted against the harsh light that slipped through the smoke.

As the dust settled and the steam dissipated, your surroundings gradually came into focus. You found yourself in front of... one, two, three, four, and... five.... wait.. what?

Right before you stood four male figures (with the other seemed to have a more feminine build), male figures that looked awfully familiar to you for some odd reason, just why was that?

You were confused and curious as you surveyed your surroundings, realizing that maybe this was death? You would've never guessed that "life" after death would look like this. It was very.... interesting.

The buildings that surrounded you were intricate and otherworldly. Dazzling celestial landscapes and luminescent structures piqued your interest as you slowly and carefully stepped out of what you assumed was a shell.

Its' architect and infrastructure reminded you of something, it seemed nostalgic—as if you've seen this exact building before. The more you observed and watched, your eyes tracing every precise curve and detail of the buildings your heart began to pick up its pace.

Your eyes searched every corner and inch, and finally, it landed back on the five figures you had spotted before and it wasn't until you caught sight of familiar faces that you were certain that you had to be hallucinating somehow after death.

There, standing in a circle, were figures that you could hardly believe were real: Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya. It was unmistakably them.

Their presence, their unmistakable aura of reverence, left you no doubt.

They watched you, their gazes filled with awe and admiration as if you were the embodiment of some long-awaited prophecy (and in this case, it was).

You were in disbelief. Disbelief that you had somehow been transported into the very game they were playing moments ago, but now they were tangible, real.

It was a long silence, it was both comfortable and uncomfortable with their longing gaze. You remained still as you checked around your surroundings once again before settling your eyes back on the group of people.

At your gaze they felt a shiver down their spine, and the hair on their skin stood up.

"W—Who are you guys?!" You yelled, narrowing your eyes to see if it was truly the characters from the game you adored.

Dan Heng's breath hitched at the sound of your booming voice, your voice... it was just like how they described what you would sound like in the carved stones and ancient scrolls.

The more he stared at you the more he wanted to come to you, to kneel down at your feet and profess how long he has been waiting for this moment.

With his eyes trained on your figure, he steps closer, Gepard notices and swiftly stops him from moving any further with his arm. Dan Heng looks to his side, confusion strewn on his face.

Not a single word was spoken yet with a stern gaze and the shake of a head, Dan Heng understood. Now was not the right time.

Minutes passed by in complete and utter silence, it unnerved you. Why were they so quiet? So watchful?

Finally, after what felt like hours, the silence was broken just with a couple words.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Your Gracefulness."

note: after 5 months WOW. i've been so busy with things i haven't had the time to really sit down and work. I'm so sorry everyone!

tags 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @saltylovetale-blog @toramune @oreo-ren @backintomykpopphaseagain @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @yurassia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealmap @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanist @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-ish @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcrow @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqq @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhhiwassup @youdontneedyoknowlol @the-lazy-perfectionist @issacdarknight @lucienbarkbark @bizzybkd @obliviousariies2007 @coffee-seed

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

for those i've taged: if you do not want to tagged for hsr drop a comment or message me.

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

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luveline · 9 days ago

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𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested!

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise

“What are you doing?”

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times.

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask.

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands.

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything.

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw.

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip.

“Maybe later.”

“You can’t stand there all night.”

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?”

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast.

“Does it still hurt?”

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin.

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place.

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching.

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting.

Spencer holds your face gently.

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth.

You wake up with a caught breath.

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night.

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again.

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss.

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you.

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush.

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went.

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise.

It’s not there.

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain.

Your head whirs.

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically.

“Hey, Y/N?” he says.

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door.

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures.

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?”

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.”

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.”

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there.

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve.

“Did you go shopping?”

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?”

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin.

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?”

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter.

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts.

“I missed you,” he says.

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?”

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.”

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves.

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream.

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again.

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly.

You can’t look at him. Can’t think.

What are you doing?

What does it look like I’m doing?

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now...

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.”

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.”

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.”

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been.

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks.

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams. There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?”

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?”

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?”

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line.

“Sure.”

“They were first called oily cakes.”

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.”

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise.

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting.

”Nothing.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.”

“Dude!”

“What?” he asks with a laugh.

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.”

“But there’s something to figure out?”

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat.

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer.

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.”

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.”

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.”

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths.

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay.

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness.

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half.

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again?

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless.

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other.

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing?

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning.

“Y/N?” Spencer asks.

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries.

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed.

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.”

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting.

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say.

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.”

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.”

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.”

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.”

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month.

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.”

How could you pass it up?

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say.

“Do you want to?”

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.”

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says.

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out.

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?”

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun.

“I love it.”

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.”

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze.

How’s your bruise?

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning.

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.”

—

iii. scared of snow

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” you refute.

“You are.”

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it.

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold.

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble.

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone.

“It’s so quiet.”

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.”

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth.

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road.

“What?” you ask.

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says.

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again.

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively.

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all.

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head.

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe.

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen.

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?”

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume.

“Slept fine,” you croak.

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?”

“Nervous?” he asks.

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.”

“Yeah, still on, even JJ.”

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee.

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go.

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously.

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside.

“Come in,” you say.

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.”

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.”

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.”

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.”

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?”

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?”

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.”

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee.

“What?” you whisper.

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says.

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front.

Your fear is daunting.

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this.

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing.

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door.

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold.

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin.

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker.

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back.

“Hi,” you say.

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.”

“Y/N,” you say.

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.”

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead.

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says.

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar.

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim.

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently.

“Caught!”

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says.

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about.

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table.

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush.

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog.

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked.

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult.

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.”

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement.

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, don’t go.”

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?”

“Spencer, what if I throw up?”

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?”

“I don’t want to throw up.”

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.”

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him.

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes.

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner.

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say.

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.”

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together.

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway.

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.”

“You’re awake,” he says.

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.”

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?”

“Like what?” you ask.

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say.

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.”

“It’s remembered, maybe.”

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob.

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?”

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.”

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently.

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.”

“I do love you.”

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?”

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.”

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.”

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach.

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet.

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams.

