#just night reader things

[deadlypoetacademia]

"You can't fix me". But a normal sleep routine can.

[latehere]

lovey dovey sun for you all

[flowerandblood]

Whimpering men are one thing, but thanks to my husband I discovered something else. Masculine gasps, puffs, sighs, panting, shuddering breaths on the verge of a helpless groan.

Imagine your beloved husband taking you from behind while lying on his side with you, trying to take it slow and not rushing, his raspy, hot breath full of impatience and pleasure envelops your cheek – one of his hands is squeezing your plump breast, the other parting your thighs wide, both of you sighing with delight as he spreads you open on the fat, swollen head of his cock.

A surprised gasp escapes his lips as if he can't believe you're always so tight in the beginning that he can barely fit in, his fingertips dig into the warm skin of your wide-spread thigh, forcing you to let him inside you with your soft mewl of effort – he doesn't say anything, you know his eyes are closed, his focus is only on the fact that he is now deep inside you, wonderfully squeezed from all sides.

Even though you know he tried so hard, his hips involuntarily start to root more aggressively into your thirsty, hot, fleshy core with a loud click of your moisture – since he knows in what position you like it and where you need him to rub you, you are always so eager for him, always so wet for him.

He starts panting loudly with pleasure when he hears your first sweet moans, when he feels your warm walls clench against him, sucking him inside – his teeth bite greedily your neck, shoulders and back as if he is trying to stifle what's coming out of his throat, rooting into you with a loud slaps of his thighs against your buttocks, squeezing your breast in his free hand like a dough, playing with your nipple between his fingers.

Suddenly he slows down with your mumble of displeasure, pretending to tease you, betrayed, however, by the trembling puff that left his chest, by how intensely he's throbbing inside you, clenching his fingers on your thighs as you try to rub against him, preventing you from making any movements, so that he doesn't come just yet.

[north-noire]

Henry tries to come to terms with the kind of man William truly is.

Hidden Hands Chapter 7 is out! AO3 Fic Link Previous Chapter Beginning Chapter

Hey, I would appreciate it if you reblog this post! I try my hardest for this AU fic, so reblogging it and being able to share it goes a long way!

[jadewritesficshere]

Grey

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Synopsis: Steve gets a wake up call from yall's daughter

Contents: talks of aging, kids being kids, references to smut but nothing explicit

Steve groans as his consciousness comes to. Something is hitting his face. Someone. Repeatedly.

Steve squints his bleary eyes open as a hand smacks him in the jaw again. A small smile appears on his face even though his jaw stings from the impact. "Morning," Steve's voice is still thick with sleep as he turns to look into brown eyes barely peeking over the edge of the bed.

A quiet voice repeats back ,"Morning," to Steve before arms reach up over the edge of the bed to try and grasp something. Small hands grab the blanket and tug it off of him slightly as the child attempts to climb up. At two and half, Amelia Joy Harrington can barely see above the edge of her parents' bed, let alone get on it.

Steve hoists Amelia up and sits her on his stomach. Steve winces as Amelia scrambles, a stray foot hitting his thigh precariously close to his crotch. Arms are thrown around his neck in a hug as Amelia lays her head against her dad's chest.

Steve feels like his heart could burst out of his chest from the joy he is feeling. A hug from his baby? The best way to wake up in the morning. Who cares if his jaw is still stinging and probably red, his little girl loves him.

Steve sighs in contentment. Steve holds his daughter close until she starts to fidget and wiggle. Amelia sits up and throws her hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!" She whispers excitedly, except she has no concept of how quiet a whisper should actually be and says it in a much too loud voice.

"What?" Steve asks, hand hovering near Amelia's side in case she slips. Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she pouts at him, a look that is an exact copy of you. Her arms slowly lower as she stares at Steve. "Happy Birthday. You old." Amelia pouts at him.

Steve blinks at Amelia in confusion but nods his head. First off, rude, he isn't that old. Steve isn't sure where she gets her unfiltered, blunt commentary (it absolutely isn't him). Second, it absolutely isn't his birthday. Not even close.

"Why uh...why is it my birthday?" Steve asks, unsure if Amelia fully understands the concept. Not sure if he can explain the idea of a birthday to a two (and a half) year old. "Grey." Amelia declares giving Steve whiplash. Before Steve can speak, Amelia points at the comforter," Blue." Steve smiles," Yes, blue."

Amelia points to her shirt," Green." Steve nods. Amelia taps under Steve's eye, lashes brushing against her finger causing him to close it. Steve hopes she doesn't attempt to actually poke his eye.

"Brown." Amelia declares. "Thats right." Steve grins, his girl is so smart. Amelia points to his temple," Grey." "That's ri- what?! No!" Steve's mouth drops open as Amelia giggles. "Uncle Dustbin says grey is old. Birthday makes old. Happy Birthday!"

The creak of the loose floorboard in the hall notifies Steve of your approach. You peek into the doorway of the room, seeing your two favorite people. One looking aghast and the other giggling at her father's reaction.

"What's going on in here?" You ask, leaning against the doorway. "Grey. Birthday." Amelia announces, like it explains everything. And it does in her little mind.

You hum in response, looking at your husband who seems lost for words. Amelia slides off of Steve and off the bed, Steve guiding her so her feet land on the ground absent-mindedly. He would never let her fall or get hurt. Or you.

Amelia half walks half dances in your direction. A prance in her step, she stops in front of you and grabs your hands. "It's daddy's birthday," She says before headbutting your leg. You chuckle and pat her head as she dances out of the room, in her own little world.

"You lying to my kid again?" You ask once Amelia is gone. Steve sputters as he sits up," I did not- our kid- did not lie." "Uh-huh, sure," you say sarcastically. Steve rolls his eyes at you as he gets up out of bed.

