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mojavebluez · 24 days ago

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Russian roulette - the salesman x fem!reader (18)

Chapter 1

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

summary - he’d been following you for a while. When you finally find the courage to approach him, you wake up hours later in his apartment, tied up and completely at his mercy. He has one offer: a game of Russian roulette.

tags - gun play, age gap, kidnapping, bdsm, sub!reader, dom!salesman, sadomasochism, fingering, non-con, praise, degradation, forced insertion, no lube

a/n - I’m slightly ashamed but also not. There’s a bit of backstory so sorry to all you freaks that like skipping straight to the action.. I’ll do a part 2 if you guys enjoy it!!

Series masterlist

4.7k words

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You’d seen him before. Many times. This past month you’d noticed nearly 20 encounters. The first was on the subway a while back, when you had looked up to see him staring down at you with blank, empty eyes. An instant chill was sent down your spine. But he wasn’t like the usual subway perverts: he was put-together, well dressed and very, very handsome. He had an air of assurance about him and a strange sort of dominance that forced you to stare down at your feet - just to avoid meeting his eyes.

You’d barely given him another thought until, the next day, you saw him again. This time it was in a cafe. You had felt someone’s eyes on you and glanced around until you landed on him. He was sat across the room, a lonely white teacup in front of him. He had that same soulless look in his eyes, this time paired with a faint smile. It chilled you again. Was he following you? Or was it just coincidence?

It happened again. And again. Across the street, him standing there, or in supermarket aisles, or on subway cars. Always on subway cars. You debated approaching him, asking him why he was following you around. But sometimes, late at night, you would stare at the ceiling and think about him. His perfectly symmetrical features, crisp, laundered suits - you’d gotten lucky in the stalker lottery, that was for sure. The idea was ridiculous, anyway, people like you didn’t get stalkers. You were utterly normal, boring, even. Things like that only happened in movies.

It had finally come to a head when you went out one night with a couple friends. It was the end of the first semester, so you had all decided to go out and celebrate. Turns out, you may have celebrated too hard. You were somewhere between five and ten drinks (who was counting anyway?) when you caught sight of him across the bar. You slide off your stool, the faint protests of your friends drowned out by the thudding club music. You sway on your feet slightly as you approach him, which seemed to amuse him, a smirk playing on his lips.

Once you reach him he pats the stool in front of him with a wide palm. His eyes never leave yours. The drink in your system seems to swirl the features on his face slightly, but it was definitely him. He doesn’t have a glass beside him, but his briefcase is laid on the bar, its glossy surface reflecting the multicoloured club lights.

“I was waiting for you,” he says. His voice is thick and dark. You’d never heard it before. You had imagined what it sounded like, how he might’ve said your name. Or what it would be like if he whispered closely into your ear.

“Who- who are you?” You say clumsily, surprised at the sound of your own voice. It was a different you. Confident. Abrupt.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he replies, smiling faintly. His hand, very large and covered in spidering veins, is spread on his thigh. It’s an inviting gesture. You instinctively lean into him.

“I’ve seen you before,” you say, tilting your head, “on the subway. And in the coffee shop.”

“Correct,” he smirks, altering the symmetry of his features. But the smile never reaches his eyes.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask. You press a hand against the bar to steady yourself. Everything in the room, aside from him, mixes and bleeds into incoherent colours.

“You’re very drunk,” he states, the smile never leaving his face, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m fine,” you wave a floppy hand at his face, but he abruptly catches your wrist in the air, his fingers like a vice. Your breath is caught in your throat at the pressure of his grip, draining all the blood until his fingers leave thick white marks on your skin.

“What are you-“

“Just relax,” he says, his voice a smooth purr in your ears, “I’m going to order us a drink.”

He lowers your hand, never letting go, and calls the bartender over. You can’t quite hear what he orders, but he holds up two fingers before turning back to you. Your head swims with alarm bells. The pain that floods your arm, mixed with the cold look in his eyes and your clear lack of personal autonomy - you’re very close to fight or flight altogether. He can see this. His mouth presses into a tight line and his grip on you, somehow, becomes even more firm.

“Please,” he says, but there is no pleading in his voice, “try to calm down.”

“Let go of me,” you squirm, pulling at his hand in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. He doesn’t even shift. If it came to it, you would be entirely at his mercy once he got his hands on you. The thought makes you freeze in your chair.

“That’s it. Much better. You’re a fast learner,” he loosens his hand and you sigh in relief.

The drinks arrive and he slides one over to you. His glass sits, untouched, as he urges you to take a sip of yours. You aren’t sure why, but something in his eyes makes you obey. Maybe it’s the satisfaction once you do - it fills you with a strange sort of feeling. You quite like pleasing him.

A few moments later, you try to stand up. “I need the bathroom.”

“Hm,” he says, watching you with uncertainty, “I’m not sure. You don’t look very well.”

“Exactly,” you say, stepping away. The floor seems to rise and fall like a wave beneath your feet. You stumble, but he catches you, his fingers spread across your abdomen.

“Let me help you,” he suggests, as though you could even object.

He leads you through the weaving crowds, all dancing and throwing their bodies around like rag dolls. You stare up at him, the curve of his features haloed by the spotlights. He’d picked up his suit case in the process of helping you, and it swung at his side, his other arm looped around your waist. Even in heels he towers over you. When the cold air hits your face, you realise he is not, in fact, leading you to the bathroom. You open your mouth to say something, but find that the words die in your throat. Your face feels entirely numb and your feet begin to drag behind you. He makes a small noise of frustration as he lifts you up, hooking a hand beneath your arm to hold you higher off the ground.

Your vision grows blurrier once he opens a car door and sets you down inside, sliding in beside you. Then, you finally black out.

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

You blink your eyes open. Instantly, your head begins to pound and you groan at the pain. Your neck falls back against something solid, and you slowly glance around to find that your limbs are bound to some sort of chair. Your wrists are pulled behind your back as well as your feet, tied to either leg with thick cord. Memories of earlier that night fly past your eyes in an instant as you struggle against the binding. But the more you pull, the more it hurts, and he seems to enjoy this fact. You squint up at him to see his face a mask of utter satisfaction, clearly proud of his handiwork.

His empty, dead eyes, black despite the vibrancy of the lighting. His thick, rough fingers curled around your wrist. You taking a deep swig of whatever drink he had gotten you. And the sound of a car door slamming. Then nothing. He’d kidnapped you. He’d spiked your drink and fucking kidnapped you and now you were going to die here, in this dark apartment and left for dead. You were just another one of those sad murdered girls that die and end up on a podcast a decade later.

“Don’t squirm,” he says, moving to stand before you. You crane your neck to look up at him. Half of his face is shrouded in darkness, the other glowing from the dim red lighting of his apartment. Atmospheric.

“What the-“ you try to get a sense of your surroundings, but the after effects of the alcohol and whatever he had drugged you with made it difficult. Everything feels hazy and undefined. Aside from him. His figure is perfectly distinguishable. You recognise his same suit from earlier: jet black, and he must have fixed his hair, too.

“You’re quite small,” he says, watching you, amused, “I probably gave you too much. Took you a long while to wake up.”

You try to scream. Your voice wavers, a pathetic noise escaping. He chuckles darkly at your weak attempt.

“There’s really no point. No one can hear you.” His black eyes glitter as he says it. God. You’ve been kidnapped by a fucking sadist.

You try again but exhaustion overwhelms you. Your eyes fall to the window, which spans from floor to ceiling. The nighttime Seoul skyline stretches across - you’re in a high rise, presumably a penthouse. Is it his apartment? The air feels hot and close, even more so when you meet his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he says. Your head whips around at the statement. A game?He doesn’t even have the mercy to make it quick.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he lifts his briefcase onto the low table before you, then clicks the latches and opens it slowly, as though savouring the moment. His every movement makes your skin prickle with uncertainty - everything about him is unpredictable. Bile rises in your throat once you see what sits inside the case. A gun.

“Russian roulette,” he takes it out carefully with two hands, the same way you would hold a precious gemstone. The steel barrel glints in the light like a winking eye.

“Oh god,” you whisper beneath your breath.

“You have heard of it. Good,” he smiles at you emptily, curling his fingers around the grip.

“Of course I have,” you say quietly.

“Then you know the rules,” he moves to sit in a chair opposite you, neatly two feet away. The table separates you, but it is low enough that he’s able to get a full view of you. His eyes rake you from head to toe, landing on the hem of your dress. It rides up slightly, but you’re unable to fix it with your hands bound. You try your best to squeeze your legs together and hide yourself.

He turns the case and lifts out a single bullet, slotting it into the barrel. Your gut twists with fear as he spins the barrel and clicks it in with a flourish that is sickeningly attractive. Everything about him is a juxtaposition. His clean suits that fit his frame perfectly, yet are eerily formal for every occasion. His hollow eyes that chill your bones but also draw you in with an odd curiosity you can’t resist. Every aspect of him leaves you wanting more. But you can’t think this way about him, can you? Not when he is so clearly dying to hurt you.

He leans forward, the gun hanging from his hand. “Your odds of survival are five in six. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to- are you some sort of serial killer?” You gasp helplessly.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m a man of business.”

“And your business is murder?” You add sarcastically, watching his face closely.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re different. Most people would be begging for their life by now.”

“I’m obviously going to die here. What’s the point in begging?” The words are empty as you say them. You’d already accepted your fate by this point.

His eyes glitter. “Maybe you should beg.”

You press your lips together. The prospect is tempting. “Did you still kill those other people? Even though they begged?”

“Now, now,” he twists the gun, watching his own reflection in the metal, “that would spoil the surprise.”

You don’t respond.

“Besides,” his teeth flash as he speaks, perfectly straight, “as I said, five in six. It’s more of a chance than I gave the ‘others’.”

The high odds must mean he’s holding out for you beg. For him. For your life. You watch, sickened, as he sets the gun on the table and places a large hand over it. “Now to decide who goes first.”

Your throat tightens when he grips the barrel and spins the gun on the table like a children’s toy. The sound of the metal on the glass surface sends needles over your skin. The sound of death being delivered. Round and round. Round and round. He watches it with a terrifying anticipation. The corners of his mouth curl upward, the smile finally reaching his eyes, which sparkle manically, following the gun’s movement. It slows to a halt. And It’s facing you.

You slump in your chair. He slowly looks up at you, unmistakably eager to see you squirm. But you don’t. You watch him with a steely gaze as he picks it up and points the barrel to your forehead.

“You first,” his voice sounds different. Finally, the reality of his nature seeps through. This is the real him.

“Just do it,” you mumbled, looking at your feet.

He leans towards you across the table. You glance up to watch the movement, then freeze. Utter terror jolts through you. Then something else. This is a different man.

“Are you scared?” He says so quietly you almost don’t hear it. He leans closer. And closer. The gun forms a barrier between the two of you, and you watch it steadily until it is barely millimetres from your forehead.

“I said,” you wince as you feel the heat of his breath on your face, “are you scared?”

The truth? Or not? “Yes,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. Something you can only describe as lust shines in them. God.

“You’re crying,” he says breathily. You flinch as he moves the tip of the gun, flicking away a tear on your cheekbone with it. You shiver when the cold metal meets your skin.

“Are you going to do it, or what?” You say distantly.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” his voice is almost a growl.

You debate satisfying his clear desire. Would he be merciful if you did? “Scared.” You whisper breathlessly.

He nods once. “Carry on.”

“I don’t-“

“Scared of me? Or this,” he traces the muzzle of the gun across your face, making you twitch with every movement. Tears begin to fall, thicker this time, and you fight back sobs that threaten to escape.

“Of you,” you say breathlessly. He exhales at the words, his mouth opening slightly.