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out.

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse.

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs.

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?”

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.”

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears.

You straighten.

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.”

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given.

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits.

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue.

“I know you know what I mean,” you say.

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.”

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now.

“Well, I like you.”

“What?” you ask, coughing.

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?”

“What?”

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?”

“I kind of thought you knew.”

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face.

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it.

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to.

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly.

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall.

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes.

Just one.

“This is so weird,” you mumble.

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?”

“I had a dream just like this.”

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.”

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.”

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.”

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold.

—

iv. the end

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep.

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use.

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time.

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up.

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line.

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him.

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow.

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle.

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there.

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love.

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet.

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for.

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need.

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…”

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth.

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess.

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.”

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing.

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers.

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly.

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake.

“Are you tired?” you ask him.

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.”

“Thanks,” you mumble.

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out. You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek.

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.”

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.”

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again.

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said:

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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afterglowsainz · 21 days ago

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gold rush | franco colapinto

pairing: brazilian!vet!reader x franco colapinto

summary: you were used to your boyfriend’s flirty personality, but still every now and then you couldn’t help getting jealous

fc: beca oliveira

request: here

a/n: i haven’t done a written fic in so long please bear with me 😭

—

liked by francolapinto, bffusername and others

yourusername patients of the week 💖

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friend1 the cutest!

friend2 the way i couldn’t be a vet cause i would just be kissing them all the time

yourusername oh don’t get it twisted i am kissing them 24/7

bffusername dream job

friend3 how does it feel to live my dream 😭

francolapinto los amo😍 (i love them)

liked by yourusername, alex_albon and others

francolapinto ready for another race week 🤩

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username always with the mate

username ugh just look at him!

username didn’t expect my crush on this man to last this long

username casually serving face on the first pic

username idk how to explain this but he looks like a taylor swift song

yourusername agree

username omg girl hey 💕

—

There was no reason to be angry. No real reason, anyway. Deep down in your mind and at the core of your heart, you knew there was no way Franco was seriously flirting with anyone but you. Your heart on the other hand...

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Since joining F1, Franco had become known for his flirtatious personality and undeniable charm; it was part of who he was, and it had never really bothered you before—you knew what he was like. So why were you suddenly so upset after watching that interview everyone was talking about on Twitter?

The answer was so obvious you didn’t even want to admit it to yourself, but it was staring you right in the face. The reporter was what bothered you. It wasn’t her specifically, of course—you’d seen her a few times and knew she was the picture of professionalism, not to mention charming. But she was completely different from you. It was no secret that Franco had always liked blondes.

—

Damn. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with that single message.

Franco had never really stopped to think about the consequences of his actions. Of course he had seen comments online about his interviews, but he never worried about how his girlfriend might interpret them. He was simply doing his job by giving interviews to journalists. If there was someone his age he could feel relaxed around, he would do so—it was part of his personality. But he would never disrespect his girlfriend by insinuating something more. She was everything to him.

Franco quickly went to Twitter to look up the interview video he had given hours earlier. As he analyzed it, he realized how some of the things he said or the way he expressed himself could come off as insinuations on his part, and he cursed himself internally, imagining his girlfriend watching the same video.

He had to fix this, and fast.

liked by yourusername, olliebearman and others

francolapinto special gp coming 🇧🇷 (in the country of the most special person)

tagged yourusername

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username ngl i sometimes be forgetting he has a girlfriend

username THE ABSOLUTE GODDESS

username franco move i’m tryna see y/n

username the hand placement 🥺

username the power couple they are

username in love with them

yourusername okay i guess i might forgive you just this once 🙄

francolapinto i love you (only you) ❤️

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cosmosis · 1 year ago

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based on this image from @fr3akingtf0utrn

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - office life

how miguel o’hara slowly makes you fall for him check out my miguel o’hara masterlist here!

Miguel O’Hara doesn’t fall in love with just anyone.

But... every time he sees you around the office, his hands almost inch towards you like a moth would a light. Something ignites in him that he can’t explain, but he can’t help but want so much more of you.

He likes to give you bagels and coffee during your breaks. (haha) Your work almost seems to magically disappear, and you’re a lot of the time left to finish up the easy stuff. Somehow, he’s even managed to sit with you for lunch, the rest of the spider-people in the cafeteria staring at the two of you while you eat.

The entire building, all of the spider-people seem to know the happenings between you and Miguel, and they love it. It’s become somewhat a staple gossip within the workplace.

Anyone bold enough would pass by Miguel in the hallways and say, “We’re rootin for you, boss!” In which Miguel wouldn’t know how to feel, whether it’d be angry or happy.

As of now, the two of you have been flirting around, evidently more than just coworkers. He’s yours, and you are his. To you, though, he’s the absolute sweetest. He takes work off your plate, he’s kind, and he adores you.

You’ve noticed Miguel getting a bit touchy lately, which you aren’t necessarily complaining about. Whether it’d be on your arm, a gentle hand on your neck to guide you through a crowd, or just being generally close to you, Miguel has been making his advances on you after Lyla spilled how it should be fine to do.

His touch makes you shiver a little; he’s extra warm and so very gentle. You almost always lean into his touch, and Miguel loves it too, he just doesn’t admit it upfront.

“You did great today, Miguel.“ You say.

Both you and Miguel just headed back to Nueva York from a mission, taking out another stray anomaly that wouldn’t come without a fight.

Miguel’s stomach flutters a little. Rarely, he ever gets praised by anyone. He’s the boss, the CEO; most of the time, he feels like it’s expected of him to do the best job. But, praise tastes much more sweeter when it comes from you.

“You did well yourself, sweetie.“

Miguel’s mask dissolves away, leaving behind his pretty face. You don’t think you’d ever get tired of it. He gives you this look of adoration, one that the rest of the office has never, ever seen in person.

You’re in Miguel’s office, well, more like your shared office. Miguel insisted that you’d move into his office, claiming, “I don’t want to go through the entire building just to find you for something.” which is code for, “I can’t live a day without being near you.”

So now, you have your own desk and work area. You’re both alone, no one to bother, (except maybe Lyla, but she knows better.)