Steve stretches as he rocks on his feet, back cracking, before strolling over to you. "Good morning," Steve mumbles, hand landing on your hip. You hum back as he leans in and kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Leaving you longing for more as he pulls back.

"Love you," Steve says, fingers running along the waistband of your pants. "I love you too," you want to melt into him. Curl up in his arms and stay in this moment. Let the love and adoration fill the air around you.

"Do I look old?" Steve is the first to break the silence. Your brow furrows in confusion," huh?" "Amelia she," Steve huffs out a laugh," said I have grey hair." You chuckle as you bring a hand up, fingers threading through his hair," You have some but its nice." "Its nice huh?" "Makes you look distinguished. Handsome." You bite your lip and look up at him.

Steve knows that look. Knows it well. It's the look you gave him the first time you moved past just making out. The same look you gave him on your first anniversary. The same look you wore on your wedding night. The same look you gave before Amelia was conceived.

Steve can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. If getting old gives him that look, well, he won't complain.

"What about me?" You ask, batting your lashes. "Beautiful," Steve kisses your cheek," Gorgeous," he kisses the corner of your lips. He continues to alternate between kissing all over your face and praising you.

"My love," Steve whispers before kissing you softly on the lips. You sigh into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer.

A loud crash from the living room has you two pulling back from the sweet moment you stole. "What was that?" You call down the hall. "Nothing!" Amelia yells back, making you sigh but smile. Steve can't help but grin too. His life was a little hectic dealing with a rambunctious child, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. And he thinks, if life is like this, he can manage getting old with you. He wouldn't want it any other way.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[offensiunculaee]

I don’t think Eddie snores but I do think he talks in his sleep and he forgot to warn you about this the first time you sleep together. Fast forward to when you both are asleep and he’s got his arms wrapped behind you and his head resting on your shoulder. Everything is nice and peaceful until he begins laughing in his sleep and says “George Washington what are you doing here?? Your appointment isn’t until next week.”

You’re trying so hard not to laugh because you don’t want to wake him up but he woke you up by laughing right into your ear and saying the weirdest shit imaginable.

You bring it up the next morning like hey you never told me you talk in your sleep. His response? “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

[1800titz]

A little drabble on Trivia!Harry and inspections (aka the most unsatiating pussy massage)

Trivia!Harry likes to get his girl out of her own head in a really simple way. It’s a little invasive, sure, but it gets the trick done— and, poor girl, her gears are always sort of just turning, aren’t they? It feels like his place to help. His purpose.

And, really, it’s very simple. Easy. And he can tell when she needs it most— when she’s maundering beside him on the couch. Fingers twisting together in her lap. Prating off without a gap to suck a breath in between her teeth to oil the grinding flow.

It’s failsafe.

All he has to do is fold her over the cushion on all fours. Peel her shorts off to bunch over the backs of her thighs, or flip her skirt up over her hips and pry her panties off. Leach the warmth from her pretty, little cunt with the tips of his fingers, prodding her lips apart with either thumb.

It milks the blustery vim behind her skull dry, until all that’s left is an incomprehensible, soporific sludge. Tinted in the haze of humiliation, because it’s embarrassing at its core, isn’t it? His fingers poking at her pussy, tucking the hood of her clit back, brushing over her pulsing seam.

She’s hot-faced, with warmth spuming under her skin and frothing in the pit of her tummy. And of course, it fosters a new snowball down the (suddenly frozen) piste of her brain— absorbed in the way the blunt pad of his forefinger grazes her exposed clit (almost overstimulating, for a nanosecond, before it retreats) and passes.

Because he’s seen her pussy so many times, hasn’t he? Ogled down at the thick of his cock splitting her apart when he fucked into her, thighs pinned apart with his palms on her knees. Parted her lips to spit onto her clit, dewy eyes blown onyx, staring, before he puckered his lips around it. Bullied it with his tongue.

But this is different, this is—

His digits stuffing in past her throbbing (progressively …leaking) seam (his middle finger, twisting in, his thumb tucked to her clit hood). Exploring. Scrutinizing the way he nudges between her legs. The sloppy string of slick that stretches from his skin to her hole when he pulls his finger out.

It’s humiliating to feel him trace a sticky glob of her arousal, pooling, down to her clit. Spreading her folds again, tracing the shape of her swelling button with his thumb (avoiding the screeching nerve endings there, pulsing, twitching like a visible plea for him to touch, please, touch).

And he does, eventually, pulling the hood of her clit back again to scrape the tip of his index so light over her most sensitive bit, just enough of a window to have her hips canting back (almost indiscernible). Have her swollen bud throbbing when he pauses the ministrations (stops to admire the scenery) and her hole twitching. And she knows that he’s …inspecting is the thing. Watching the way her cunt squeezes uselessly at the air, empty and unstuffed.

And that gets her dumb and quiet. Gnawing into the knobs of her knuckles when he’s just peeling her apart to stare, only touching like he’s making observations in some crudely gnarled, abrasively invasive experiment.

When he pinches her clit between his thumb and forefinger, lightly, rolling—

When he spreads her cheeks and pointedly finds her other hole, humming, the nail’s already hilt-deep in the coffin.

That’s his little trick. Gets the job done.

It’s either that, or he collars over the column of her throat with his palm. And then just… squeezes. Watches the cogs stutter through the windows of her eyes, fogged over and misty.