“Really?” His eyes shimmer, then he pauses, bringing the gun to the center of your forehead once again.

You hold your breath, anticipating his finger pulling the trigger. Would you feel anything if it fired? He presses it down as slowly as possible, then - click. Nothing. You collapse back into your chair, chest heaving with the release of your bated breath. He leans back again, clearing his throat and adjusting himself in his chair. You don’t watch him, but you hear the click of the chamber and know that it’s his turn.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” he says it with a cat-like smile, though you know the words hold no sympathy for you. He brings the gun to the side of his temple, his eyes never leaving yours. A strand of hair has escaped and hangs over his terrifyingly handsome features. A part of you wants to play into this fantasy - squirm around and scream for him. That part almost takes over when you see his mouth curve into a smirk as he presses the trigger down. And nothing. His self-assurance is painfully appealing.

“This is going well, isn’t it?” He stands up this time, stepping around the table and towards you.

“Please,” you can’t help the tears from falling this time, “no more, I’ll do anything. Anything.”

He tilts his head, pouting at you. “Now you decide to beg? It’s too late for that I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

The muzzle grazes the edge of your lips, cool but strangely relieving. At least it isn’t his lips. Kissing him would feel like sealing your fate.

Your eyes widen when you realise. “But you didn’t spin the barrel!”

He doesn’t stir at your realisation. “Makes the game more interesting, don’t you think?”

You tug against the cable at your wrists, not even caring about the pain of it scraping your skin. You feel small and pitiable beneath him, but you still struggle in your seat despite the futility. He just watches you squirm, the gun dangling from his hand, not even a smile on his face. You strain your voice to scream, and this time the noise carries. He tilts his head at you.

“Scream like that again and I might have to cover your mouth,” he bends down to be level with your eyes.

You open your mouth again to scream, but he grabs your chin, forcing it to stay open. You gasp at the forcefulness of his grip, and he parts his own lips. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly as the gun enters your line of sight. Teasingly, he brings it closer to your face, then slips it into your mouth. Your breath catches at how cold it feels against your tongue.

“Hmm,” he watches you curl the tip of your tongue over the muzzle, his fingers pressing tighter against your skin.

Something compels you to move, so you do. You lean forward, taking it deeper into your mouth until you feel the muzzle graze the back of your throat. You fight the urge to choke. A single tear falls from your eye, left over from your last outburst, and lands on his hand. His smile suddenly falls and something dark descends over him. He presses the trigger with no warning.

You cry out and he pulls the gun swiftly from your mouth, a string of saliva still connected. He examines the dampness that your mouth has left on the steel and inhales deeply, as if composing himself.

“That’s not fair,” you gasp, your hair falling around you as you lean forward.

He grabs a fistful of the hair at the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. He bends down to meet your eyes as he pulls your hair harder, making you yelp. “What isn’t fair, hm?” He prompts you to speak, though your heart beats so erratically you aren’t sure you can respond.

“Don’t feel like talking? That’s alright,” he brings the gun back into your eye line, but you squeeze your eyes shut, rejecting him.

He makes a frustrated noise in his throat. Then, suddenly, he forces you back against your chair, taking a hold of your throat. You choke as he presses tighter against your windpipe, forcing the air out of you until tears stream from your eyes. He takes the tears as an indication to loosen his grip, and you take in lungfuls of air when he does. He never lets go, though, keeping you flat against the chair and completely in control.

Your chest is open for him as he traces the muzzle from your neck to collarbone, ghosting over the protruding bones. You whimper slightly as he moves it even lower, the icy metal a shock against the curve of your breast. The dress you decided to wear earlier feels like a foolish decision now. The thin material is the only barrier that holds your dignity in place.

You are acutely aware of his movements. He watches the muzzle slide against your skin, making a noise almost like a purr when you react. He swallows when it runs over the bump of your nipple and you arch your back in response.

“You seemed so innocent back in that bar,” he says huskily, eyes flicking up to watch you. He continues running the gun over your nipple, the movements slow and torturous. “But you’re not anymore, are you?”

You don’t respond, too focused on the things that he is doing to you. This is his torture. He makes it so you can barely find the words to speak, then punishes you when you don’t.

He draws a cool, straight line to the flat of your lower stomach, then toward the hem of your dress. He lifts it ever so slightly with the tip of the muzzle and looks up at you. “If you’re going to beg, do it now.” The words are commanding, barely a suggestion. You watch as he pulls off his blazer, revealing his shirt which strains over his chest. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and you catch sight of roping veins bulging from his skin. Your skin prickles with anticipation.

“Please,” you gasp, barely registering the words, “please don’t. Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging.”

You nearly scream when he bends down and pulls your legs open with one hand. You struggle more against your bindings, rejecting his advances. He doesn’t stop. You whimper as he rips your underwear down to your ankles. Then, abruptly, he forces the gun inside you. You let out a strangled noise.

“Look at that,” he says, voice deeply amused, “already wet. Who would’ve guessed you were such a whore?”

You cry out at the feeling of the gun stretching you uncomfortably wide. He tuts arrogantly, pushing it in deeper until you arch against it. Then, he pulls it out and stands up, letting go of your throat. You gasp with relief, chest heaving, and he examines the gun in the low light. Your arousal paints it, making the metal glisten.

He moves closer to you, the plane of his hips obstructing your vision. A clear boner strains against the fabric of his trousers. You collapse in your chair hopelessly, the shock of the gun entering you still present in your mind. He grabs your jaw again, pulling your mouth open.

“Taste it,” his voice is empty. Lust clouds his eyes, a dark mist. More hair has escaped, hanging over his forehead, and sweat glistens on his brow. His dress shirt has been disturbed in all his vigorous movement. His tie lays off centre and slightly looser than before.

Obediently, you stick out your tongue, running it over the barrel. But you barely taste anything. The room spins around you like a carousel and your head feels light. It must be the adrenaline.

“Good girl,” his voice is deep and breathy. His chin inclines as he observes your tongue taking in your own arousal.

You hardly register it as he bends back down to one knee. Then, all at once, your senses return to you. He ghosts the gun over the hard bump of your clit, forcing a strangled noise to escape from your throat.

“There you are,” he hums, satisfied.

You can feel the wetness practically dripping out of you. He slips his index finger inside, almost experimentally, curling his finger. It enters too easily, so he pushes in his middle finger, and you gasp at the intrusion. He’s stretching you wider than the gun now - and he knows it. You’re still aware of the gun pressed against your clit, a cold, hard pressure that raises goosebumps on your skin.

Floaters dance past your vision. You let your neck fall back over the chair, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling. Your heart hammers harder with every pull of his fingers. You hear him make small satisfied hums at the wet sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and uncurling. You feel heat pool in your stomach. You’re close, but he shows no mercy, still fingering you with ever-mounting speed. Then, he pulls out his fingers once more and swiftly replaces them with the gun.

“We’re two shots down,” he says feverishly, “what if I pulled the trigger now?”

He looks up at you to watch your expression. You open your mouth to beg for your life, but find that the words die in your mouth. He picks up speed, the gun reaching a spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The possibility that he could easily kill you now seems to make your orgasm arrive even more intensely. You hear him grunt as he pulses in and out, faster, faster-

You collapse in your chair. The release is gratifying, yet humbling. The reality of your situation dawns on you as the pressure leaves your gut, and he pulls the gun out. He stands to his full height, the shadow of his figure being cast over you. His boner strains even harder against his trousers, a clear outline now. He sets the gun on the table behind him and adjusts himself, clearing his throat and wiping his hands on his thighs.

You aren’t sure if you have an ounce of self preservation left inside you. He knows this, and revels in it. The room stops spinning, coming to a still and finally grounding you. The light reveals his whole face as he leans over you and tucks the hair behind your ears with both hands. The gesture is almost too affectionate that it feels pretend. You aren’t sure that he is capable of aftercare.

“Well done,” he says, though you don’t feel like you’ve done a good job at all. He used you, and somehow, you let him.

You can’t find any words to reply with. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, his mouth parted slightly. His breath warms your face. You suck in air as he grazes two fingers over the wetness between your legs in a final gesture. He slowly pulls your underwear back over you in a strangely gentlemanly manner. You frantically search his face as the realisation that you didn’t actually die descends over you. He let you live. Why?

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” he chuckles, lips still millimetres from yours. He presses his middle and ring finger to your mouth and you taste the saltiness of his skin. Then he pulls away. Strangely, you lean forward, wanting more of him. But he doesn’t fulfill your wish. He turns his back to you and leans over the case, which is still open on the table. You crane your neck to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s doing but his back is too wide for you to see.

Then he turns to you, his previous empty smile back on his face. The pleasure you just felt is quickly replaced by fear. He stands over you once again and slips a square of card inside your dress and into the cup of your bra. You make a curious noise, attempting to move your arm and then stopping when you remember that you’re still bound to the chair. Finally, he makes an apologetic face, before slipping the needle into your skin.

Oh.

—

You wake up in your bedroom, curled up on your bed wearing last night’s clothes. The strap of your dress hangs off your shoulder, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder. You shiver. Was it really all a dream? How much did you drink last night? You have no memory of coming back to your flat. No memory of falling asleep. Only the memory of him - his perfect face, glistening with sweat and his fingers wet with your arousal. You feel sickened with yourself that you could conjure up such a dream.

Then, you sit up. Something falls from the front of your dress and flutters onto the bedding. A square of brown card. You pick it up, squinting closely to examine it. A number, written in thick black type. Your heart skips. It couldn’t have been a dream. It couldn’t. You remembered him slipping a piece of card into your bra. Where else would you have gotten this from?

Something compels you to pick up your phone. Something wrong. Something not like yourself at all. That night, what he did to you, flipped a switch inside you. That same part of you types in the number. Presses dial. Waits to hear it ring. Once. Twice.

“Hello?” You say, too eagerly. The line is silent.

Then, a voice. Painfully familiar. He pauses, then speaks: “This Friday. Ten. Be ready.”

He hangs up. You were ready before he picked up the phone.

#squid game #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #the salesman x reader #the salesman smut #the salesman #the recruiter #the recruiter smut #gong yoo #fanfiction #smut #18+ mdni #sadomasochistic #gun play #sub!reader #the salesman x you #the recruiter x reader #squid game fandom

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sturnioz · 6 months ago

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‘BIRTHDAY TREAT’ — MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pairing. matthew sturniolo x fem!reader genre. smut, established relationship au.

word count. 2.2k

❝how do you want me?❞

content warnings. explicit content, light biting, oral (male receiving), blowjob, light face fucking, praising, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming.

You struggle to contain your growing excitement as Matt walks through the front door of your apartment. His tired, weary face lights up in surprised awe at the sight of the birthday decorations that cover every inch of your living space — different shades of vibrant blue balloons, filled to the brim with helium, are pressed tightly against the ceiling, bobbing gently.

Without warning, you pull the thread of the party popper you have in hand, and a burst of multicoloured confetti sprays straight into Matt’s face, causing him to jump back in startled surprise.

Matt lets out a breathy laugh, dropping his heavy bag down to the floor at his feet as he opens his arms wide, and you are unable to hold yourself back any longer. You run towards him, nearly tackling him with the force of an affectionate hug as you wrap your arms around him as tightly as you possibly can.

He exhales softly, the tension visibly melting from his body as he returns the hug, nuzzling his nose into the crevice of your neck and breathing in your scent. Slowly, he begins to rock your bodies gently from side to side, laying a series of small, delicate kisses across your exposed skin. You can’t help but grin widely, eventually leaning back from the embrace to take a long look at his face.

Matt looks exhausted, his weary eyes struggling to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds at a time before fluttering closed for brief moments, dark prominent circles visible underneath.