You’re at your desk, and Miguel steps up behind you. His big hand slithers to your lower back, running his fingers against the curve of your spine. He’s warm, you can still feel the heat radiating off of him from the previous mission.

You feel him lean in, discreetly nosing his face into the top of your head. You lean in back, bumping your upper back into his chest.

“Is this okay?“ Miguel mumbles, serious heat trailing up to his neck and ears.

You nod. “Yes.”

And it was sealed from there.

Now, Miguel rubs your back too often. His hand fits into place with your back like a puzzle piece, Miguel always finding some kind of way to lay his hand where it belongs. You love it.

In the office? Yes.

During lunch? Yes.

Even on missions, he pulls you by your lower back to usher you away from a hit, and you both play around with that. He’s all fun and games when on missions, flirting, teasing, kissing.

Now, it almost feels wrong when he isn’t touching you.

. . .

“Hey, girl, look at this!“

Lyla pops in, automatically pulling up an internet article on your desk screen. It’s a web article; “The Science Behind Courtship in Male Spiders”

“Lyla, what does this have to do with anything?“ You ask.

Instead, she just scrolls into the article, highlighting a quote; male spiders give “back rubs” to seduce their mates.

You raise your eyebrow.

“You wanna know why Miguel’s been rubbing you so much? It’s cause of that!“ Lyla exclaims, as if she’s discovered this new scientific theory.

“I guess you’re kinda right on that.“ You mutter. But, the more you start to think about it, the more it makes sense.

Now every time Miguel palms your back, you think about the article.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv lyla #atsv #spiderman #across the spiderverse #lyla #atsv miguel o'hara #x reader #reader inser #fluff #romance #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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monstersholygrail · 4 months ago

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I know that dominating and intimidating monsters with a nice little sarcastic streak are hot and all, we love them and wanna fuck them, but can I also get some nerd monsters?

Like I just want a little nerd. I also want monsters who are just total dorks over their special interests and they share that with you in their own excitable ways.

Minotaur bf who’s a total dork over puzzles and games. You’ll come out into the living room at midnight, seeing the bed was empty, and you’ll find him sitting under the singular light of the dining table. Totally hunched over his almost finished puzzle that he started earlier that day. Then during game nights he’s an absolute best. You swear he’s the most competitive monster you’ve ever met. Winning round after round, chasing that high until he finally snaps and throws the board game off the table and you on it so he can celebrate his victory properly.

Orc bf who’s a fanatic about collecting weapons. He has all sorts of antique guns and swords. Many that you don’t even remember the name of and yet you can recite its entire history bc your bf will drone on and on about it. Whenever he gets a new weapon he gives you an entire tour of his collection room, showing you how he’s moved everything around to highlight his new weapon. You can’t help but find him painstakingly hot as he handles it and you make your interest known to him. His eyes darken, catching onto your meaning and suddenly you’ve replaced the weapon on the platform but he quickly returns it to its place as he fucks you with the handle, rambling about its many uses.

Dragon bf who’s hyperfixated on the quality of jewels and gold. He’s studied the art of jewelry making and blacksmithing. He can tell you the grade of a diamond just by glance, not even needing equipment to check. He loves to combine his two favorite things the most. You and the rest of his treasures. Adorning you with only his finest jewels and nothing else. Liking most how they barely cover anything up yet make your body shine like the angel you are. He almost can’t help himself as he throws you down onto his hoard and ruts into you, watching the jewels sway and bounce on your delectable body.

Werewolf bf who’s a complete gym bro and knows everything there is to know about fitness. He knows the perfect forms to every exercise you could think of, he’s memorized all the benefits to each individual piece of equipment, and he can tell you how best to maximize your time in the gym. Not that he ever would, respecting your level of interest or disinterest in the gym. He knows it’s more his thing and he’s happy you simply coming along with him to use the sauna for members only… and their guests. He loves the burn and the freedom of the run as he works out and releases that energy. But what he loves more is coming into the empty sauna after he’s done and making you both work up a real sweat as he takes you on the bench, the wet squelch of your joining bodies echoing off the walls.

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serejae · 4 months ago

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they dont know about us | c.hansol

pairing : vernon x reader

WHAT ! - being the only person able to read vernon is a strange concept to others, i guess your relationship is unique (in which, your the only person able to read vernons expressions

warnings : kisses, petnames, mentions of the other svt members, mention of dead people, slight skin ship, not proof read, established relationship au

WHEN HE HAS A ATTIUDE

seungkwan, vernon, and you were sitting in the middle of seungkwans living room playing uno. things were getting heated since vernon gave you 3 plus 4 uno cards in a row. so in return to help you out, seungkwan gave you a swap card to swap his stack with yours so you could win

“hey, youre suppose to give the stack to me if your gonna place it down” vernon said, to anyone else his tone would be monotone and blank, but to you, you could hear the slight disappointment in his tactic of teaming up on you.

“my house, my rules” seungkwan replied rolled his eyes at vernon protest as he put down a plus 4 card on vernon. vernons mouth slightly opened in shock, after a few seconds of processing he looked over at you.

to the normal eye this wouldve been a man looking over at someone, but to you this was vernons attitude come in. you could read him perfectly, being able to read anything his face shows from visibly to hidden. no matter how he presents his emotions it seems like you could always tell what hes feeling

“dont give me that look just because you wanted me to lose” you yelled slightly, he laughed and shook his head knowing he was caught

“what look?” seungkwan looked up

“you didnt see the reaction on his face after you put down the plus 4?”

“yeah the face of a dead person, he didnt make a face it was just…blank”

“yeah i didnt make a face” vernon teased making you groan

“he did make a face! he was giving me attitude” you defended yourself to a lost seungkwan and a happy vernon

“you both are so weird”

WHEN HES SAD

“i dont know where it could be” vernon ran his hand through his hair as he sat down on the couch frustrated, right now, he thinks he has his eyebrows furrowed, a pout and a slight redness to his cheek. but in reality hes just blanked out. like a mannequin, just sitting there with a blank stare

“its fine you could always buy another” dino said sitting on the floor eating off the coffee table in front of vernon.

vernon sighed as he slumped himself into the couch even more. “yn bought it for me, i cant replace it”

“i mean they could always buy you another one”

“but its not the same”

just then you walked in through the door saying hi to dino and vernon. as your eyes drifted to vernon you see him slumped on the couch with a very (in your eyes) big pout on his face. sitting right next to him you caressed his cheek “whats wrong? whats with the look on your face?”