Either or :)

[wonyopout]

danjangz wet messy sex doggy style thank you that’s all

short drabble thing bc i still can’t write for shit but

[cw]: gp wony (briefly), somno (again briefly)

my favorite roomies who Are fucking raw, but no danjangz are so sweet and attentive with each other 🥹 and like wony said they’re a couple that’s been together for 6 years and i believe her yup yup. like lingering hugs and holding hands longer than they needed to. gaeul having to fight herself to not stare at wonyoungs lips whenever she’s speaking omfg, it was definitely wony who made the first move too, all shy like “you like me the most right?? more than anyone else?” like gaeul is down bad but wonyoung is down Horrendous, constantly being like ‘omg we look like such a couple here haha’ 🧍‍♀️just for gaeul to go “yessss a couple of bestiess” (genuinely wonys 13th reason) before she finally just jumps the gun and tells her how she feels. from then on they’re like a million times more insufferably coupley

danjangz dryhumping YAYYY whiny baby wonyoung who always begs for sex like Always and sometimes doesn’t even say anything just starts humping gaeul like a naughty puppy 😭 they’ll just b relaxing on the couch watching something on gaeuls phone and then wony will just start absentmindedly rutting against her side and quietly whimpering in her ear 🥴 pussy throbbing n so wet that the crotch of her shorts is damp,, like at first it was like spur of the moment/ only when they’re making out but now it’s whenever they get their hands on eachother sometimes wony wont even notice until gaeul climbs on top of her to lock their legs together and scissor still not bothering to get undressed auughhhhhh also just like a looot of touching they’re so handsy with eachother 🥺 and a lot of the time it’s innocent like wony poking and pinching gaeuls cheeks,, gaeul petting wonys head or playing with her hands. but other times it’s wonyoung grabbing at the other girls breasts, tugging on/sucking her nipples into her mouth or gaeulie cuddling wony, rubbing soft circles on her clit as she falls asleep sometimes just fulling fingering her when she sleeps to hear the wet sounds her pussy makes 😵‍💫😵‍💫 also.. danjangz cock/clit warming anyone?? just me ok.

they’re sooooo mutually obsessed with each other u can’t tell me otherwise like gaeul constantly giving wony messy kisses, sucking on her tongue and licking their shared spit off her chin, giving her a peck n going “open wide, baby” before spitting in her mouth ACK 😵‍💫 and wony is definitely pushy and needy when it comes to kissing also 😙 wony being so into body worship with her unnie 🫠🫠 constantly complimenting her in and outside the bedroom/caressing every bit of bare skin she shows, like to others it just looks like wonyoung pulled gaeul into a nice hug but she’s rubbing soft circles on her exposed hips with her thumbs and whispering how bad she wants to fuck her 🥴 like , “unnie, we could just run to the bathroom really really quick no one will even notice” will give gaeul her bestest pout when she begs hehe saying shit like “wanna feel you clench around my fingers so badly, want your tits in my mouth please i promise i’ll make you come quick 🥺🥺🥺” gaeul Cannot refuse any demand her baby makes n it also doesn’t help that they constantly want to be around each other like 80% of the time it’s them whispering in eachothers ears and giggling while everyone else just kinda stands around awkwardly and pretend they don’t notice

like i said before, danjangz wet messy sex 🔛🔝and i mean Messy, gaeuls thighs n cunt and wonyoungs face covered in her slick,, wonyo face getting even slicker bc she keeps going back for more mumbling abt how she needs to “clean her up” 🥴 gaeul shaking from how many times she’s came already but she just can’t get wony to let up.. guys Guys danjangz high sex aughdjdjkdkd (this is like.. a millisecond of gp wony bc well. teehee) like whenever they get high they’re bound to start fucking like animals, dry humping while high🥹🥹 fumbling around to try n get their clothes off,, they give up after wonyoung manages to get gaeuls top n pants off( lucky for wony she barely wears a bra when they’re at home😋), and push wonyoungs boxers n pants down far enough to pull her fat dick out 🤤 just pulling gaeuls underwear to the side to rub her shaft between her folds. rubbing her tip against her entrance before teasingly pushing just the head in. it’s a little game of chicken they play seeing who’ll crack first 🤭 gaeul knows better than to try and be greedy and push her hips back against wonyoung knowing full well she’ll pull out completely if she does. instead she pushes her face further into the couch pillow, quiet pants and whines leaving her mouth as her walls clench around what little bit of wonys cock is inside her. wonyoung, eyes rolling into the back of her head, shoving her dick in further at the feeling (she always cracks first) the feel of the stretch alone makes gaeul go a little dumb, drool seeping into the pillow under her as she continues to let out whimpers. hips meeting with wet smacks, strings of precum n slick whenever she pulls her dick out before slamming back in,, gaeul panting “fuck-! be a good girl and cum inside your unnie” wonyoung so pussy whipped she’s slack jawed while she’s pounding away at her cunt 😵‍💫

a lot of the times they fuck it’s more laid back and vanilla, lots of giggling and just wanting to be close to one another. gaeul taking her time with wony spread out on the bed, legs over her shoulders as her fingers stretch her out, tears in her eyes as she arches off the bed, whining so pathetically, so sleepy but wanting it so badly, physically cannot stand not being able to touch gaeul back and pulls her up so she can kiss along her neck and shoving her hand down her shorts to play with her clit “does- hah fuckk, does fucking me really make you this wet, unnie?” gaeul not even bothering to answer and just leans into her biting wonyoungs shoulder to stifle her moans while they both work each other up 🫠 also danjangz mutual masterbation 🔛🔝 they’re matching each other’s freak yall i promise you that, just two pretty switches with piss kinks WOAH WHO SAID THAT?? sometimes gaeuls just wonyoungs little rope bunny and other times wonys gaeuls perfect pet who’ll do anything to be praised 🥺🥺

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

guhh i need to snuggle with Foul Legacy in a quiet room surrounded by blankets and pillows, tucked in close against him. his claws are on your head, gently patting your hair and holding you protectively, trying to block out all of the bad things in life and the world. you're tired. so, so tired from everything. it's been overwhelming lately, your days hectic and nights heavy and sad. Legacy worries about you, gently whining and nudging your shoulders and helping you drink some water or tea. you're not sick, right? you don't seem to be coughing or short of breath. perhaps your brain is being cruel to you, telling you awful things. he knows the feeling.

so Foul Legacy cuddles around you carefully, running his talons delicately over your back. he's here for you, during these days when you're on the verge of shutting down. he'll chase away every nasty, horrible thought your mind conjures up against your will, even if it takes him an eternity, even if it never goes away completely because it might make it a little bit better, and that's more than nothing at all.