It makes you frown to see just how tired your boyfriend appears, knowing deep down that his busy weekend travelling to visit his family and hometown friends, only to immediately fly back to LA, has taken a significant toll on his body.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty for asking him to come over as soon as his plane landed, knowing that he likely should have gone straight home with his brothers to get some much-needed rest. But you missed him a lot, and you certainly didn’t want to miss his birthday.

You move your hand to gently cup his stubbly cheek, caressing it softly with your thumb as you whisper tenderly, “Happy birthday.”

Matt gives you a sluggish, tired smile and murmurs, “Thank you, baby.”

He presses his lips to yours in a slow, unhurried kiss for a few seconds before trailing them down the sensitive skin of your throat. You smile widely at the familiar, loving touch, goosebumps trickling down your spine when you feel his hands dip underneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his palms pressing firmly against the small of your back.

Matt gently nips at your exposed skin, causing your head to tilt to the side and grant him better access, your lips curling into a content grin as his hands slips downwards, fingers splayed across your ass and pulling your body flush against his.

“Are you tired?” You ask, running your fingers through his dishevelled hair.

“Not really,” Matt answers, his voice quiet and a bit uncertain. He doesn’t stop his affectionate ministrations, nipping down harder on your skin in a series of bites, “A little, maybe — I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we go to bed?” You suggest, trying to keep your voice calm and collected even as you feel Matt’s mouth brushing featherlight kisses up the side of your neck. His lips graze over a sensitive spot, causing you to shiver slightly. “Let you rest for a little while, and we can celebrate your birthday tomorrow?”

“I’m not that tired.” Matt tells you, his voice now a bit raspy. He reconnects your lips in a soft, tender kiss, and you sigh, your arms tightening around his shoulders.

The kiss starts sweet and slow, but when you curl your hand at the nape of his neck, Matt’s mouth suddenly moves with more hunger and urgency against yours.

His tongue slides over your own, drawing a low, appreciative moan from deep in his chest. The grip he has on your ass tightens as he tries to pull you even closer, despite you already being as flush against him as physically possible.

You allow him to do whatever he wants, and your breath hitches at the back of your throat when he suckles on your tongue, when he bites down on your bottom lip and pulls at it, when he rubs his front against yours and you feel his hardened cock beneath his jeans.

“Matt.” You call out his name when you break the kiss. You gaze at him intently, noticing how his eyes are still closed, his lips swollen and glistening, his breathing heavy from the lack of oxygen. You gently tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, and he tiredly blinks his eyes open, finally looking back at you. “What do you want?”

Matt’s gaze is unfocused, but he answers without hesitation. “You. I just… just want you — I missed you s’much.”

You smile at his words that come out slightly rambled and desperate, and you take his hand into your own as you turn and lead him towards your bedroom. He follows closely behind, hovering near you as he drags his shoes across the floorboards, squeezing your hand every so often as if afraid to let go.

When you reach the bedroom, Matt is already heading towards the bed as you close the door behind you. He drops your hand, the metal on his belt clinging as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons on his jeans and pulling down the zipper. He steps out of the denim, ridding himself of the clothing, but in his haste he stumbles a bit over his own feet.

He palms his cock over the front of his boxers and you almost salivate at the sight, having not seen him like this for such a long time, and it makes your thighs press together, watching as he rubs himself over the fabric as he looks at you — waiting for you.

“How do you want me?” You ask him quietly, and he groans loud at the question, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“On your knees.. Please.”

His plea elicits a warmth feeling in your chest and you smile, walking over to stand in front of him before you slowly drop down to your knees, and you tilt your head up to look at him.

He finds you so beautiful — so angelic with your pretty eyes staring at him and he becomes flustered for a moment, licking his lips nervously as he tugs his boxers down his legs, tensing beneath your touch when he feels your fingers ghost over his thighs.

His cock stands tall once freed completely from the confinements, and he wraps his hand around himself, pressing his lips together tightly as he taps the head of his cock against your lips, and he moans softly when you stick out your tongue to get a taste.

“Put… put it in your mouth f’me.”

You don’t hesitate to do so, spitting on his cock for extra lubrication before taking him in your mouth, reeling at the groans that erupt from his chest as he drops his hand from his cock to rest it on top of your head.

He doesn’t grab at your hair, nor does he control your movements. He allows you to do as you please, watching as you take him further into your mouth and swallow around him, causing you to almost choke when his hips accidentally jerk forward, thrusting down the back of your throat.

“Fuuuuuck…” Matt drawls, his neck straining as he tilts his head back.

The sounds he makes for you has your mind whirling arousal, wanting nothing more than for him to cum down your throat — wanting to swallow every last drop he gives you.

So, you change your pace, bobbing your head faster on his cock and using your hand to pump the rest of him, and the other fondles his balls which makes him whimper softly, his thighs trembling at your touch.

“You’re so good t’me, y’know that?” Matt suddenly praises you, murmuring under his breath as he strokes the top of your head, looking down at you. “My girl, yeah?”

You hum, the vibrations around his cock causing him to moan loudly, and the grip on your head becomes a little tighter — holding you still as he lazily rolls his hips forwards, and you do your best to swallow around him, trying your hardest not to gag on his size.

“I’ve missed you — missed your mouth, pretty fuckin’ mouth,” Matt whispers, lips parting with a pant as his hips begin to stutter, edging closer and closer to his orgasm, your chest swelling with pride. “Gonna make me cum if you keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart.”

“I want you to,” You tell him as you pull your mouth off of his cock but continue jerking him off, grinning as he thrusts in your hand. “Cum on my tongue… you deserve it.”

“N.. no, wait, wait,” Matt’s fingers curl around your wrist and you stop your movements, staring up at him confused. He breathes heavily as he continues, “Can I cum inside you? I — I want to cum inside you.”

Your lips stretch into a smile as you nod, pushing yourself up to stand from your kneeling position and quickly taking off your clothes, dropping them mindlessly to the floor as Matt lays across your bed. He rests his head on the pillows as he stares at you tiredly, outstretching his hand towards you.

You take it, allowing him to pull you on top and he leans up, pressing his lips to yours and craning his neck to kiss you deeper, giving you time to settle yourself above him, resting your knees on either side of his hips.

He lets go of your hand to grip the flesh of your thighs, squeezing the skin between his fingers before his hand slides behind your, grabbing at your ass desperately and you fight the urge to laugh, aligning the head of his cock at your entrance.

Breaking away from the kiss, your eyebrows pinch together at the stretch when you ease yourself down on him, your palm flat against Matt’s chest and he gasps, mouth falling open as he draws in a sharp breath.

“Shiiit, Matt…” You mewl once he fills you up completely, buried to the hilt. You would struggle to keep yourself upright if it wasn’t for Matt’s grip on your ass, squeezing you reassuringly, and you begin to slowly start rocking your hips.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows as he furrows them, his mouth ajar as moans and grunts spill from his lips, the tightness and warmth of your pussy making him unable to think, and he flexes his fingers across your ass, lifting his hips upwards to meet your bounces.

Your cunt pulses around him when his gaze meets yours, filled with the love and adoration that would’ve made you start crying if you weren’t so horny and desperate to cum — and for him to cum inside of you.

“Feels s’good,” Matt grunts. “You don’t understand how much I’ve missed being inside of you, sweetheart, missed feeling you like this — think about it all the fuckin’ time… m’crazy about you — seriously.”

“I hope you,” You hum softly, grinding your hips down and rubbing your clit against the smooth skin of his pelvis. “I’m crazy about you too.”

“Ha… shit — makes me feel like one lucky guy,” He dumbly grins up at you, but it slips away in almost an instant when you walls squeeze around his cock, and he curses loud, his hips fucking up into you faster. “You love me?”

“Always.”

“Tell… tell me you love me,” Matt begins to pant heavily, his hands moving from your ass to grab your hips, his thumbs pressing into your flesh. “Fuck — m’gonna cum, baby… tell me you love me.”

You repeat the three words like a mantra as you rock your hips faster, your own orgasm building up. Your voice starts to break, and the tears brim in your eyes at the pace he fucks up into you when he whispers those three words back to you.

He’s filling you up in an instant, spurts of cum painting your insides as your own orgasm hits you, your thighs quivering around his frame. Matt’s in a similar position — trembling beneath you and groaning as his cock pulses, unable to control the thrusting motions of his hips, but gasps due to the sensitivity he feels.

“Fuckin’ shit—fuck,” Matt’s body goes limp, his chest and face flushed, and his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead, eyes on the brink of closing and consuming sleep. You even go to move yourself off of him when you see his exhaustion kicking back in, but he’s whining loudly, his grip tightening. “Wait, no — don’t, stop it — stay.”

“Stay?” You echo back to him, unable to stop the laugh from fleeting past your lips as you push his hair out of his eyes, stroking his cheek affectionately. “We can’t stay like this.”

“Yeah, we can. Please?” You feel yourself crumble a little when you see his pleading eyes look up at you. “Just for a few minutes… yeah? I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

#©sturnioz #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets smut

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parfaitblogs · 3 months ago

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baby it's halloween ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE 💜. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer. word count: 3.8k a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!

"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"

It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you).

"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.

"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back.

Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept.

She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince.

It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it.

So you did.

Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,

"So, I need to preface before you get too drunk—" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "—that Spencer's here."

You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic.

However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."

You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."

"So are you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together.

"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her.

And get drunk enough you did.

You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took.

Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.

Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent.

And you couldn't have that.

"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.

"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"

"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."

He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"

"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.

You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire.

Fitting, you had almost said then.

"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment.

"Thank you."

It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.

"I don't like this," you blurt out.

"What?"

"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."

Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope.

"We're preoccupied during that."

"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."

"I'm not drunk."

Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him.

If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you.

"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"

His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond.

"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that.

"No?" you tilt your head to the side.

"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"

Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?

Probably.

"Yes. Do you?"

"I like how you look tonight."

Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."

"Yes," he says. "I do."

The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by — probably — Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had.

You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care.

"Spencer."

His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door.

"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips.

"Funny that."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."

"Sort of."

His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it.

It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now.

It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."

"You said you liked it earlier."

"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."

You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."

"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."

"Duly noted."

"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest — completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset.

"I'll ask the board."

You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.

His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed.

It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet.

"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh.

"What're you willing to give me?"

"You know I'd do anything."

Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you.

"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."

It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet.

This was your first Halloween where you weren't together.

"I didn't get you a charm."

"That's okay," you reply, earnestly.

"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it.

"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly.

He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once.

Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips.

His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so.

"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before.

Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.

Sometimes it felt like it was.

"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be.

He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked.

"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"

Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek.

"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."

He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch.

"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."

You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself.

"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.

"Please what, honey?"

You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.

"Want you to fuck me," you murmur.

He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more.

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."

"Spencer."

Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make.

It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath.

You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are.

He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers.

He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.

The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness.

He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting.

"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him.

After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly.

You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still.

"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."

He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.

"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."

"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"

Vulgarity — in any form — coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.

"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.

"Okay. I can make that happen."

You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure.

One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.

If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other.

He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot.

He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own.

It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.

Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own.

He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs.

"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."

"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.

"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body.

Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on.

It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions.

"They already know we do." Hook up.

"What? How?"

"You need to stop telling Garcia things."

Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs.

"At least you don't work with them."

"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.

He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset.

"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing.

"I know. Don't worry."

"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"

"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"

"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around.