“what look?” dino said as he chewed his food puzzled

“you dont see the big pout on vernons face?” you turned to dino

“no”

“its right there” you pointed at vernons lips where the pout evidently laid

“i think youre seeing things yn”

WHEN HES SCARED

vernon had his arm around your shoulder as the movie wrapped up. you could feel the gentle grip he had that tighted at times a jump scare came up.

when the movie finally ended, vernon got up and gave you a hand to help you up, as you held his hand you looked over and saw his scared face, automatically you busted out laughing making dokyeom and joshuw look over at you two

“whats so funny?” dokyeom asked smiling in amusement as he put a piece of popcorn in his mouth

“look at vernons face, hes so scared” you laughed

dokyeom moved his head to look at vernons face and furrowed his eyebrows while looking over at joshua, joshua was just as confused raising his eyebrow.

“yn, vernon does not look scared at all” joshua chuckled observing vernons expression closer

“what do you mean? you dont see his lips quivering?” now it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows

“i think thats your eyes moving really fast…i dont think its his lips” joshua said making dokyeom laugh

WHEN HES IN LOVE

all the members sat around the dinner table with their partners at the house party you and vernon were hosting. vernons finger caressed your thigh in a comforting way letting you know he was there. you laid your hand ontop of vernons fingers and whispered to him

“lets go start on the dishes as they talk”

he nods and lets you get up first before following you to the kitchen. the kitchen gave a view of the dining room to you both as well to everyone else. he washed dishes as you dried them, but something about vernon doing dishes in a basic t shirt with his hair down was doing something to you. you stared at him with your pupils dilated as he looked at you with his brown eyes. at this point vernon probably wss scrubbing the same spot 50 times but that was the least of his priorities

“vernon ah, yns looking at you with love and youre looking at her as if she crashed your car” hoshi joked making you and vernon look away

quick to defend him you spoke up

“what do you mean? he was looking at me with love?”

“that isnt love, thats him turning you into stone” scoups laughed

“i swear you guys have to be able to see the expression on his face”

looking around you see no one siding with you

“is vernon gaslighting you?” jeonghan questioned

looking back over at vernon, he was already staring at you just as confused, he shrugged his shoulders and you both continued washing the dishes.

WHEN HES VULNERABLE

“i dont get it, why cant they see the emotions on your face like i do?” you complained slightly annoyed as you laid on his chest

vernon hummed as his fingers ran through your hair. “i dunno

but i kinda like it”

“you do?”

“yeah” he replied simply

“it reminds me that youre special to me, that we have a special relationship. youre the only one who can read my emotions, the others cant and dont understand me like you do.

they dont know about us,

i like that its your special superpower

i dont want them to be able to read me like you can

just a me and you thing”

as you listened to his words you looked up at him and could see it in his face that he meant every word. how he cherished each special interaction you both had that no one else understood. because he liked being different, he liked how no one could get him, but he liked it even more how you were the only one who could

so maybe his friends cant read his emotions on his face and maybe they find him weird , but you can and dont

and thats all that matters to him

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reidsdimples · 3 months ago

Text

“He pins you down on the carpet, makes paintings with his tongue.”

Paintings With His Tongue

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

18+ ❤️‍🔥MDNI ‼️

“Come on, just tell me what you’re thinking,” Reid smirks and tosses a ball of tissue paper at you.

You cross your legs and tug up your knee high socks. The carpet in his apartment is soft on your legs and you shake your head as you continue to wrap JJ’s baby shower gifts from the team.

You had gotten her a puzzle with the new baby’s name as the pieces ‘Michael’ it read. You thought it went so well with Henry,

“I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s a me issue,” you shake your head. You had bit your tongue on a risqué joke that could have been taken as a pass at him.

The truth was, you were extremely pent up. You dumped your abusive ex weeks ago when he bruised your eye. Even before then, your needs were not being met. But you have always had a thing for Dr.Reid and now being alone with him in his apartment… you were barley holding yourself together.

He moistened his plump lips with his tongue in frustration and sighed. The movements of his deft fingers as he wrapped a present caused you to squirm. How exactly the two of you got roped into present wrapping duty was still a mystery. Though you guessed Garcia was trying to finally push you two into each other like Barbie and Ken dolls. You smile to yourself.

“See? What was that- what are you thinking?” He calls you out.

“You may never know,” you flirt and snatch the tape from his grip.

He raises an eyebrow at you, those deep brown eyes pleading.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, placing your crossed feet on his lap. His eyes travel up to your short skirt which allows him a view of your creamy thighs. You swear he swallows hard.

“I was just thinking…” you start slowly. He leans forward attentively.

He rests one hand on your shin, his long fingers wrapping it completely.

“Thinking what?” The air charges and he separates your crossed legs only to lean forward and closes the distance between the two of you. Your heart hammers and you forget how to breathe.

“I…” you think he’s about to kiss you as he gets closer, forcing you to pull your knees to your chest to give him room as you lean back on your palms.

He snatches the other wrapping paper from behind you and moves back to sit. You inhale sharply and shake your head. Fuck.

He pushes his hair back from his face and you nearly fall apart. You know you need to do something about your neediness. He’s your coworker for fucks sake.

Then an idea pops into your head.

“You know what, we’re profilers. Why don’t YOU tell me what I’M thinking,” you challenge him.

He looks up at you through his messy long hair with the handle of the scissors in his mouth. His fingers quickly work to tape up the diaper bag for JJ.

“I don’t know if I…”

“You doubt your abilities Dr. Reid?” You sit up straight.

“I doubt you’ll like what I profile,” he reasons.

That makes you doubt he knows what you’re actually thinking.

“Try me,” you demand and stuff a bag full of tissue paper.

He narrows his eyes on you and loosens his tie. The dark cardigan was already tossed into the couch three presents ago and he begins rolling up his sleeves.