Legacy makes sure that you know that you will always, always be loved.

[ghost-proofbaby]

my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea. 

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday. 

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it. 

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson. 

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger. 

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not? 

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play. 

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch. 

“Shit!” 

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow. 

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!” 

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?” 

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions. 

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through. 

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences. 

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts. 

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.” 

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove. 

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…” 

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.” 

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.” 

Your stubbornness is admirable. 

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.  

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there. 

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares. 

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest. 

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt. 

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip. 

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“ 

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.” 

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior. 

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his. 

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.” 

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness. 

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.” 

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking. 

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain. 

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you. 

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten. 

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss. 

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses. 

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“ 

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?” 

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.” 

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?” 

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing. 

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.” 

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.” 

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.” 

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“ 

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm. 

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe. 

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.” 

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place. 

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.” 

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.” 

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up. 

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.” 

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.” 

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.” 

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog. 

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally. 

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told. 

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

[mmmairon]

Hi mairon! I love the self insert comfort you did it was so cute! Would you be able to make some more? Possibly diluc taking care of someone like the girl you did in the last one — maybe putting them to bed because I’m suffering w my insomnia right now 😅 if you can’t dw!

oh, to be tucked snugly into bed by Diluc Ragnvindr

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

[toxintouch]

Yooooooo, you write fan fictions, don't you? Halloween is, like, right over there *points*. would you be willing to do one of mhin taking sparrow ghost hunting? and maybe even having a "guest appearance" of a certain shadow manipulator?

if this has already been done, could you point me in the right direction?

thank you~

I've never seen a fic like that but omg. This is such a brilliant idea, I love how all the pieces come together so perfectly–Vere being said to be responsible for his fair share of local ghost stories, mentions of Mhin and haunted houses in the Uquiz results… Premium thoughts.  I had a lot of fun writing this, ty for giving me the prompt!! :>

It took a couple of extra days but it's also longer (~2900 words) so hopefully that makes up for it.  p.s sorry if u meant it to be more gen bc I wrote romantic pining lol Volume Warning! Ambiance (~BEAUTIFUL FOX NOISES) for y'all /j

Cold Spots

You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, sheltering your remaining body heat from the howling wind.  

You ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine.

You’ve been warned that the night is chilly in Eridia at this time of year, but you haven’t quite scraped together enough coin to afford more layers.  So you huddle closer to the swaying lamplight of the Wet Wick, attempting to leech warmth from the cheery (if occasionally overwhelming) atmosphere of the bar.  You’re on edge, wary about straying too far from the Wick’s affable open doors and the balmy light spilling out of them.

You crane your neck to peer as far as you can around the corner without moving, eyeing the myriad of nearby alleyways, all full to the brim with shadows, searching for a familiar splash of moonlight and blue sweeping through the night.

 That’s when you feel eyes on your back.

You freeze, all of your senses on high alert.

“You’re where I asked you to be.”  Mhin says in lieu of a greeting.  You startle, reeling around to face them.  Even when you're expecting them, they have the uncanny ability of sneaking up on you.

“You say that like you’re surprised.”  You chide, in mock affront.  “You’ll notice that I’m also on time.”  Your giddiness shows on your face, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act so pleased with yourself,” they snipe while rolling their eyes, “for anyone else, that’s the bare minimum.”  They frown, looking you up and down with their arms tightly crossed. “...Is that what you’re wearing?”

Any further quips you have for them die in your mouth, drowned out by nervous chuckling.  You realize they must be asking (in their own way) if you’re not going to get too cold.  You know you could just ask Leander or Kuras for some seasonally appropriate attire but you’d rather not rely on further charity if you can’t help it.  Hence: “I’m, um, warm blooded?”  You mean to inject an appropriate amount of bravado into your voice, but it comes out as more of a question.

Mhin sighs, long eyelashes brushing their cheeks as they close their eyes for one long moment.   “Sometimes I wonder…  Fine.  Let’s just get going.”

The floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you step across the threshold.  The entire shack seems to groan and sway, protesting audibly against the wind.  You stick close to Mhin’s back as they hold their gas lamp up, casting an eerie glow about the interior of the abandoned building.  Their keen eyes do a quick sweep before they nod decisively and usher you inside with a single precise motion.

The bellow of the wind sounds almost like a scream as the door shuts behind you.

“So, what are we looking for, exactly?”  Your voice comes out hushed, the haunting atmosphere insisting that you behave accordingly.

“Likely nothing.”  Mhin responds.  “Actual ghost sightings are very rare.  And of those, few recorded instances come from trustworthy sources.  People in Eridia can be quite superstitious.  Count on rats or other pests.  It’s more plausible that this is a mere infestation rather than–”

The roof above your heads gives a long, low creeaaaak.

You both pause for a beat, listening to silence.

“How would we know if it's a real ghost?”  You ask, more out of curiosity than anything.  You’re not about to waste the opportunity, if Mhin is willing to keep talking.

“Depends on the type of ghost.”  Another protest from the floorboards as Mhin wanders further into the dark.  Since you don’t have a lantern of your own, you have no choice but to follow close behind.  Unless you want to stumble around with nothing but the shatters of dusty moonlight cast through the cracked windows to guide your way.

Mhin and you make a quick round of the small building, finding it mostly empty, only a few pieces of broken furniture left behind.  You draw closer to the back wall, carefully avoiding moth-eaten curtains, heeding Mhin’s warning about a small step.  Based on the layout, you think this place might have been a bar or entertainment hall of some sort.  You imagine it had a nice, cozy parlor at one time, though now it’s fallen into squalor.  As Mhin examines the walls for signs of pests and other clues, you examine the graffiti strewn across them: crude jokes and lewd drawings, mostly.  Some scattered names, belonging to people and gangs you’ve never heard of before.  