You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"

"I'll talk to the board."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut

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cxffecoupx · 1 month ago

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vanilla lips

kim mingyu + putting a gingerbread house together wc: 623 warnings: mentions of food, making out author's notes: a little late, forgive me😔 but this seemed a lil adorable to me, so I hope y'all like it too <3 winter wonderland masterlist

when mingyu asked to come over, you weren't expecting him to bring a whole gingerbread house kit with him.

he lifts it up the moment he steps in, a huge smile plastered on like he's showing off a proud achievement.

"i got us a kit for gingerbread house," he says as he settles beside you on the couch, leaning into you instinctively. you get up to look at it, and furrow your brows when you don't see any brand names on it. mingyu seems to notice.

"i made it by myself. it's just outlines for the house and some ingredients; we're making it all from scratch," he adds with a wink.

now, you can only cook to save your life. baking is a territory you haven't entered yet, so it was natural for you to shudder a bit when he said 'we' instead of him alone.

"you mean to say, 'we' are baking it?"

he nods his head and you say, "gyu you know i can't bake right? i cannot afford to burn down another house.... again," the memories of last valentine's comes to your head and you shake it all away.

"don't you worry, my love. i meant i'll do the baking, you just have to sit and look pretty for me. you can manage that right?" he chuckles when you nod enthusiastically.

for the next 2 hours, the tv plays forgotten in the living room, because what can be better than watching your boyfriend bake in just a white tank top and grey sweatpants? sweat beads adorn his forehead and biceps as he mixes the dough; arms flexing with every movement when he spreads the dough into a sheet; eyes in focus mode and tongue peeking out when he draws the outlines on the sheet of dough.

the house isn't even halfway made and you're already drooling.

the baking time for the dough is used up for sloppy makeouts and flirty touches. you're too focused on the way his lips feel on your neck and how wet you feel between your legs where his fingers are playing when the oven bell startles you. he pulls away reluctantly, but not before placing a dollop of the icing cream on the corner of your lips and cleaning it away with his tongue.

an hour later, the counter is filled with the baked, house-shaped cookies, multicoloured icing creams and other decorations. he gets to work immediately, carefully tracing delicate designs on the walls before attaching them. within a short while, the house is up and standing, and your mouth remains wide open in genuine awe.

"wow, gyu... it looks beautiful-" you lean in closer to see more clearly. just as you do though, the whole structure goes falling down, cream flying onto your faces as the walls crash down. the two of you freeze, slowly turning to look at each other before bursting into laughter.

"you just knocked down my house, you home wrecker!" he says and kisses your forehead. you can only laugh helplessly. after a while of kissing and laughing, he gets back to work, while you stay a safe distance away to avoid any other mishaps. once he's sure that the house is firm enough, he calls you over to help decorate it, and the two of you get to placing the candies and marshmallows on it. when the work is done, you step back and admire your work.

"now we just gotta store it till tomorrow. the guys are gonna love it!" he giggles and turns to look at you to find you looking at him. you wipe a bit of the cream off the tip of his nose and lick it.

"how's it?" he asks.

"sweet, just like you."

#svt #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen × reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #svt mingyu #mingyu × reader #mingyu fluff #articles.ris

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inkdrinkerworld · 6 months ago

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“Sirius please come see, I won’t put them in your hands. I promise.” Your sunglasses are keeping your hair out of your face as you hold pretty multicoloured shells in your hand.

“I’m coming poppet. I got you a freezie so you don’t pass out.” His footsteps trail behind him in the soft, cool sand - perfect combatant to the heat that has sweat pearling against his chest.

It’s a hot day out at the beach, barely any clouds to shield you from the sun. You’d made Sirius reapply your sunscreen three times already and reapplied his twice as much even though he hated the smell of it.

Sirius holds the straw to your lips, watching you take a large gulp.

“What do you have there, lovie?” He spots something wriggling in your palm, a little grossed out but putting on a brave face.

“Donax clams,” you use one of your hands to drip a little water over the clams so Sirius can see them open. “Look, the meat inside is edible too. Don’t you think this one kinda looks like your eyes?”

Sirius suppresses a shudder. He doesn’t know how you’re so calm about them wiggling in your palm. He also doesn’t really think they look like his eyes, a little too much green for his cool, almost purple silver eyes- still he hums.

“Are you going to catch them and cook them at the house?” Sirius is fearful of your answer, maybe you want to make him try this strange looking meat.

“No! I put them back when I run out of water,” you wait for the tide to come in a little and place your hand in the water, watching the shell wiggle out of your hand and into the sand. “See?”

Sirius smiles, kissing your cheek.

“I see, poppet.”

He wipes sand from your forehead and collarbone, feeding you more sips of the watermelon freezie as you catch and release your clams.

Sirius listens to you whisper to them, ask them how deep the burrow and even ask them if they know where you can find bigger shells to add to your collection.

He suspects it’s a little strange, but he doesn’t think it is. He quite likes that you’re so eccentric about everything. Sirius cups a bit of water and lets it run down your back, smiling when you sigh.

“Wanna go under the shade? I could get you a cold coconut?” Sirius can see the tan lines coming in under your bathing suit- you’d been in the sun for most of the time you’d been here and he worried you might get heat exhaustion.

Your eyes brighten. Sirius might not be a master at knowing all the little creatures, but he is a master at you. “With the super soft jelly inside?”

“Only the best for my girl,” he kisses your lips, watermelon freezie all he can taste. “C’mon poppet, wash up.”

#siriusblack #sirius black #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one shot #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black blurb #sirius black fluff #sirius black fic #sirius black x black reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x witchy!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x yn #sirius black x y/n

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yutarot · 26 days ago

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ride or die. l.jn smau

021 — queen of hearts. wc: 3.4k (sorry)

YN POV

you really don’t want to go to this party.

after your chat with chenle, you’ve decided that everything he said was complete and utter nonsense. you? in love with jeno? you laugh at the thought. so as you slip into the outfit that winter picked out for you and receive the thumbs-up approval from mark, you decide that you’re going to make tonight worth it. you’re going to let out all of the pent up confusion of the last few days, all of your built up emotions. you're going to spend the entire party on the other side of the room to jaemin and most certainly jeno, and no-one is going to fall in love.

its going to be simple, unproblematic: exactly what you need. you want things back to the way they were, before you discovered jeno's identity, before your life was sent into complete and utter chaos.

in all honesty, the situation with jaemin upset you for more reasons than one. because, not only did jaemin having feelings for you mean that you've had to repeatedly keep turning him down, but it then meant that jeno’s identity being exposed was completely futile, and it made you feel awful.

after all, jaemin leaked jeno’s identity because of you, and despite jeno being okay with it, you aren’t.

putting your thoughts aside, you reinsert yourself into reality, standing side by side to mark and winter, horrifically aware of all the eyes around you. haalands frat house was spacious, a hue of dark multicoloured light stretching from wall to wall, absorbed in the imminent sound of upbeat music and flood of bodies. it hasn't gone unnoticed to the rest of the people at the party the way that you and jeno have avoided each other all night. occasionally, you catch a glance of him across the room, nursing the same drink he's had since he got here, whilst you’re way beyond your sixth, or perhaps even your eighth, its hard to tell. but people were starting to notice, and whether you like it or not, you're going to have to speak to him at some point. just not yet, you need a few more drinks first.

excusing yourself from winter and mark, you see chenle and his friend, jisung, pouring drinks at the side of the room, and you make the very unwise decision to go over to them.

"pour me one?" you say, extending your cup out to jisung who shyly pours the remaining liquor into your cup. chenle however, is unimpressed, giving you the most diabolical look of discontent, his eyebrow raising.

you squeeze past chenle in silence to grab some lemonade for the rest of your drink before he finally speaks.

"you gonna explain why you're doing everything but following my advice?" his voice is laced with a humorous tone of annoyance.

"no.." you reply, "im just.. feeling out the atmosphere first."

"oh right, okay. only for two hours." he flips back sarcastically.

jisung laughs awkwardly, not aware at all what the two of you are talking about.

"okay fine, I changed my mind."

chenle gives you a deadpan look. "how so?"

"what you said yesterday, i think you're wrong. "

chenle doesn't reply, he only laughs. "yeah. okay." he keeps chuckling to himself, so much so that you get annoyed, turning back around to go find mark and winter.

if, two months ago, you had told yourself that you would have walked away from the chenle zhong at a party mid conversation, you wouldn't believe it. you take the mental note to tell mark later, rubbing in all the times that he made fun of your crush in the past.

as you get back to your best friends, winter notices the cogs turning in the back of your mind. “why do i feel like you’re planning to kill someone.” she giggles.

“she’s pretty drunk.” mark replies for you, “she’s probably just trying to keep herself from throwing up everywhere.”

winter laughs, leaning round to check if you’re okay, in which you reply. “im not drunk, just annoyed.”

winter and mark exchange a glance.

as if on queue, you realise that one of your's and winters go-to party songs has began to fill the room: exceeder by mason. jumping out of your anger feuded trance, you grab winters hand, leading her to the centre of the party.

you let yourself go, ignoring all the prying eyes of those around you, finally basking in your own enjoyment, along-side your bestfriend.

you feel free, safe from judgement.

but all of that comes to a halt when you hear renjuns voice replace the large sound of music.

“those of you that want to join for the dare circle stay here, those of you that don’t. politely, fuck off." he adds on a "thanks." to the end, as if it would make his sentence suddenly super polite.

a dare circle? at a college party? you feel sick at the thought. but winters steel grip keeps you in place, and it’s not until you’re sat in the circle ready to play do you realise who’s remaining in the room.

to either side of you sit winter and mark, and when you scan your eyes around the rest, the voices of renjun, haechan, haaland, jaemin and chenle all fill the silence, aswell as some other faces you don't recognise. but when your eyes meet the person sitting at the far end of the circle, attention already baring into you, you go cold. jeno sits, leaning back on his hands and he looks at you. his face is calm, but you sense something even deeper whirring inside him, and you’re intrigued to find out what it is.

before you can think any further on the matter, haaland yells something incoherent, and when someone asks 'what the actual fuck that was supposed to mean', he shrugs, pointing to haechan.

“the fuck do you want me to do?!" haechan argues, but haaland gives him the middle finger.

haechan rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, you big oof, i’ll explain the rules.” he pauses, picking up a pack of cards from the centre of the circle. “each card is correspondant to a dare. the number on the card indicates how many shots you have to take if you don’t do the dare, and the symbol indicates what dare you get."

everyone in the circle nods, excitement filling the air around you

"clubs: you have to choose someone to slap you in the face.”

beside you, mark bursts into laughter, “fucking praying i get to see haaland slap someone.”

you zone mark out, rolling your eyes as you listen to the rest of haechan’s explanation. “spades: you’ll be asked a personal question to answer.”

sounds pretty self explanatory, though you’re betting you’ll get a question about you and jeno, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. it’s become second nature to lie about your relationship with him, girls constantly coming up to you asking all sorts of questions, and you know they’re just feeling you out to see if you’ll last, waiting for their opportunity to have him for themselves. you’ll never understand the appeal.

well.. maybe some things you could understand.

“diamonds: you have to give the number on the card in dollars to the person on your left.”

a unified moan of annoyance floods through the circle, pleads of ‘fuck you im broke.’ and a 'i literally just got fired' from jisung, flying around the room.

“and hearts.” he pauses, eyes scanning meticulously between each of you, “hearts: you have to kiss someone else in the circle.”

after haechan explains the rules, eager and completely incoherent yells expand from the people around you. “easy.” winter chuckles, winking at haechan, and mark throws her a look of disgust.

“i really do hate people in relationships.” mark groans. you couldn’t agree more, though you couldn’t openly agree that in this setting.

haechan shuffles the cards before placing the deck in the centre of the circle and obviously choosing winter to go first. she giggles as she picks up the top card, flipping it over to reveal the 7 of clubs. the entire circle fades into a fit of laughter as you notice the drop in haechans expression.