“You’re healing from your recent break up. You feel guilty that you miss him because he hurt you but you do. What you don’t quit understand is that you miss attention, not him. You deserve better but you don’t think so,” he pauses to sip his wine. You tilt your head.

“Is that it?” You jest.

“You knew you and I would be alone so you’re wearing something more revealing than you might have otherwise. You flip your hair over your shoulder to draw my attention to your neck. You lean back and allow me to see your thighs because you want me between them.”

Your mouth falls open at his words. But he doesn’t stop there.

“Not because you want me specifically but because you want that attention I mentioned before. Perhaps a distraction or…”

“No- that’s not true,” you cut him off.

“You’re wearing glasses, knee high socks, and a school girl style skirt because you perceive me as intellectually superior. You have a school girl and teacher fantasy you wish to act out.”

He leans forward between your legs again. He braces himself above you when you lean back on your elbows and he keeps talking.

“You’ve been trembling since you got here, you won’t stop biting your lip, and you keep squeezing your thighs together. You were about to make a joke that showed your hand but thought better of it because you fear rejection. You also don’t want to cross professional boundaries, and you can’t gauge where my interests lie.”

You’re dumbfounded, actually speechless as his breath fans across your face.

“Your inability to read my micro expressions leaves you feeling uncertain about the chemistry we have and I intended it to be that way. The truth is I want nothing for than to bury my face between your legs and make you scream my name until your throat is so sore that you remember it everytime you speak tomorrow,” he holds your gaze and you’re melting.

You feel your cunt pulsing with need and you want to squeeze your thighs together for some relief but you can’t because he’s kneeling between them.

“Please,” is all you can manager to whimper.

He grips you behind the knees and slides you forward so quickly you barely register it. You fall willingly onto your back with a soft huff and watch him meticulously roll your skirt up. His hair is messy and disheveled and he seems to be panting with need just like you are.

Wrapping paper crinkles beneath you but you don’t care when he leans down and begins kissing your thighs.

“Spencer,” you inhale in shock at his lips on your skin.

He continues to kiss your soft skin then starts nipping it gently. His fingers dig into the outside of your thighs, pinning them open. You never would have thought he’d be so… demanding?

He starts to kiss your pussy through your underwear and you writhe against him. The friction is heaven but the view of him there could send you both straight to hell. He moves one hand up to your hip to pin you down why he uses a thumb to rub your clit. He’s kissing your pussy gently and you know you’re soaked, you know he can feel it through the thin fabric.

Finally he rolls your panties down and out of the way. He looks up at you for consent ones more and dives in like he’s been waiting to his entire life.

It’s too much, it’s everything. His nose pushes against your clit, his tongue drags up between your folds, he comes back down to your interest and pushes his tongue into it into you mewl.

He’s moaning and he licks and laps at your cunt, slowly to savor it. He moans as he sucks your clit into his mouth and moves back down to your hole.

“Oh my god,” you cry and tighten your thighs around his head.

He sucks on your pussy and audibly devours you on his living room floor. He skillfully and artfully brings you to climax and before you know it you’re coming over and over again for him. You pant beneath him and whimper but he doesn’t stop.

He makes small whimpering noises of approval and eats you like a man starved. Your pussy quivers and responds to him as he continues to beckon more cum out of you. You swear his tongue must be painting a masterpiece or spelling every word in the English language.

“One more,” he pants from between your legs.

You roll your eyes back as the fourth orgasm siezes you. You can’t even try to tense your legs anymore, they’re jell-o. You’re shocked when the last orgasm is more squirting that your usual.

“I’m sorry!” You squeal but he laughs and dives back into you, his strong hands still gripping your hips. You cover your face in embarrassment, not ever having had more than one orgasm per sexual encounter.

Ones he fills himself on that last orgasm which left you red faced and embarrassed, Spencer sits up from between your legs. He’s on his knees looking down out you when he brings his shirt up to wipe his face.

You cover your eyes with your hands, utterly shy under his gaze.

“You are incredible,” he breathes.

“Me? You… you’re the one that did all the… that,” you stammer gesturing between the two of you. You sit back up and pull your skirt down.

“Mhmm,” he grins sinisterly at you.

You remain in awe that this man just did that to you. You crushed on him but you never imagined him to be so skilled, so dirty mouthed, and egotistic about his abilities. You glance down and see just how much he enjoyed himself, taken aback by the length of said enjoyment.

You lick your lips hungrily.

“For the record. It’s not about attention for me, I genuinely like you,” you assert and reach for his belt.

He raises his eyebrow in a ‘touché’ manner and crosses his hands behind his back as he watches you pull him free from his pants.

#Spotify #spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds #mgg pics #dr reid #spencer reid one shots #spicy spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #Spencer Reid smut #sabrina carpenter

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kajibunny · 4 months ago

Text

✶⋆.caught in the act ‼˚.⁺⊹(ren kaji x reader)

✿ summary: this is the first time kaji ever ran out of lollipops. it is also the first time that kaji ever ran out of a room so fast after being caught making out with you. by umemiya and hiragi, no less. so how did you get yourselves into this predicament? ✿ contains: fluff but suggestive, getting caught making out with kaji, making out with kaji (lol), a little bit of crack if you imagine kaji’s reaction ✿ a/n: remember how kaji reacted and went (o_o) when he got caught by ume and hiragi talking with sakura on the rooftop? well, this is that, but make it spicy! lmao ;-; say it with me now: poor kaji! hahaha please accept my apology lollipop~ ✿ wc: 1k

how could kaji be so careless?

it all started with you accompanying your boyfriend, ren kaji, to the furin high rooftop to grab a band-aid from the first aid kit. he got a small cut on his finger from trying to open his sixth lollipop of the day. you held his finger in your hands, as you wrapped it carefully with an adhesive bandage.

kaji muttered a ‘thanks’ and outstretched his open hand to you, indicating that he was asking you for another lollipop. you were starting to think he was developing an addiction to that damned piece of rounded hard candy. he started depending on you to carry them for him too, since you two were always together anyway. also because you had a bag and sometimes he would lose them when they fell out of his hoodie pockets.