Framed in the center, though, there's a huge riot of colorful paint.  An abstract painting with no proper canvas.  It's beautiful, somehow, though hauntingly morose.  The artist has contained their work in a neat square, not a single streak of color escaping the precisely imposed prison.  You’re not sure what the intent of the artist was choosing somewhere like this to display it…  

“Is there a type of ghost that makes artwork?”  You wonder aloud.  You almost wish that Mhin would hand you the lantern so you can get a better look.

Mhin clicks their tongue, sparing barely a glance toward the makeshift painting.  “I wouldn't define that as art.”  Mhin follows the line of the wall to the corner, their lantern held up to the wall.  “That’s just…paint.  If you’re looking for ghosts, try looking for scratch marks.  Those are a possible indicator, though not always a reliable one.  A sudden feeling of hot, or cold–any otherwise unexplainable temperature change.  A strange odor…”

You give the air a sniff.  “...I don’t smell anything.  Do you?”

“Dust.  Rotting wood.  And you’ve stopped using Leander’s bath soaps, which I’ll commend you for.  Why anybody would want to smell that strongly of–”  Mhin stops and gives a short whiff, their mouth slightly parted.  Their brows furrow. “It is unusual…I don't see or smell any signs of rats or roaches.  No vultures either…”

“Maybe something else scared them away?”  You posit.  You shuffle closer to Mhin, not liking the way the shadows around you seem to flow and ebb the longer you look at them, your mind making up shapes.  There’s a silly part of you that wants to feel Mhin’s cloak between your bandaged fingers as reassurance that they’ll stay close.  They’d probably hate to know that you see them as something to cling to–a source of comfort, safety.

You try to take another step closer to further dampen your trepidation, but instead you trip over– something–and stumble directly into Mhin.  They catch you on impulse, strong and quick enough to steady you with one arm while holding the lantern with the other.  You breathe an apology, your lips bumping against their chin as they help you get your feet back under you.  

You both search the ground to determine what knocked you off your balance.

It's a dirty old rug, rucked up at one edge.  

A long line of what appears to be claw marks lies half uncovered below it.  Mhin kneels beside the marks, studying them intently, carefully moving the rug to reveal yet more splintered wood.  “I’m not sure what could have done this,” they admit.  “The marks are fresh, but none of the dust was disrupted…”

The floorboards groan another protest, though it bounds off the walls in strange ways, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound originated.

“Aural contortions.”  Mhin announces.  “And a feeling that you’re being watched.  Reflective surfaces will behave oddly as well.  Hold this.”  Mhin hands you the lantern (more: shoves it into your grasp, really) reaching into their satchel.  Their nimble hands pull out a handful of alchemical concoctions, one which shines like the inside of a seashell, a tiny silver locket, which they flick open to reveal a small mirror.  There’s symbols etched into it, so old and worn away you can’t make them out.

You draw the lantern closer at their behest, illuminating a small smile spread across their face.

Is Mhin …Having fun?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  You ask, hoping they don’t notice the warmth in your voice. Getting scolded would kind of ruin the mood.

Mhin glances up, blinking at you like they almost forgot you were there.  Their tongue peeks out, wetting their lips as they consider.  “Yes,” they finally agree, “would you–”

The lamplight is smothered by an unknown force.

The cracked streams of light from the window are gone, leaving you in darkness.

Mhin swears, their voice distorting as if they are suddenly very far away.  A moment ago they were crouched beside you, but the shadows surrounding you are so inky you can’t make out their silhouette at all.  Instinctively, you reach your hands out in front of you before freezing and reluctantly forcing them back down.  If both you and Mhin end up stumbling around with hands outstretched, there’s a possibility that they might accidentally grasp onto you and disrupt your bandages.  (You wish you had given into your desire to hold onto them earlier.)  

You whisper their name, frantic, hoping they can hear you.

“I’m here,” Mhin assures you, their voice pitched low and cautious.  You feel the gentle press of a foot against yours, a light tap of reassurance against the side of your sole.  “Stay close.”  There’s a brush of fingertips against your back.  “If the entity is particularly powerful, it will be able to move objects,” Mhin cautions, “but a ghost should never be capable of causing harm to humans directly.  And there’s not much in here that it could throw.  Just stay calm.  If you don’t keep your emotions in check, it will only be more incensed.”

Light flashes through the room again in a spotlight, guiding your gaze to a particular area of the building.

The abstract mural is defaced, dripping black liquid splattered boldly across the wall like arterial spray.  You retreat a step, feeling something wet beneath your feet.  There’s a sharp, astringent tang in the air.  Musty and earthy-floral.  Old velvet and leather, parchment and fresh paint.

You realize, with a sinking feeling of cold terror, that the black ichor on the wall spells your name.

    Eyes on you.  

Touch like a gossamer spider web.  Brushing against the nape of your neck.

“Mhin,” you whisper urgently.  “Something just–”  

The cold hits you then.  Bone deep and all consuming.  Judging by the way Mhin swears, they must feel it too.  Whatever this unknown entity is, it’s close.  And it wants…

Shadow flickers, fingers reaching for you, claws grasping, white glint of teeth.

Mhin sneers audibly, reaching for you and reeling you in by your cloak just before the figure can snatch you up.  Their arm wraps around you, guiding you with them as they recede.  They sweep their stiletto in a wide arc and you hear the clang of metal on metal, though you have no idea what it was that Mhin hit.  Their night vision must be immaculate–you can hardly see more than the fresh glint of their stiletto blade.

“Turns out it is a vermin infestation.”

A bark of laughter.  