"fuck you for choosing me to go first." she says, aimed at haechan. you all watch in anticipation as she places herself infront of him, everyone around her urging her on as she places her palm to haechans cheek, only to (lightly) slap him a few moments later. the circle is in a disarray of chaos, haechan eventually joining in, laughing at his own seriousness.

its winters turn to choose who's next and you're a little relieved that she's sober enough not to try and mess with you. a sigh escapes you as she chooses mark, who, on the contrary, is absolutely livid.

he picks up a card and flips it, the 4 of diamonds. he kicks his feet in anger as he digs into his wallet, taking out 4 dollars and passing it to winter, who just so happens to be on his left.

"I want that back later." he says.

winter laughs, "i'll buy you a burger."

when its marks turn to choose, he picks jaemin. you immediately turn to your best friend, eyes telling him just how much you wish to kill him. mark only shrugs before whispering to you.

"games a game."

you hit him on the back of his head in annoyance.

the circle is suddenly tense as jaemin reaches for the deck, and when he flips the top card, you go stiff.

"ooooooo, 2 of spades." haechan says, a smirk plastered on his face

somehow you hear haalands voice booming over the sound of your heart racing. "let me ask! let me ask! let me ask!" you exchange glances with literally everyone else in the room as you question what the hell haaland wants to ask, but you let him because, what the hell, why not?

"how do you feel knowing your best friend is dating your crush?"

the room falls silent.

that's why not,

"what? what is it?" haaland whispers to haechan, "what did I say wrong?" haechan slaps him on his arm, getting him to shut up, seemingly very intrigued on jaemins answer.

as are you.

but jaemin says nothing. he just looks at jeno, who very slightly shakes his head, almost unnoticeable.

but you notice.

after what seems like one too many seconds of silence, jaemin reaches towards the bottle in the middle of the circle and the entire room bursts into an energy of drunken excitement and chaos.

jaemin, seemingly angry at the situation, points to the one person in the room you've been hoping, praying, wouldn't be picked.

jeno.

if you thought the circle couldn't get more tense, you were wrong.

although you know its your imagination, you feel the burning of everyones attention on you, though the dare is placed on jeno.

he says nothing, just leaning forward and grabbing a card from the top of the deck.

you study jenos face as he reads the card. his expression hardens, eyes immediately going to yours as he places the card in the centre of the circle for everyone to see.

the energy of the room returns.

you look down at the card and your heart plunges out of your chest.

the queen of hearts.

this can only go one of two ways: jeno is going to somehow down 12 shots of straight liquor, one after the other, or he's going to decide to spare himself a trip to the hospital and be forced to, instead, go through with his dare.

to kiss somebody else in the circle.

immediately, jeno looks to you, a face of question lining his features, as if he's asking for your permission.

everyone glances between you and jeno, jeering you on. you feel suffocated, surrounded by faces of both people who don't know the truth and people that do, a plethora of judgement and the utmost fear of what's true: that it has to be you, you're his girlfriend.

you begin to panic. this was it, you couldn't escape it. this wasn't like being confronted by one of samo's fangirls, this wasn't like one of your faux dates with jeno. because atleast then you could pretend it was something it wasn't.

but this is different. a kiss is a kiss.

you can barely keep up with your own mind. you decide there's only one way out of this. you have to get out of there, now. you have to find a place away from all of these faces. so that's what you do, you get up, finding yourself heading straight to the nearest bedroom.

you close the door, collecting yourself. you feel stupid, cowardly, getting up and leaving like that. if people didn't think something was up between you two before, then they definitely do now.

but it wasn't them that you were worried about.

amidst your panicking and uncontrollable embarrassment, you hear the door click.

“winter, im okay i just-“

“hi.” jeno’s voice reaches down inside you, ripping up all hope of composure. you don’t know why you feel like this, why you feel like your heart is about to explode out of your chest and make a mess of haalands carpet. but you can’t control it, no matter how hard you try to.

“sorry,” you say quietly, “i thought you were winter.”

“well im not, if that helps.” he laughs, and you grin at his silliness.

"not really.." you say, the words coming out although you don't mean for them to.

there’s a pause of silence before jeno speaks up again. “sorry if i, you know, freaked you out in there. i just thought it’d be suspicious if it wasn’t you.”

“it’s okay.” it’s not okay. it’s not okay at all.

“can i ask you something?” he asks. you look up at him, the same stoic expression plastered on his face.

“okay..”

“why have you been avoiding me?” he says, a complete contrast to whatever you thought it was that he was going to say. “everywhere i go i feel your eyes follow me, but that’s all it is. not once have you spoken to me at this party until now, and frankly, im getting pretty fucking annoyed about it.”

his words catch you off guard, you’ve never seen jeno angry like this, eyes cold and unrelentless.

“it’s just… easier to pretend you’re not here.” you reply. it’s true, jeno’s mere existence is only a reminder of how much you ruined his life. though it was indirectly, it’s still your fault.

he’s silent, as if he’s suddenly understood your thoughts, before he speaks. “don’t.”

“don’t what?”

“don’t pretend im not here. it’s killing me.”

something in him shifts, as if all the anger in him suddenly turns and drifts out of his mind, replaced by a solemn feeling of helplessness.

but his jaw is still clenched. hard.

that feeling of something else floating at the back of jenos mind overwhelms you again. you're curious, about him, about you, and suddenly your mind races back to your conversation with chenle.

'just see what happens if you follow what your heart tells you.'

jeno can see that your thinking, and you pray that he can't read your mind.

"you're not okay, yn. what's going on in that little head of yours? why did you run in here?"

you take a moment to collect yourself, deciding that you need to tell him. he's the only other person in the world that could understand what it feels like to be in the position where something fake could, so quickly, seem so real.

"everyone was watching.” you say, quietly, looking down at the floor to avoid eye contact.

but when he doesn't speak, you look up. his eyes find yours, brows furrowed.

“isn’t that the point?” he says, mocking you. you can’t help but scoff at his response.

its the attention of it all. it’s not the people that don’t know the truth that worries you, its the people that do. fear struck you at the possibility that if you were to kiss jeno, it would suddenly make everything seem too real.

and that was not what you wanted.

despite what chenle thought you did.

you realise you haven't answered him, incessantly rambling in your own mind, when a small smile lines jenos features, atmosphere shifting and causing you to tense as he speaks up.

jeno steps closer to you, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol speaking or you’re just plain delusional, but you swear he’s looking at your lips.

your theory is confirmed the second he opens his mouth to speak.

"how about now." his voice is soft. "its just us."

you don't know what to do, to say. so you just let him speak, unaware if its the sudden change in atmosphere that's making you dizzy, the alcohol, or jenos words.

but as he continues to speak, you decide its definitely the latter.

jeno tilts his head, looking down at you. "as your boyfriend, its only right that i can kiss you. no?"

you look at him in awe.

before you have time to register what the hell you're doing, you do the unthinkable, your actions exploding with a lack of consequence and an overwhelming new urge of confidence.

just once, you tell yourself, just to prove to myself that it’s not real.

you don’t think, you don’t want to think, as you step forward and reach up, hand falling to the back of his neck. you pull his head down and almost immediately his lips find yours.

its soft, careful. but as jeno realises what's happening, the tension between you shifts and suddenly, it's as if there was something new between you, finally imploding in your senses. it’s desperate, controlled and yet you have no idea what you’re doing.

jeno, however, seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

subtly, you feel his smile against your lips as he reaches a hand down to your waist, circling your lower back and pulling you flush against his body. you don’t have time to react, he’s taken full control over everything, as if he’s been wanting to do this for the longest time.

he breaks the kiss, murmuring against your skin. “you know there’s no-one watching us, right?” he leans back in, not even waiting for your reply.

“i know.” you manage to say. its a simple question, but it means so much.

there’s something so indescribably natural about it, as if yours and jeno’s relationship had been real the whole time. but it hadn’t, and you were becoming increasingly aware of it with every press of his lips against yours.

he senses something within you and he pulls away, eyes searching in your own as he pushes your hair from your face, his touch barely there. “you okay?”

you don’t need to say anything; he knows what your thinking. his hands slowly let loose from your sides, letting you stand onto your own weight and your knees almost buckle at the action. “easy, i've got you.” he says, holding you again and finally letting go only after you've regained your balance.

the air between you is thick, the confusion of what the hell just happened suffocating you.

you open your mouth to say something, to ease the awkwardness between you, but jeno beats you to it.

you feel awkward, like you want to do anything but stay in this room with him. he senses your stiffness, reaching past you to grab the door handle.

“hope you enjoy the rest of the party, pretty.” he mocks you with the last word, opening the door to let you both out of the room.

you scoff, eyes rolling with a small laugh. “i’ll try.” you say, before walking back into the room, multiple pairs of eyes staring as you both appear.

you sit back inbetween winter and mark, jeno also taking his rightful place back in the circle.

“what happened with you guys, you were gone for ages?” mark whispers.

you reply, “i think we just ruined everything.” you’re talking to mark, but your eyes never leave jeno’s.

fuck, you’re right. you really have just ruined everything.

but it was at that moment that you realised something crucial to why whatever just happened, had happened.

you wanted it to. and that very fact chilled you to the bone.

previous : mlist : next

notes; not me making up a whole drinking game because i didn’t wanna use truth or dare ☠️

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

#nct #nct smau #nct fanfic #nct college au #nct dream #nct jeno #nct scenarios #f1 jeno #jeno nct #jeno smau #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno imagines #lee jeno #jeno

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aramynx · 3 months ago

Text

STUDY DATES

IZUKU MIDORIYA X READER

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

“How are your injuries holding up?” Izuku had texted you, the minute he was out of class; you had taken a pretty bad fall and knocked yourself unconscious for a couple of hours, meaning you missed your afternoon classes that day.

You responded later on, telling him you were okay, and requested his notes from the classes you had missed. Izuku was caring towards all of his classmates, he remembered to check up on everybody, and always noticed if something was wrong. You suspected it was because he was always very analytical and observant- that was something to admire about him.

He happily sent you photographs of his notebook pages from that afternoon, decorated with doodles and diagrams of everything relevant- multicoloured arrows adding in extra details that Mr Aizawa had presumably explained during class.

Although you weren’t as close to Izuku as some of your other classmates, you felt comfortable around him- he was always so friendly and approachable; truly heroic qualities, although it was usually you texting him first, asking for his help studying. Izuku’s strong desire to help others anyways led him to the seat across from you in the library, rambling on about the topic you were struggling to understand. He was always happy to go into more detail for you- and you were sure that teaching others helped him to learn too.

“So you see, this strategy was actually used by a lot of great hero teams; including the Wild Wild Pussycats not too long ago!” He rambled on- hero studies were his specialty, as you were well aware, and he was always incredibly helpful.

That was, until his constant rambling excitement got the two of you suspended from the school library… So, you moved your study sessions to his dorm room instead.

“Excuse the decor…” He said sheepishly, blushing into his hands as you looked around at his All Might themed room.

You honestly thought it was adorable just how much he loved All Might- he was a real fanboy alright. You told him you didn’t mind his decor, and sat down at his desk beside him, pulling out your textbook and placing it beside his.

Study sessions turned into study dates; you or Izuku would bring snacks or drinks up to his room in preparation, sometimes you’d even order dinner to eat and watch a movie together (often based on pro-heroes) before you started studying.

Even after your library suspension had been lifted, you and Izuku had continued your study sessions- now dates in his room, often carrying on late into the night- ending with you falling asleep, hunched over with your nose pressed into your textbook. Once Izuku had noticed your light snores after his rambling had subsided, he would stop his talking and try to be as quiet as possible.