“this can’t be.” you sighed in frustration, after going through all the pockets of your bag and finding out there were no more lollipops.

he threw you a puzzled look. “what?” kaji peeked over your bag through your shoulder and realized what you meant. you gave kaji an apologetic look in return. “i’ve run out.” kaji shook his head in disbelief. “how is that even possible?”

you huffed and crossed your arms. “it’s because you go through them way too fast! you’ve already had six of them today, even cut your finger from opening the wrapper.”

“so now it’s my fault?” kaji paused for a moment, and his narrowed eyes trailed down to your pouty lips, which gave him some sort of idea. kaji leaned in closer to you, a soft blush making its way to your face with the proximity of kaji’s mouth directly in front of yours.

“i guess this’ll have to do for now.” he sighed as he tilted your chin and moved in for a kiss.

“ren, we could just buy one…” you murmured in between kisses. “no, i need something sweet in my mouth right now.” he stubbornly argued.

he bit and sucked on your bottom lip as if you were his lollipop, and gripped your jaw to keep your head in place while he continued devouring your mouth, exploring your cavern as you melted into him, kissing him back with fervor and passion, the faint taste of sugar from his previous lollipop still lingering on his lips.

the kisses that you shared with kaji ranged from soft and gentle, to gradually escalating to being incredibly needy and passionate, leaving you breathless and head being filled with only him, like you are now, completely in the moment.

“ren…” you gasped, feeling his hands roaming your thighs, fingers slightly under the hem of your skirt, and at the same time his body is pressed up so closely against yours. you let out a small whimper. “we can’t…”

“just a little more, i need my sugar fix…” he couldn’t bring himself to stop, and you didn’t have enough self-control to pull him away from you, as kaji’s kisses and touches felt too good, and how could he resist how sweet you looked and tasted? it’s like he was addicted to you, the craving he felt for you was even stronger than his craving for his lollipops.

you two pulled away for a little bit for air but what kaji saw before him knocked the air right out of his lungs.

standing at a distance was umemiya, his hand covering his mouth after he had let out a tiny gasp. beside him was hiragi, whose jaw dropped to the ground as he fumbled in his pockets frantically looking for his stomach medications.

as bad as it sounded, you two were so focused and entangled in pleasure that it did not even occur that someone could possibly walk in, regardless if this was after school and mostly everyone had went home or gone on patrol. you and kaji pushed each other away like you were on fire. well, your cheeks were, anyway, burning so intensely from the huge blush that formed on it.

“ah, young love.” umemiya gushed. kaji was so frantic, that his eyes widened like saucers.

“i was going to ask if you could take charge of patrol tomorrow, kaji. but it seems you’re already taking charge of something else…” hiragi cleared his throat and tried to hold back his amusement from the sheer look of shock present on kaji’s face. they both enjoyed teasing kaji, it seems. you were definitely in shock as well, as you bowed your head multiple times in apology to both umemiya and hiragi.

they both told you it was absolutely fine, and hiragi apologized as well for walking in on both of you too, conking umemiya on the head with his fist for chuckling about how “grown up” kaji was now.

kaji, who had no idea what to say or how to react or how to look anyone in the eye ever again, quickly put on his headphones, grabbed your hand by the wrist and ran off with you, heading off to the convenience store to stock up on lollipops. lesson learned: never run out of them ever again. (although, the real lesson learned should be: don’t get caught making out in public ever again).

ꕤ bonus ꕤ

the two of you decided to head to kaji’s house, an air of tension still looming over both of you from the embarrassment of being caught by umemiya and hiragi. while seated on his bed, kaji looked over at you like he wanted to say something but he stopped himself from doing so.

you tried to lighten up the vibe with your humor. “by the way, i made sure to lock the door. i don’t think umemiya and hiragi would randomly walk into your bedroom, ren.” you placed your hand on top of his reassuringly. kaji finally looked up and his eyes met yours. deep down, he felt ashamed not just because the two of you got caught, but because the image of you in that state and your blissed out facial expression was supposed to be for kaji's eyes only.

“would…you like to continue from where we left off?” he asked, while you giggled and embraced him tightly. “hmm, where were we?” you grabbed kaji by the collar of his hoodie and pulled him in to give him another round of kisses.

#wind breaker #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren #wind breaker x reader #kaji #ren kaji #kaji fic #ren kaji scenario #wind breaker (satoru nii)#windbreaker #nii satoru #wind breaker fluff #wind breaker fic #wind breaker x you #wind breaker scenarios #wind breaker imagines #wind breaker crack #ren kaji my babie <3

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uzurakis · 6 months ago

Note

BLUELOCK REQS HERE!! Hehe how about (any characters you want) and what cute pet names reader and them use for each other and how they react when they first used it? Hope you have a great day!!

THEIR ENDEARMENTS FOR YOU?

featuring: itoshi rin. itoshi sae. michael kaiser. ryusei shidou. mikage reo. bachira meguru. isagi yoichi.

n. first time writing for the boys and i went overboard with 7 charas (i usually only write 4) and i could write more than this but it took every reflex in my body to stop myself. i might want to rewrite the rin one a separate full drabble in some short time ahead. thank you for the req sweetie, i hope you also have a great day/night >3<

ITOSHI RIN. you blinked, taken aback for some reason by the surprising nickname. a beaming grin appeared on your face as you made the decision to take advantage of the moment. “baby?” you repeated, teasing every piece of him. “since when did you start calling me that, rinnie?”

he rolled his eyes, clearly flustered. “don’t call me that,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. but you leaned closer, unable to resist teasing him further. “aww, does baby rinnie not like his new nickname?” you cooed, batting your eyelashes playfully.

rin’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “fine, i’ll call you dumbass instead,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. it has come to a conclusion that you two will never stop pestering each other.

RYUSEI SHIDOU. "damn, sexy mama, lookin’ good," he called out, and before you could react, he grabbed the belt holes of your jeans, pulling you close with a playful tug. you could see the amusement in his smile and the naughtiness so very visible in his eyes.

you felt your cheeks heat up at his unexpected move and nickname. “shidou!” you exclaimed, half-laughing and half-embarrassed. “god, when did you come up with that?”

he leaned in, his hands messing up your hair. “just calling it like i see it,” he teased, pulling your hair back behind your ear as he lowered his lips right beside it. “you like it, doncha?”