Very familiar laughter.

The door starts to rattle on its hinges, moving to the rhythm of Vere's glee.  Mhin walks over to it, dragging your shaking body with them.  With a definitive kick from Mhin and a final cackle from Vere, the door bursts open.

Mhin tugs you out into the open air and slams it behind them.

“Awful fur-bag.”  Mhin spits the words out like the mere thought of Vere leaves a bad taste in their mouth.

You’re far enough away that the black paint clinging to both of your shoes is no longer leaving footprints, but you can’t say the same about the bone deep cold.

You’re shivering so hard your teeth start to chatter, adrenaline magnifying the chill in your bones.  How did Vere even do that?  You rub your arms and nearly stumble into Mhin in the process.  Their features twist into a half-formed scowl, eyes sweeping you before softening into something more delicate.

You find yourself staring into eyes that seem to catch the moonlight, words caught in your throat.

“You’re freezing.” Mhin murmurs, resting a hand against the curve of your cheek, testing your temperature.

You’re surprised at the contact.  Mhin is always so careful about touching you–it’s something you appreciate, usually, this unspoken agreement between the two of you; Mhin doesn’t ask intrusive questions, just makes silent hypotheses and treats your personal space with care.  You appreciate it–usually–but sometimes, (constantly), you wish…

Mhin’s thumb pets against your jaw.  They glace away from you as they do, unable to hold your gaze, but they don’t remove their hand, even as the moment hangs heavy in the air.  Their hand is soft, you think, fingertips like silk, though you can feel the thick calluses built up at the meat of their palm.  Likely hard won and harder lost, trophies from their time as a freelancer and whatever secret misfortune befell them what led them to Eridia.  Unthinking, you nuzzle into their touch, luxuriating in the coveted feeling of skin on skin.  You have half a mind to turn your head, press your lips against their calluses, kiss them like you’re drawing poison from a wound.

Mhin catches your chin between their thumb and pointer finger.  Their grip is assertive, certain.  You’d worry that you’ve angered them somehow, but the intensity of their gaze, the subtle tilt of their head, the flush of their cheeks, the featherlight caress of their breath on your lips…

–You think they might–

They back away abruptly in one smooth stride.  Their hands work quickly at the intricate clasp on their cloak.  Oh, now they’re really looking away.

“Wear this while we head back.  You didn’t come to this city to die of cold.”

They look at their bracers pointedly as you hesitate, as if itching to adjust them.  You slowly reach out and put the garment on.

The trek back to the Wick is uneventful.  The occasional star glances out from the pall of clouds constantly lingering in the Eridian sky.  You look for the waning moon, finding its reticent light and following it home.  You return Mhin’s cloak at the door, careful to hold it in a way that allows them to take it without having to touch you – touch your bandages.  

Mhin looks, oddly, a little reluctant to see it returned.  You’re not sure how else you can possibly read their body language.  Their hunched shoulders, the downturn of their mouth, their uncharacteristic lingering.  Holding the cloak in their hands like they can’t quite decide what to think of it.

They let out a sharp breath.

Mhin levels you with a pointed glare as they settle their mantle across their shoulders, affixing the clasp without need to look down.  “Buy some warmer clothes.” they order, “Tell Leander that the contract is complete and the buyer’s ‘ghost problem’ is solved.  The building should be fine for renovations, just tell them to start their renewal project on a day when the Senobium is actually holding Vere’s leash.”

  “You’ll come back for your cut tomorrow…?”  Confusion rolls off your lips.

“No.”  Mhin crosses their arms again.  “I just told you to buy some warmer clothes, didn’t I?  Consider it hazard pay.”  Again, that disgusted tone Mhin reserves for Vere.  “Even with that taken into consideration, you’ll still owe me, though.  Don’t forget.  I’ll collect some day; everyone does in this city.”

You’re not sure what to say.  Mhin is insisting that this is just a loan, and you believe that wholeheartedly.  But that doesn’t mean it isn’t charity.  Mhin’s also offering you transparency–an open disclosure of the deal you’re agreeing to.  You take their cut, buy what you need, and resolve to pay it back when you can.  And if Mhin needs something similar in the future, you’ll return them in kind.  

You think you stumble over your words a little, but you agree to their offer.

“I’ll be back to collect another contract.  Hopefully something that’s not a waste of my time.”

And a promise to come back is a promise to see you again, isn’t it?  To include you in their life?  Is that what you’re supposed to take from this?  That Mhin cares for you, even if they won’t–

  Or is it your foolish heart, showing you a path that isn’t really there?  

“Goodnight, Mhin.”  You say the words, but their back is already turned, steps already taken.

   ✦ EXTENDED ENDING...? ✦

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

✦Heat Signature (Vere Continuation) ->

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.” 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[cookiescribble]

I’m The Only One Who Touches You

A/N: This one kinda got away from me, ngl 😅 I’ve been sitting on it for a while. enjoy anyway, though! sorry we've kinda been on hiatus <3 - Mod Ghost

Summary: You and Spencer had decided some quality time with the team could do you both some good, but some jerk has other ideas

TW: sexual harassment, alcohol/drinking, pre-T/ top or bottom surgery body, misgendering

After some discussion between us and the team, Spencer and I agreed to go out that night with the rest of the team to a bar that Rossi wanted to show us.

“Do we really have to go? I…I really don’t want to be inside of a bar tonight, let alone at all,” Spence asked softly, coming up behind me as I brushed my teeth and wrapped his arms around my waist as he dropped his head on top of mine. He looked into my eyes in the mirror, and I could see the puppy dog pout that he had on.

“We already agreed to go, and we won’t have to be there for long. Just enough to say hello and make it seem like we’re personable people.” I spit into the sink then turn around in his arms to hug him back as I speak, rubbing his back. “Plus, if it gets really bad, we can have a secret signal. Just for you to say ‘hey, I hate it here, let’s leave please.’ Okay? While we’re there, you can just tap my elbow three times. Like this.” I reach around and tap his elbow three times to show him then he nods.