“You must be tired, huh? You’ve been working really hard lately.” He would whisper to you, moving your hair away from your eyes gently before he wrapped you up in his All Might blanket.

“Let’s get you into bed so you can sleep properly.” In times like this, Izuku was grateful that he had gotten so much stronger, because it meant that he could easily carry you out of his room and into yours.

He’d pull back your sheets and tuck you in, but no matter how gently he put you down, you’d always stir at the sudden lack of warmth, mumbling his name quietly as you rubbed your eyes, attempting to look up at him in the dim moonlight as he was still leaning over you, spreading his All Might blanket out over the top of your covers to keep you warm.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He smiled as you reached up towards him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled him down into you. Usually, he would fight off your grasp, telling you in a quiet panic that you needed to rest. Truthfully, Izuku could feel his cheeks burning at the thought of hugging you; it was already hard enough for him to compose himself during your study dates. The way you’d look at him while he went on and on about trivial facts about his favourite heroes, the way your eyes lit up when he mentioned your favourites, your determination to learn from him- not to mention he thought you were absolutely gorgeous.

More often than not, you’d wake up to the familiar smell of Izuku, wrapped up in his blanket from the night before with your school bag placed neatly at your bedside.

However that night, he had failed to resist your grasp. He gave in, stumbling over the edge of your bed and falling on top of you. Your eyes met his, half asleep in the dark room, but you could tell that his were widening by the second as his pupils shone with a white moonlit glimmer. Izuku looked down at you- how your skin looked in the gentle light, your eyes half lidded and your hair messy behind you.

“Oh crap! Sorry, I didn’t mean to squash you. Are you sure this is okay?” He asked, pushing himself up further on his hands and hovering over you, only for you to pull him back down on top of you.

Despite being a pretty small guy, Izuku was surprisingly heavy, most likely due to his muscles, yet he was still so soft- especially his cheeks that rested squashed against yours. As he laid somewhat tense on top of you, you felt yourself doze back into a slumber with your arms around him, Izuku soon giving in to the familiar scents of you and his favourite blanket and falling asleep on top of you.

The next morning, he awoke still in your bed, now to the side of you with an arm and leg wrapped around you- it was cold, seeing as he never got underneath the blanket with you. His first reflex as he began to wake up was to pull his sheets in tightly before he stretched out, forgetting that he was with you, he mistakenly pulled you closer to him, his face now buried in the back of your neck.

“Morning ‘zuku…” You had said to him sleepily, feeling his warm hand wrapped around your stomach.

“Good morning...” He mumbled, still not fully aware of his surroundings until you began to turn your head towards him.

That morning, he decided to work up the courage to string a question together for you, his eyes darting around the room as he struggled to face you, his freckled cheeks glowing a shade of red you had grown familiar with by now.

“So… Um. What do you want us to be exactly?”

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

“Morning ‘zuku…” You’d mumble quietly, pulling the blankets up over your shoulder, feeling him shuffle behind you.

“Good morning sweetie…” He responded sweetly, nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing a kiss into you with a smile.

Waking up to a warm arm wrapped around your waist was far from unusual now; Izuku’s curly green hair would tickle your ear when he buried his face into you every morning- a feeling you loved to wake up to. His warm breath would tickle your ear as he began to tell you what he was doing that day, his voice higher pitched than usual as he began to wake up.

“I love you…”

#bnha deku #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #my hero academia #mha x reader

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spvcekittie · 8 days ago

Text

Wait for Me

warnings. angst (??), maybe ooc , mental health , allusions to schizophrenia if you squint

pairing. jinx / fem ! reader

wc. 940

you’d been out all day, leeching off of vendors and their food. even scraps were accepted at this point, anything to fill the ever-growing void in your stomach.

life in the undercity had always been a challenge, especially for a lower class like you. you’d had to fend for yourself since an early age, having never known your parents.

you don’t remember their faces — out of sight out of mind.

the oppression zaun has faced against piltover is something that has lasted for decades, for centuries. it’s something that only grows worse as time goes on, zaun withers away with it as piltover blossoms.

how are you suppose to remember someone you never got the chance to know?

it’s late when you get back, ducking and weaving through the small system you’d helped map out all those years ago. it’s subconscious at this point in time, and you soon find yourself in the dim cave opening once again.

the only signs of life are the dim fairy lights criss-crossed over the sky-rafts decking, casting pink and purple hues over the railings with the faint hum of some incoherent rock band in the distance.

no sign of-

“Jinx?” it bounces off the walls and right back at you. you strain to listen, but you can’t hear anything.

odd.

usually you hear her before you see her, before you see the long bolted braids swinging in your direction, the gleeful smile that greets your arrival. the sparkle in her eyes that tells you she’d waited all day for you.

you know this is unusual, she’d been acting off before you’d even left earlier. typically, jinx always wants to tag along — she’s the type of thorn in your side you can seemingly never get rid of, stuck by the hip.

so when she said she’d stay back today, you couldn’t deny the pang in your stomach that something was off. anything.

you pressed and pressed but she never yielded. kept up a strong facade, and told you with an exaggerated nod of her head that she was ‘a-okay!’.

with a newfound purpose; find jinx, you carefully set your new ‘belongings’ down on a lone box, doted on with doodles and incoherent scribbles.

you look in all of her usual spots, crossing over the groaning propellers to the centre spot where she does her work. her work is here, half-built bombs and guns strewn about the blue mapping with purpose.

you can tell she worked on these, some being further in their progress than before you left today. you feel your shoulders slump.

so where is she?

“where could you be?” you hum to yourself, stepping down from the platform and off to the drawn curtains of her make-shift tent.

you see her braids before her; their blue a vibrant contrast to the greys and blacks of the surface they’re rested on.

you feel the sour bile in your throat dwindle, and the corners of your lips quirk up.

pulling back the curtains, you’re face to face with her body, strewn over the pile of multicoloured beanbags she’d accumulated over the years. she’s idly curled around a blanket you’d crocheted for her a while back.

it’s one of the only comforts she has in her life, at least you can assume, as it’s something she clings to like it’s her lifeline. she often drags it everywhere with her through the shared space.

if she’s working on her gadgets? thrown over her shoulders. she’s sat crossed legged eating whatever you’d brought back that day? laid down over her lap. sleeping? curled around the blues and pinks of her fingers, bunched up just over her curved knees.

which is where you find her now, only thing on your mind now is how she’d never slept before without you here. it’s something she’d never felt comfortable with doing, said she’s ‘scared they’ll get to her’ without you here, that ‘they’ll take me with them’.

you’d opted to sitting around just so she can sleep, so you can keep watch. you’d promise her that’d never happen, that no matter what you’d protect her.

the first time you told her, you could feel her breath hitch. her purple lips had parted in exasperation, and she gasped out like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear those words.

she had twiddled her fingers shyly, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes wobbled with tears.

that was the night you’d crotched her blanket, the same night you two slept curled in her tent, arms and legs intertwined between the thick wool.

it was a show of trust, it was vulnerability, and ever since that night you’d been inseparable.

she found herself dependent.

so did you. you couldn’t mind when you felt the same. those same feelings spur up, they warm up your body every time your eyes grace her beauty as they are right now.

smiling to yourself, you let your knees buckle, elbows finding their spot against them as you rest your cheek over your palm.

her soft breaths fill the space, the gentle snores doing nothing to aid in your own fatigue.

you feel yourself growing tired just by looking at her; the most she’s ever looked at peace since you’d known her. you wonder if she’s having a dream.

what kind of dreams would she have? would she dream of her future? would she dream of you?

your lips twitch at the sides at the sentiment, and you take her hand in your own. maybe this is a step in the right direction for her, maybe you’re doing more to help than you realise.

A/N. this is kind of rushed, i wrote it in 2 hours running on about three of sleep :Pc hope you enjoyed regardless & feel free to send me requests!

#jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #league of legends #arcane #jinx x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #sedate me

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mapis-putellas · 1 month ago

Text

𝑨 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝑴𝒚𝒍𝒆/𝑩.𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒅

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy Hanukkah, whatever you celebrate, or don’t, I hope you have a wonderful day. So much love to you all <3

The festive glow of the Christmas tree lit up the living room, its soft, multicoloured lights casting a warm, cozy atmosphere. But for you, the sight of the bare space beneath the tree where Beth’s present should have been only added to your growing frustration.

You paced back and forth, the familiar motion of your toes bouncing against the hardwood floor providing some relief from the tension knotting in your chest. There were presents for her family, small gifts for her teammates, and even a little something you’d bought for yourself. But Beth’s gift? The one thing you wanted more than anything to be perfect? Nothing.

Your hands fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie—your hoodie now, really—scrunching and releasing the fabric in quick bursts. You loved Beth with every fibre of your being, and the thought of not finding her the perfect gift sent your mind into a spiral of stress and self-doubt.

Every idea you’d had over the past few weeks had felt wrong. A book? Too impersonal. Jewellery? She never wore much. A new pair of boots? She had plenty. Each passing day only made your anxiety worse, and now, on Christmas Eve, the pressure was almost unbearable.

But then, like a lightbulb flickering on, you remembered something. Months ago, Beth had been scrolling through pictures of cocker spaniel puppies on her phone, her eyes lighting up as she showed you each one. “Imagine this little one bounding around the house,” she’d said, her excitement palpable. At the time, you hadn’t given it much thought. But now, the idea felt perfect.

A puppy.

It was bold, it was big, and it was everything she’d wanted.

Without wasting another moment, you threw on your coat, grabbed your bag, and left the house. The disruption to your routine sent an immediate jolt of discomfort through your body, but you pushed it aside. This was for Beth.

The day became a whirlwind. You spent hours driving to pick out the perfect little cocker spaniel, a lively golden puppy with big brown eyes that reminded you of Beth’s. At the same time, you stocked up on supplies—food, a crate, toys, a bed—all the essentials. By mid-afternoon, your car was stuffed, and the puppy sat beside you in a travel crate, its tiny tail wagging every time you looked over.

Leah had agreed to keep the puppy at her house overnight, understanding the importance of keeping it a surprise. You dropped everything off with her, carefully setting up the puppy’s temporary space and ensuring she had everything she needed. Leah promised to keep quiet, though you suspected she found the whole thing amusing.

What you didn’t realize, however, was how much time had passed.

When you finally checked your phone, you saw a string of missed calls and text messages from Beth.

Beth: Where are you?

Beth: You’ve been gone all day.

Beth: Are you okay?

Beth: Please tell me you’re alright.

Your heart sank. In your focus on getting everything done, you hadn’t thought to let her know where you were or what you were doing. Beth thrived on communication, and your silence had likely made her worry.

By the time you arrived home that evening, the lights in the house were dim, and the soft hum of the TV came from the living room. You stepped inside cautiously, shedding your coat and shoes, before making your way toward the sound.

Beth was curled up on the couch, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration. She looked up when you entered, her eyes sharp.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “I’ve been calling you all day.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. You’d never been good at lying, and even if you were, you didn’t want to lie to her. “I… I was out,” you said finally.

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Out? All day? Without even letting me know where you were going?”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you said quickly, your fingers drumming against your thighs. “I just… I had something to do.”

Beth stood, her arms still crossed as she looked at you. “Something that was so important you couldn’t answer your phone? Or even send me a text?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, and it made the tension in your chest tighten. You shifted on your feet, your toes bouncing lightly against the floor as your anxiety built.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Beth sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I was worried about you,” she admitted. “I didn’t know where you were, and then you just… didn’t answer.”