MICHAEL KAISER. “i’m off to practice, mein liebling,” he tied his shoelaces as you stood by the door. you looked at him, puzzled by the unfamiliar words. “mein liebling?” tilting your head, wanting to tell you don’t understand any ounce of german. “what does that mean?”

kaiser smirked, clearly enjoying your confusion. “you can search for it yourself,” he replied, leaning back against the wall. “i’m a busy man, you see.”

you pouted, playfully nudging his shoulder. “come on, michael, tell me. is it something nice?” he chuckled, revealing his red eyeliner as he closed his eyes in amusement. “of course it is, idiot,” he teased. “i’m calling you an idiot in german.”

raising an eyebrow, you’re clearly unconvinced. but kaiser shrugged nonchalantly. “well, you’ll just have to trust me,” he continued, yet you caught a sly grin that flashed across his face. oh, he’s definitely messing with you.

MIKAGE REO. “here you go, milady,” he said, placing your cup in front of you with a flourish and a slight bow.

“milady?” you paused before taking a sip from your cup. “wow, reo, what a gentleman you are today,” you teased, maybe thinking of calling him ‘my lord’ in return.

the man stood up straight, smirking broadly, and sat down across from you with his knees crossed.. “well, i aim to please,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “only the best for you, milady.”

ITOSHI SAE. your boyfriend raised an eyebrow, oblivious to the effect his words had on you. “is something wrong?” he was slightly concerned. “what’s up with you?”

you tried to suppress your flustered state, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “no, nothing’s wrong,” you stammered, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “it’s just… you called me ‘love’.”

he paused for a moment, then shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “i guess i did,” he said, sitting down across from you. “well, get used to it. because that’s how i feel about you, love.”

BACHIRA MEGURU. "here, cutiepie!" he jogged over to you, a big grin plastered on his face as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

you took his face and used the towel you were holding to wipe away his sweat. “cutiepie, huh?” you replied, pinching his cheeks with the other hand. “that’s a very sweet thing coming from you, meguru.”

bachira laughed, plopping down beside you and draping an arm over your shoulders. “well, i think it suits you perfectly,” voice always light and playful. “you’re the cutest person i know.”

ISAGI YOICHI. “hey, angel,” he greeted, his voice a bit shy as he scratched the back of his head. his cheeks were flushed, not just from the run, but also from calling you by the new nickname.

your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheeks. “you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” you teased, pulling back slightly to see his reaction. “so, you’re calling me angel?”

isagi’s blush deepened, and he looked away, clearly embarrassed. “yeah, um… i just thought it suited you,” he mumbled, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “but if you don’t like it, i can stop.”

@uzurakis

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midnightbluebells03 · 6 months ago

Note

Request: The reader and ellie are friends, but the reader doesn't know if she likes girls or not, so ellie offers to let her experiment on her. Friends to lovers and mutual pining. 💓 a happy ending, preferably. Up to you whether or not to include smut!

FALLING INTO ME

CW - hair pulling, mentions of past experiences with men, oral (R receiving), thigh grinding

WC - about 2k - no outbreak AU

Leave me Ellie or Abby requests x

This was wrong right? Infront of you your childhood best friend Ellie sits crossed legged on her bed. The faded plaid sheets that have replaced dinosaurs from her youth clutched in your unforgiving grasp.

"We don't have to do anything" she says barely above a whisper. Like she's afraid to even suggest it. The air is tight, hot, like someone lit a fire and let the smoke invade the room. But there's Ellie. Her hand sitting on your thigh as her thumb swipes across bare skin, the floral sleep shorts you had opteded for letting her trace over it with no barrier. Her back pressed to the headboard like it's the only thing keeping her sitting upright. "I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry". Her hand retreats with a slight tremble.

Just ten minutes ago you were sharing a bottle of some cheap wine Ellie had got from the corner store. Giggling and reminiscing on your intertwined lives, awkward teen phases that melted into adulthood when you let it slip.

You think you might like girls.

Of course you weren't sure, you'd never done anything with a girl, but all your experiences with boys just felt empty. Felt like a chore more than fun. And who better to tell than Ellie? She had been out for years, having had her fair share of girlfriends despite her slightly awkward attitude at times. When the word 'experiment' left your lips you saw a glint in her eyes.

It made her pause, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and place the bottle onto the nightstand. Making space for it amongst the clutter. The way she looked at you made you tilt your head in confusion, until she opened her mouth.

"You could experiment with me"

"Ellie" you finally speak up, grasping her wrist gently to halt her movement. Fingers grazing over her tattoo and making her gaze snap from the floor to your eyes. God she did really have the prettiest eyes. You'd always thought so, oftentimes comparing the hues to the fresh grass during summer or the moss growing deep in your parents garden. "I want to"

"Yeah?" She looks like she doesn't believe you, eyebrows slightly knitted together. You swallow hard before nodding, Ellie beckons you over with her hand. "Cm'here" when you inch closer you can't help but watch how Ellie flicks her tounge over her slightly chapped lips. Feeling her slowly move to hold onto your waist as you start to straddle her lap while your hands rest on her shoulders. "If you want to stop just tell me okay?"

"Promise" you feel your heart speed up as Ellie leans in. Far enough where you could kiss her but she let's you make the choice. So you do. Pressing your lips to hers and letting your eyes flutter shut.

And it makes it feel like a firework has went off in your chest.

The two of you mesh together like puzzle pieces, soft and slow while your mind races with a million thoughts. You can feel how Ellie is holding back, her hands not moving from their position on your waist. But after a few minutes when you rock your hips forward slightly you could almost swear she groans into your mouth. So you do it again, making her pull back from the kiss.

"Can I touch you?" She was always like this, always asking a million question. Things like if you wanted the last slice of pizza or what movie to put on. She always let you take the lead, like she was afraid of making the wrong choice. You nod but she just chuckles softly. "Words darling" it makes you want to clentch your thighs together, the way her her accent slips into that semi texan drawl that she picked up from Joel.