“Okay, you’re right. Let’s head out then, the rest of the team should either already be there or will be there soon.” Spence chuckled softly, taking my hand and leading me out of the bathroom then out of the apartment.

Once we got there, Spencer seemed to be a bit more at ease, comfortable in his own skin. He was talking with JJ and Garcia as I was getting some more drinks, soda for Spence and myself while the girls were getting alcohol.

“Another of whatever this pretty lady is getting for me, please.” A man spoke up from next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

The bartender went about making all the drinks as I looked at this mystery man. He was taller than me and was looking at me with a rather smug face.

“I’m not sure who you think you’re talking to, or why you’d want four drinks for yourself.” I tried to move his hand off my shoulder but he kept it there, which made my discomfort levels skyrocket. I looked around for Spencer but couldn’t see him, which is when this guy finally moved his hand, but he grabbed my chin instead of keeping it away as if he was trying to get my attention back.

“You bought four drinks, huh? Someone’s got a bit of an alcohol problem,” he said with a cocky sneer, leaning in closer so I could smell all the alcohol he’d been drinking.

“You have about 5 seconds to get off me before I make you,” I threatened, trying to pull away from him which only made him yank me closer with his hand trailing down my side. “Hey—“

All I felt was this guy suddenly getting dragged off of me and before I knew what was happening, he was pinned down against the bar.

“When my boyfriend tells you something, you listen. Do you understand me?” The man holding this guy down, who I quickly realized was Spence, growled close to this asshole’s ear. It made him nod nervously. “Good. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

The mystery pervert was up and out of sight before either of us could say anything else, which was when Spencer turned to face me. His entire demeanor changed now, his expression soft as he reached out to me.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Before he could even finish his sentence, I was burying myself in his arms. “Hey, what happened?? What did he do that I didn’t see?”

“Nothing, Spence, I promise. I’m just…really glad you showed up..” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He rubbed my back slowly as he hugged me tight.

“Alright, it’s okay. I’m going to take you home, let’s go tell the others we’re leaving and then we’ll be out of here,” he whispered back as he leaned in close to my ear, leading me back over to where everyone was standing to politely tell them we were leaving.

“Hey, we’re uh, we’re gonna head home,” Spencer announced, his arm tightly wrapped around my shoulders.

“Aw, already?” Complained Penelope, but then I assumed she saw the look on my face because I saw her demeanor turn concerned. “What happened? Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine, I’m just tired. We’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for anyone else to say anything before leading me away as I waved meekly. 

We were in a taxi on the way home but I felt detached and out of it. I kept thinking about what could’ve happened if Spencer hadn’t been there when he was. 

“I didn’t lie to Penelope for you, did I?” he joked, gently nudging me to bring me out of my thoughts with a soft tone to his voice and a gentle smile on his face. 

“No, I would never make you do that. I’m okay, just like I said earlier,” I promised, but it didn’t seem to ease his suspicions any.

After getting out of the car, we were heading up to his apartment, his arm around me the whole way until we got to his door where he let go to let us inside. 

I stood behind him, an arm wrapped around myself and looking around the hallway on either side until I heard the telltale sound of the lock clicking open then took his hand that he extended to me. He pulled me through the threshold and then turned around to close the door behind us while I simply stood there.

Spence could tell I was feeling off, but I couldn’t do much about it. My mind couldn’t help taking me through what the worst case scenario would’ve been.

“Hey,” he murmured lovingly, leaning in close enough that I could feel him behind me without him actually touching me, “I don’t care what ‘men’ try to pick you up, I’ll always be the man taking you home,” he mumbled in my ear, just low enough to send shivers down my spine as he pulled me in until I was pressed against his chest and gently tilted my head so he could make eye contact with me, “Okay?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off of his. 

“Good. Now, c’mon, let’s take a shower and stop thinking about this.” 

“How’d you know I was—“

Spencer simply looked at me with a raised eyebrow, as if he was asking whether or not I was serious.

“…never mind.”

“That’s what I thought. Come with me.” He took my hand, holding it firmly but gently as he led me into the bathroom. “Start the water, I’m gonna grab some clothes and towels for us.” He kissed the back of my head with his hands gently resting on my shoulders before leaving the room. I did as told, though, leaning down to start up the water and making sure the temperature was okay. 

As I was about to get up, I heard him come back into the bathroom, closing the door and coming up behind me. I felt the warmth of his body before his hands slid over my hips, pulling me up to stand and turning me around to face him. 

“Do you want me in here with you? I can start up some food if–” He stopped mid-sentence when I grabbed his wrist, nonverbally signaling that I didn’t want him to leave me, “--okay, don’t worry…I’m right here and I’m going to keep you safe now.” 

Adjusting so he was holding my hand instead, he then leaned down to kiss my forehead before leaning his head against mine. “Is it okay if I take your shirt off for you?” His voice was soft as it broke the silence, barely even there, which made it all the more comforting. 

I nodded again, but he didn’t move, so I got the sense he wanted verbal consent.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I mumbled back, and he kissed my cheek before he gently started tugging my shirt up and over my head. 

He paused with his hands hovering over the waistband of my jeans, glancing at me as if he was asking me again. 

“That’s uh, that’s okay, too. Jeans and..and just all of it, go ahead.” I smiled at him shyly, admiring how sweet he was to continually make sure I was okay with what was going on. 

Spence smiled at me then continued to undress me, unable to stop himself from looking at me for a moment before turning me around to gently push me into the shower and getting undressed himself so he could join me. I waited patiently for him, letting the water run through my hair and closing my eyes as I felt my muscles relax under the spray while my mind wandered.