Your bouncing became more pronounced, your fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm. “I promise I had a reason,” you said, your words tumbling out quickly. “But I can’t tell you yet. Not until tomorrow. I’m sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Beth’s expression softened at the sight of you, her frustration melting into concern. She stepped forward, pulling you into a tight hug.

The pressure of her embrace was grounding, steady, and you let yourself relax against her. Your hands instinctively found the back of her neck, your fingers grazing her skin as you began to stim with it, the softness calming you.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

Beth’s arms tightened around you, her chin resting on your shoulder as she held you close. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just don’t scare me like that again, yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers still tracing patterns on her neck. “I won’t. I promise.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching yours. “You really can’t tell me what you were doing?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not yet.”

Beth sighed but smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Alright. I’ll wait until tomorrow. But you owe me for the worry.”

You nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Beth leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling you back into her arms.

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the heater kicking. The clock read just past five in the morning, and Beth was still fast asleep, her arm slung loosely over your waist. Her blonde hair was splayed across the pillow, her soft breathing filling the room in gentle, rhythmic intervals. Carefully, you slid out from under the duvet, doing your best not to disturb her. She stirred slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, but thankfully didn’t wake.

You moved quietly, grabbing your coat from the chair and stepping into your shoes by the door. You’d left everything you needed prepped the night before—the car keys, your wallet, and, most importantly, a handwritten note you placed carefully on her bedside table. The note was short but clear, just in case she woke before you returned: “Went out for a bit. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Love you.”

The early morning air was crisp and biting as you made your way to the car. The streets were quiet, the kind of stillness that only came on Christmas morning when the world seemed to pause for a moment. The drive to Leah’s house felt longer than it actually was, your anxious bouncing making time stretch out. When you finally arrived, a tired looking Leah greeted you at the door, holding the squirming little bundle in her arms.

“She’s been good,” Leah said with a sleepy grin as she handed the puppy over to you. “A bit of whining last night, but nothing too bad.”

You nodded, feeling the little cocker spaniel’s warm body wriggle against your chest. She was even smaller than you remembered, her floppy ears framing her tiny face as she looked up at you with wide brown eyes. Your heart melted instantly.

“She’s perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah handed you the rest of the supplies—the crate, the bag of food, and a few toys you’d left behind yesterday. She gave you a knowing look as she leaned against the doorframe. “Beth’s going to love her, you know.”

You shifted on your toes, bouncing slightly as the familiar twinge of nervous energy crept in. “I hope so,” you said, your voice a mix of excitement and worry. “What if I messed up? What if it’s too much?”

Leah laughed softly, shaking her head. “You didn’t mess up. Trust me, she’s been talking about getting a dog for months. You’ve absolutely nailed it.”

Her reassurance helped, but the nerves didn’t fully fade as you loaded everything into the car. The puppy settled in the travel crate in the passenger seat, her tiny head poking out as she curiously sniffed the air. You glanced at her every few seconds during the drive home, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your anxiety.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the house. You carried everything inside as quietly as possible, making multiple trips to get the crate, the bag of supplies, and the bundle of gifts you’d prepared and had been keeping in your car for the last month to stop prying eyes from seeing. The puppy stayed wrapped snugly in a soft blanket, her little nose poking out as she rested against your chest.

You set up the living room first, placing the crate and food bowl in a cozy corner before gathering the gifts. The chocolates, the fluffy socks, and the photo album you’d been working on for months were carefully stacked in your arms along with the blanketed puppy. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before heading back to the bedroom.

Beth was still asleep when you entered, her figure barely visible beneath the layers of blankets. You set the gifts down on the chair by the window before sitting on the edge of the bed. The puppy wriggled slightly in your arms, but you hushed her softly, stroking her tiny head to keep her calm.

“Beth,” you murmured, reaching out to gently rub her back. “Baby, wake up.

She stirred, letting out a groggy hum as she shifted onto her side. Her eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek.

Beth smiled faintly, her voice thick with drowsiness as she muttered, “Merry Christmas, love.” She stretched slightly, her hand reaching out to touch your knee. “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” you said, your fingers lightly grazing her arm. “I’ve got something for you.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she sat up, the blanket falling to her lap. “This early? Couldn’t wait, could you?” she teased, her voice warm and teasing.

You felt your nerves spike as you glanced down at the bundle in your arms, still surprisingly concealed from Beth. You didn’t blame her. It did somewhat look like you were just holding a blanket, a not uncommon thing for you. “I couldn’t,” you admitted, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the blanket. “Close your eyes for a second.”

Beth gave you a curious look but obliged, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned back against the headboard. You took a deep breath, carefully unwrapping the blanket to reveal the tiny puppy curled up inside. The little cocker spaniel squirmed slightly, her floppy ears twitching as you placed her gently on Beth’s lap.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Open them.”

Beth’s eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, she just stared, her expression blank with surprise. Then, her gaze dropped to the puppy in her lap, and her mouth fell open slightly.

“Is this…?” she started, her voice catching.

You nodded quickly, your anxiety bubbling to the surface as you watched her reaction. “She’s yours. I—I thought… you’ve been talking about getting a dog, and I thought…” Your words trailed off, your fingers drumming nervously against your thigh. “Do you like her?”

Beth’s expression shifted from surprise to pure, unfiltered joy. Her hands moved to gently scoop the puppy up, cradling her against her chest as a laugh bubbled out of her.

“Like her?” she repeated, her voice bright with emotion. “Are you kidding? She’s perfect!”

Relief flooded through you, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Beth looked up at you, her blue eyes shining as she leaned forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” she said softly.

You felt your face heat up, and you shrugged slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie. “I just wanted to make you happy,” you mumbled.

Beth laughed again, her attention shifting back to the puppy in her arms. “What’s her name?” she asked, her fingers stroking the soft fur on the puppy’s head.

“She doesn’t have one yet,” you said. “I thought you should pick.”

Beth considered for a moment, her gaze soft as she watched the puppy nuzzle against her chest. “Myle,” she said finally, her voice firm with certainty. “Her name’s Myle.”

The puppy let out a tiny yip, her tail wagging enthusiastically, as if in agreement. Beth beamed, pulling you into a hug with one arm while still cradling Myle with the other.

“Thank you,” she murmured against the top of your head. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

Your hands found their way to the small of her back, your fingers grazing her skin in familiar patterns as you relaxed into her embrace. The weight of the morning’s nerves lifted, replaced by the warmth of Beth’s happiness.

“Merry Christmas, Beth,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Beth pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

#beth mead x reader #beth mead #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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sturnioz · 2 months ago

Text

the aftermath of shy!reader's conversation with cherry leaves her feeling conflicted.

╰› PART ONE.

you turn the doorknob, pushing open the door to chris' room and stepping inside, closing it shut behind you with a soft click. the familiar scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixed with the fruity scent of cherry's perfume which makes you feel a little claustrophobic.

your eyes shift around the room just as chris steps out of his bathroom, sliding his belt through the loops of his pants. you find yourself staring at him, as if searching for something—hints of what he and cherry were doing before you arrived. you know you shouldn't, but you can't help it.

why do you feel this urge to look for clues? you're unsure, but the need is there, pressing against your chest. you look for any signs—lipstick stains on his skin, hickeys, or scratch marks.

but there's nothing.

when chris finally notices your presence in the room, his eyes meet yours, and you can't help but notice how dilated his pupils are—he's clearly taken something.

"what you starin' at?" he asks bluntly, his eyebrows furrowing as he buckles his belt. "what took you s'long anyway? supposed to be here hours ago, kid."

you don't answer him, still staring, your mind racing with thoughts that you're struggling to control. you don't know why this seems to be bothering you so much. you're just sleeping together—you're hooking up—nothing more, nothing less like he always says.

yet the urge to just know feels overwhelming.

why does it matter to you so much? it shouldn't. it shouldn't. it shouldn't.

the mantra runs through your mind like a desperate plea as you replay the image of cherry stepping out of his room, her thumb wiping away the smudged lipstick around her lips. it twists something uncomfortable within you, and you stiffen up, tightening your fingers around your bag.

chris narrows his eyes at you as he walks over, a hint of irritation crossing his features. "i'm talkin' to you, kid. you gonna say somethin' or what?"

"i got caught up," you murmur, fumbling for a response. you flex your fingers, which ache from gripping the bag too tightly, and you watch as he takes it from your grasp and tosses it carelessly on the bed, a few of his baggies and scattered dollar bills that bouncing from the sudden weight.

as he walks over to the bed to collect his stuff, you can't help but still watch him as rolls the dollar bills up and tosses them into the ceramic dish on his bedside table—the same dish that holds his earrings and necklaces.

he then picks up a few baggies filled with multicoloured pills and white powder, shoving them into his pocket without second thought before reaching for his pre-rolls.

suddenly, you hear chris hiss sharply through his teeth. "ah.. you fuckin' bitch.."

your eyes widen a little, thinking that his harsh words are directed at you. confusion floods your mind, and you open your mouth to ask why he called you such a thing, but the words die in the back of your throat when he picks up a joint—terribly rolled and half-smoked with red lipstick staining the skins.

chris' expression darkens as he examines the joint, irritation etched across his features. "knew she fuckin' did this shit. leavin' her alone in here with my shit—"

"who?" you cut in, even though you already knew who he's talking about. you just thought now might be a good time to get some answers to the questions lingering in your head.

"fuckin' cherry. came in 'ere to get her pills 'n smoked my shit while i was in the bathroom," chris snaps, his frustration clear. "she thinks she's sneaky, kid, but she don't realise her fuckin' lipstick stains everythin' she puts her lips on.. dumb fuckin'—"

as he continues to vent, you block out his words, your mind racing as everything begins to slowly fall into place. cherry had taken a hit of chris' joint, that's why she had been wiping the lipstick smudges around her lips earlier.

she didn't kiss him.

she didn't put her lips on him.

the realisation hits you, and oddly, it makes you feel somewhat relaxed—the tension in your shoulders easing, and you find yourself letting out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding in. all chaos thoughts of your earlier feelings begin to settle, replaced by a strange comfort in knowing that nothing happened.

"what you smilin' for? shit ain't funny, kid." chris glares at you with his dilated pupils, and truthfully, you hadn't even realised you were smiling until it pointed it out. "i don't let people smoke for free, alright? 'cos—'cos this shit cost money 'n i'm not the type of person that just—"

"you're pissed off." you cut him off, unable to wipe the smile from your lips. the worlds spill out before you can stop them, and you can see the slight surprise flicker across his face, looking taken aback at the suddenness of your cursing as his eyebrows knit together.

"yeah.. yeah m'pissed off..." chris replies slowly, his gazed fixed on you. "why are you findin' this funny, kid? huh? 'cos i'm not laughin'."

you don't respond again, caught in a giddy mood that feels almost foreign. it's such a strange relief to know that nothing happened between him and cherry. but then, another strange twinge of something follows behind—who are you to feel this way? you have no right.

you're just the hook-up, and yet here you are, feeling an unexpected sense of... joy? happiness? it feels absurd, but you can't help it.

as chris' agitation grows, so does your smile, which only seems to irritate him more. you can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of your reaction.

he continues to glare at you, and despite the tension, you find it difficult to suppress a giggle. was it from nervousness? awkwardness? relief? just how sill you feel in this moment? you can't pinpoint it, but the laughter escapes you anyway.

chris takes a step closer to you, his expression shifting as he prods his tongue against his cheek—a habit of when he's contemplating something. his hand rises, gripping your cheeks, which ache from your persistent smiling. "why are you laughin' at me?"

you try to respond, but your words come out slightly muffled due to his fingers pressing into your cheeks, "i'm just feeling good."