Your hands come over the top of hers, guding her up and under your tank top "Please Els"

Her fingers are calloused from the years of guitar, running up your skin slowly. Too slowly. But you don't want to complain, not with the way she's looking at you. Eyes following her hands as she pushes the fabric further up your body. You decide to speed it up a little. Taking the fabric in your own hands and pulling it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room.

Normally this is when you'd start to feel weird. Your body would almost stiffen and your brain would be flooded with thoughts of leaving. A deep guilt or twisted knot in your throat.

But not now.

Not with Ellie.

Instead your stomach tightens at how her eyes take you in. Slowly scanning over you like you're the most breath taking thing she's even seen. Her hands pause just before reaching your breasts, her pupils so blown her green eyes as almost black as she looks up at you.

"Take it off?" She whispers. Her finger coming up to ghost over the band of your bra. You nod, reaching around with shaky hands to undo the clasp. Letting the bra fall onto Ellie's lap in the sliver of space between you two. She picks it up and moves it to the side, carefully. Like it was priceless even though it was the cheapest one you owned. Some target bralette that was on sale. It was nothing like how your previous partners treated your belongings. With them it was always thrown across the room like trash, nothing more than an obstacle to their pleasure. "You're so- you're just so- fuck" Ellie mumbles before chewing on her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed the sweetest shade of pink as her hands slowly creep up your sides, inching towards your breasts.

"Ellie" you whine softly, the ache between your legs become worse with every passing second. Like you were dying for her to just touch you. It makes her lock eyes with you, as her thumb runs over your nipple. Making them stiffen and forcing a soft gasp from your lips.

"Just tell me what you want baby" her lips trail down your neck slowly as she mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you everything just tell me"

Your voice cracks slightly as you finally manage to say "Touch me"

You can feel as a slight smirk creeps onto her lips. Her fingers continuing to toy with your nipples. Just enough to make you needy but not enough to scratch the itch in your core. "I am". The faux innocence in her voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Ellie" you huff, feeling your face heat up at what you're about to say. "Fuck me please? Wanna know what it's like" with that Ellie leans into your neck fully while her hands keep on your chest, starting to place kisses down your skin as your head tips back. You can feel her smile as she moves further down, nipping slightly at your pulse point. Your hand moves to her hair, gripping softly while your hips uncontrollably start to rock against her. Desperate for any friction. Ellie pulls back but before you can complain she taps your hip.

"Straddle my thigh" you tilt you head confused but she gives you a smile before brushing a lose strand of hair out your face. "Trust me". So you do what she's asks, shifting until your legs are either side of her thigh. Ellie brings her hands to your hips, starting to steadily rock you against her. You gasp then moan softly. Almost teary eyed at finally getting some real touch from her. Even if it's clad by several layers of fabric. "See? How's that feel?"

"Good" you say with a shaky voice as Ellie sets your pace. Guiding you with a tight grip. "Feels good Ellie fuck"

"Mm" she coos softly, kissing over your collarbones before nipping at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. "Just gotta get you ready yeah? Get you all wet for when I fuck you so good you'll forget about all the guys that couldn't make you cum". Her lips move down to your hardened nipples, wrapping around one of them as you throw you head back in pleasure.

Now this Ellie?

This was a whole new person. Like her awkward shell broke away and left someone who you were going to be thinking about forever. Suddenly all the girls she managed to get with make sense, because she's hardly touched you and you're soaking through your panties.

"Fuck" your hands tighten on her shoulders as her tounge rolls over your nipple. You still your hips, almost afraid that she'll make you cum just from this and that makes her pause. Detaching from you with a confused look.

Her eyebrows knit together and her hand comes up to cup your hot cheek. "You okay?"

Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the years of subtle crushing. Or maybe it's the way your almost certain there's a wet patch on Ellie's pyjama bottoms but you can't help stumbling out. "Fuck me Ellie"

Her hand snakes back down to your hip and she flips you over, making you squeal as your back hits the sheets. A slight giggle leaving your lips before Ellie crashes hers with yours. Her hand moving down your stomach to the band of your shorts. She pulls back but you don't give her a a chance to ask, already pulling off your shorts and panties. Kicking them onto the floor as Ellie moves down to between your legs.

"What you doing?" You ask with a slight tilt to your head, propping yourself onto your elbows to look down at her.

"What's it looks like?" She asks with a slight chuckle, starting to pepper kisses up your inner thighs but pausing before reaching your dripping pussy. "What? No one eat you out before?". Her smile fades when you shake your head, eyes darting between you and the sight before her. "That's just criminal dude"

Before you can comment on the fact she's just called you dude her tounge licks a fat strip through your folds. Making you gasp and grip the sheets. Skilled tounge circling your clit while her eyes stay focused on you. With a certain flick your hand flies to grab onto her auburn locks, tugging from the root as Ellie moans into you.eyes fluttering shut as your hips start to rutt against her face, changing a high you've never even come close to with others.

"Ellie" you whine as your back arches, soft pants filling the room as her hands creep up your hips and pull you closer. Making you moan so loudly you're almost certain anyone walking by outside would've heard. "Fuck, fuck, Els- gonna-!". Ellie doesn't falter, doesn't give you a second to breath as your orgasm rushes through you. Hips desperately trying to escape Ellie's grasp as she works you through it, no sign of caring about the way your thighs clamp around her head unforgivingly.

By the time she pulls away to lick your slick from her lips your brain is fuzzy. Staring up at the same ceiling you helped pull glow in the dark stickers off as Ellie taps your shin.

"You...you okay?" Her voice sounds so small. You finally manage to hold yourself up to look at her. Lips swollen from your teeth sinking into them and face hot to the touch.

"That...Els that-" your words get caught in your throat so instead you reach for the collar of her shirt. Pulling her up until your lips crash together, the taste of yourself filling your mouth as Ellie places a hand on the back of your neck.

When you two part she gives you a cocky smile. Gliding her fingers across your cheek before moving the loose babyhairs out of your face. "I'm gonna take that as a five star review then?"

You giggle before fake thinking. "Hmm I don't know Els think I need to try it again, yknow get all the data".

She nods with pursed lips, a serious expression taking over her face. "For science".

"For science".

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