It felt a bit odd that I didn’t want Spencer to stop touching me, as if his soft and gentle touch could somehow erase the terror of what could’ve happened to me but didn’t. That it could save me from feeling that man’s hand roughly grabbing my chin and almost forcing me into things I didn’t want. His gentle kisses and soft caresses were all I wanted, and it seemed he was more than willing to give me that.

I hadn’t noticed that Spence had stepped into the shower until I opened my eyes and he was standing in front of me, pouring soap into his hand. His eyes flicked over to meet mine once he realized I was looking at him, giving me a gentle smile.

“Are you still with me over there?” His tone of voice hadn’t changed from that same tender cadence, taking a small step closer to me until I could feel his breath ghosting over my skin. It was moments like this that made me realize just how tall he was. 

“Yeah, I’m right here…hi.” I waved up at him which made us both giggle.

“That’s okay, just checking, sweetheart.” Spence kissed the top of my head, rubbing the soap into both of his hands then he gently started to rub his hands over my shoulders. I leaned forward until my head was pressed against his chest as he ran his hands over my body, gently kissing the top of my head again then leaving a trail of kisses on my face and along my neck. 

I stood up straight again when he had to bend down further, blushing as I felt his hands massage over my legs and up my thighs. 

I slid my hand into his hair, gently playing with it as he left a kiss lower on my stomach and the warm water rained down over me. 

“S-Spence, I…” I trailed off, distracted by him leaving kisses and marks over my body.

“Hmm…?” he stopped, looking up at me. “Are you okay?” He sat back on his knees, looking up at me while holding both of my thighs.

I slid my hand into his hair, gently playing with it as he left a kiss lower on my stomach and the warm water rained down over me. 

“Mmhmm…I’ve just...I’ve never done this before, and everything that happened tonight, I just…I didn’t think it affected me because he only grabbed at me, but…”

“Stop,” he stood up, wrapping his arms around me with his hands on my lower back so he could pull me closer to him. “It’s alright that what happened affected you, any kind of unwanted touch is a very disorienting thing. Especially if you’ve never been touched like that. We don’t have to do anything unless you’re comfortable.” His voice was more serious than before, and I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but nod to show that I understood. “Are you still comfortable with this? Because it’s completely alright to have changed your mind. Just tell me, darling. I’m smart but I’m not a mind reader,” he joked, gently tugging me closer to him until I was almost pressed up against him. 

“Yes…Yeah, I’m still comfortable with this. I think I just needed a minute.” I speak only loud enough to be heard over the water. 

He nods and presses his lips to my cheek before he kneels in front of me again, marking his path with kisses down my stomach back toward where he was before I stopped him, sucking and gently biting at my skin along the way. 

As he got lower and lower, he shifted to loop his arms around my knees, pulling me even closer as he got ever closer to exactly where I wanted–no, needed him to be. I could feel his breathing getting heavier, each breath washing over me between each kiss. 

I slid both of my hands into his hair, gently gripping random fistfuls of it as I moaned lowly and tilted my head back. I felt him chuckle more than I heard it as his head found its way between my legs. 

Soon enough, his tongue glided smoothly in circles over my skin as I gasped and groaned, my grip tightening on his hair and almost pulling with each motion as any thought of getting cleaned up was abandoned. God, if I had known this was where I was going to be before I left the house with him, I wouldn’t have wanted us to leave either. 

Spencer eventually came up for air ever so briefly before he was back to kissing all over my body, marking my skin wherever he could without seeming to care where, like he was claiming every inch of me. Little did he know, all he’d have to do was say ‘please’ in the softest tone of voice he could muster and I’d be on my knees for him. Or worse, he knew and he was more than willing to take advantage of that fact. Not that I minded, per say. 

He slowly made his way back up to my lips, kissing every possible spot on my body that he could so I’d be littered in hickeys and would feel them as a constant reminder of this moment. Of him. 

I tugged on his hair lightly until he was on his feet, my arms going around his neck as I pulled him into a deep kiss with my lips parting against his as he pulled me in closer until our bodies were all but pressed together. 

Feeling him this close to me sent a shiver down my spine.

He finished washing me off, getting out and wrapping a towel around himself before he held out his hand to help me out of the shower. He wrapped the other towel around me and helped me dry off, getting me dressed in a white and gray hoodie of his that said Washington DC and a pair of his pajama pants that he had to tie in a neat bow so they didn’t fall. 

I went digging in his drawers and helped him pick out as well as get into his own pajamas, then he picked me up as I squeaked loudly and started laughing. 

“Spencer! What’re you doing?!” I yelled through giggles. 

“I’m not doing anything!” He smirked as he dropped me onto his bed then sat next to me. 

Spence was barely on the bed two seconds before I was in his lap, hugging him tight. He looped his arms back around me as he leaned back, hugging me close as he pulled the blankets over us and I nuzzled into his shoulder. 

Neither of us moved for a while, long enough for us both to fall asleep. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I felt his lips press against the back of my head with a whispered ‘I love you’.

“Spence..?”

“Hmm..?”

“Can you like…talk to me? Like just…just tell me about something. Anything you want.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power here, sweetheart.” 

“I know, pretty boy, but your voice is…it’s comforting to me.” 

“Okay, you asked for it…” he cleared his throat in a dramatic fashion, making me giggle, before continuing, “The first thing I could think of that could be a lot of fun was Star Wars, so did you know that the name Yoda can be translated to ‘warrior’ in Sanskrit? Also, the word ‘Ewok’ was never spoken aloud in any of the films, even when they visit Endor, the only time it ever comes up is in the credits of ‘Return of the Jedi’,” Spencer rambled excitedly, and I was happy to listen to him for as long as he could talk. Just listening to him, it felt like the rest of the world melted away. Nothing else mattered, and that was the way I preferred it. 

I didn’t even notice I had been falling asleep until he kissed my head and softly wished me goodnight.