"good.." chris scoffs, shaking your head gently with his grip, but a smirk begins to creep onto his lips, an amused glint in his eyes. "gettin' off on my frustration, bun? my... my pain turnin' you on? you freak."

his tone sends a shiver down your spine and warmth to your cheeks. your shyness immediately floods back in, making it hard for you to hold his gaze as you look away with a thick swallow, now becoming aware of how close he actually is to you—how the heat of his body radiates against yours.

he hums lowly, the sound reverberating, and loosens his grip to pat your cheek, "it's uh... s'too bad that m'not gonna do anythin' about it. was waitin' for you earlier but you never showed, had to get myself off so... gonna have to make you do that same, bun."

your breath catches in your throat, your heart racing as you process what he's suggesting. the warmth in your cheeks deepens and spreads, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you fidget on the spot.

"chris..." you whisper weakly.

the way he's looking at you at you right now makes you feel so exposed and vulnerable, sending butterflies swirling in your stomach as he tilts his head slightly, the smirk still present on his lips as he studies you.

"everyones gonna have to wait to get their fix, bun.." chris murmurs, his hand curling around your shirt as he slowly drags you towards the bed. "i got a pretty lil' show to watch from you first, yeah?"

divider credits. @issysh3ll

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porcelaininkpot · 3 days ago

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Miscellaneous DAMN Crew Headcannons >:}

Freelancer blocks people on Pinterest

Damien had one terrible experience with the nurses at DAMN and he's still not over it, and so does everything in his power to avoid going to the healers even when he really should

He's also gotten quite skilled at healing magic as a result

Lasko's glasses are in a constant state of being broken, the lens always popping out of the frame, so he's developed a habit where he taps his lens at random times just to make sure its still there

Huxley is capable of manipulating metal, but doesn't wanna bother with honing his skill because he prefers the greenery and flora aspect of earth magic

Gavin runs a DAMN gossip blog, a fair bit of the gossip is what Lasko accidentally spills while rambling

Caelum found out about cotton candy and made it his life mission to make his hair look as much like it as possible

Dear does aeral acrobatics in their spare time, Lasko is ensorceled and mystified every time he watches them practice

If Damien gets angry enough, he can go band for band with Lasko in terms of speaking speed

Damien always wanted piercings, but was worried they'd harm his professional career, it was Huxley that helped him let go of his hesitation and finally get his ears pierced. They held hands the whole time.

Huxley himself has a septum piercing.

Dear is the most eloquent speaker of the entire crew, and possibly the entire DAMN campus, they're one of the highest rated professors at the academy.

When Freelancer is bored, they intentionally create steam and fog up their windows so they can use their fingers to draw on them

Caelum once saw them do this and now insists they do it at least thrice a day so he can doodle

Gavin cannot sit still long enough to get his nails done, so he uses demon powers to shift his form and give himself naturally fabulous nails, whenever he does his he makes sure to go show off to Freelancer because their jealous angry pout is adorable

Huxley once had to return a size XXL compression shirt because it was too tight. Damien begged him not to.

Caelum once has unsupervised access to Freelancer's gaming pc and played Poppy Playtime thinking it was a cutesy roblox type game.

He didn't sleep for three nights afterward.

Then tried playing again because he wanted to finish chapter one.

Lasko has Poliosis, it's especially abundant on his very long eyelashes.

Dear takes special joy in having him try out multicoloured mascara

While Damien is best at memorising text to score high marks, Freelancer is best at understanding it, and often gives tutoring lessons to the rest of the crew.

Dear used to secretly wish they were an earth elemental so that they could manipulate crystals, but now makes the most beautiful ice sculptures with their water magic.

It took Lasko a very long time to accept that he was truly wanted by the crew, and that he wasn't just some straggler they allowed to follow them around.

Gavin and Freelancer once challenged each other to see who would get flirted with the most at DAMN events, Freelancer got 8, Gavin got 13, and Dear won with 21 {not including Lasko drooling all over them}

The characters of Caelum 's favorite cartoon all have a decora aesthetic, so Caelum has started to make a collection of cute accessories and clips so he can dress like them.

Freelancer is his biggest enabler and loves surprising him with sticker packs and rainbow hair clips

When Damien and Huxley have sleepovers, and are all cosied up next to each other in their warm blankets while drinking hot cocoa, Huxley gets so wrapped up in doting over Damien that he only realises how much time has passed when his hot cocoa gets cold, and then he makes them both go to bed because 'Having a healthy sleep schedule is important dude'

Damien absolutely hates when he does this so he secretly and subtly rewarms Huxley's cocoa so he can spend more time whispering to him in his arms.

#Could have done way better with this tbh but it is what it is #porcelaininkpot #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted headcanons #redacted damn crew #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted lasko #redacted gavin #redacted dear #redacted caelum #redacted damihux

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marlsswrites · 7 months ago

Text

June 25th <3

Horoscope - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1400

“Where are you two off to?” Barty spoke as he ran up behind Regulus and Pandora in the tall, stone walls of Hogwarts.

“Divination.” Pandora replies distractedly, much more interested in braiding a small piece of blonde hair in front of her forehead, causing her to go slightly cross eyed.

“We have charms don’t we?” Barty looked around the halls, confused, before looking at Regulus for an answer.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair and looked towards Barty. “Me and Dora got moved up, we’re in seventh year Divination.”

“Oh! Okay.” Barty replied, instantly zoning out of the conversation when he saw a rather grumpy looking Evan walking past. “Nerds.” He snorted and tan towards Evan. “Evie!”

“Are we sure they aren’t dating?” Regulus huffed out with a smirk. “I called Evan ‘Evie’ once as a joke and he fucking hexed me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Pandora matched his smirk with a grin. “Enough of them, let’s go embarrass some dumb seventh years with my seer privileges.” She winked.

Regulus rolled his eyes and brushed a loose curl away from his face. “Are we actually nerds, though?”

“You are, I’m just good at divination and shit at everything else.” She tapped her head to prove a point as they walked into the classroom, surprisingly, being some of the last ones there.

Regulus felt multiple pairs of eyes attach to him as he walked into the room, trying to avoid eye contact, he quickly stepped past the teacher to get to a table in the back.

“Not so fast!” The professor spoke as she stepped in front of a rather embarrassed looking Regulus, and an excited looking Pandora. “Everyone, these are some of our new sixth year students, the smartest of their year!”

He quite literally wanted to smash his head into a wall. “Thank you.” He muttered as he sat down at an empty table, Pandora next to him as she tied her platinum blonde hair in a bun with a multicoloured scrunchie, Regulus is pretty sure she sewed that one herself.

A few moments later, just as the professor started to speak, a flustered James Potter ran into the classroom. He apologised swiftly to the scowling professor and made a beeline for Regulus’ table as soon as he spotted him.

“Hi Reggie.” He whispered, Regulus would correct him like he does most people, but he quite likes it to be honest, especially when it’s James whispering in his ear.

“Potter.” How he managed to get that out with a smooth voice was a mystery.

“What did I miss?” James asked in a hushed tone.

Pandora turns to them, eyeing them suspiciously before shrugging and leaning over, propping her head on her hand. “Professor Wells told us that her horoscope predicts that Regulus has a secret.” She spoke in a hushed, overdramatic voice.

“Old nutter.” The Slytherin boy muttered.

“Do you now Reggie?” James asked with a dramatic gasp.

“Shut up and listen.” Regulus hissed.

Regulus saw a suspicious grin start to appear on the Potter boys lips as he spoke. “Ma-“ He stomped on James’ foot, receiving a yelp as James decided to finally pay attention to the class.

His brother and Lupin weren’t even at class today, not sure why, the Lupin kid seems to always be in the hospital wing for one thing or another and Regulus knew for a fact the he and Sirius were attached at the hip. Regulus wasn’t sure about Pettigrew, probably doesn’t take the class.

“What is that?” Regulus held the cup close to his face, trying to decipher what shapes the tea leaves made up. He held it to the side, hoping Pandora could tell.

Pandora hummed, a puzzled look appearing on her face. She grabbed her book, flicking through until she could find the recognisable shapes.

“That one…” She pointed at the first shape in the cup. “It’s a stag I think?” She flicked the page and looked at the next shape. “This book is not helpful at all!” She groaned and slammed the book on the table.

Now, James peered over his shoulder to take a look at the cup. “It is a stag!” He beamed and looked at Regulus, who rolled his eyes, yet again, and looked back at the cup. “That one there looks like a heart.” The brunette pointed his finger to the cup.

And he was right, anyone could tell that it was a love heart. But would Regulus admit that? No way.

“No it doesn’t.” He scoffed.

“Yes it does.” Pandora and James chimed in at the same time.

Regulus pointed at James, ignoring it when the Gryffindor licked his lips and grinned that stupid, gorgeous smile of his. “This- this is none of your business.” He turned to point at Pandora. “And no it does not.

“Yes is does!” She sang, in a slightly too loud voice, causing multiple people in the classroom to turn and look at them

“No it-“ He sighed. “I’m not winning this am I?”

Pandora’s grin widened. “Nope.”

Regulus left the class before Pandora as she spoke with the Professor about crystals, he didn’t even pretend to understand that nonsense, it’s a mystery how he ended up in higher Divination.

He turned to corner into an empty looking hallway, their class had finished early so not many students crowded the halls yet, which was nice.

Sitting down in a small alcove, he folded in on himself, tucking his legs to his chest and letting his head fall back onto the wall with a soft thud.

He heard footsteps nearby, but he passed it off as a student or teacher passing by. His gaze was glued on the roof, he traced the patterns in the stone with his eyes.

Only moments later, he felt a hand ruffle his hair, a hand he would recognise the feel of from anywhere.

“James.” He sighed with a laugh, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

Watching carefully, he saw James sit on the other side of the alcove. The older boy lifted Regulus’ legs up ever so softly, go place them on top of his own.

Regulus felt a soft flutter in his stomach as those honey brown eyes locked with his stormy grey ones. James’ tan, golden skin shone in the sunlight. It was perfect the way the sun hit him, just like a spotlight, like he deserved to be in.

But no, Regulus didn’t want to share James’ beauty with the rest of the world, that was his. His to keep, to touch, to cherish, to love.

“There’s no one here right?” James said in a low voice as he leant over to Regulus, their noses practically touching.

“No, but Pandora is very suspicious, you couldn’t be worse at hiding this.”

“It’s not my fault, I need you.” James sulked.

Shaking his head fondly, Regulus leant in to connect their lips, probably too eagerly, but he couldn’t care any less right now when James was smiling again his lips.

“Regulussss.” He sang in a sweet voice, pulling away but only slightly. “A heart and a stag? I’m flattered.” He spoke as he brushed a loose dark hair away from Regulus’ flushed face.

“Those things are fake.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Are they now?” He fake pouted, Regulus hoped it was fake anyway, he hated upsetting James. “So you don’t love me.”

Regulus looked James in the eye, his big wide doe eyes shone with pure adoration and love.

“Fuck off.” He said through a smile, there was no hiding the amount of feelings he had for this boy, he was just wonderful, so loving, so kind, so gorgeous. Regulus was sure James was crafted just for him, so they could love each other so much it hurt.

“You love me.” The Gryffindor teased.

“Sadly I do love you, what was I thinking?”

“That I’m super hot and a good kisser?” James asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

Regulus nodded slowly and pulled James in again, the kiss was deeper, slightly rougher, yet still it was perfect. More than perfect.

James traced Regulus’ bottom lip with his tongue, sending shivers down his spine and having his heartbeat speed up shockingly fast. No matter how many times James does that, Regulus thinks his reaction will always be the same.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Regulus mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #rosekiller #wolfstar #sunseeker #james x regulus #jegulus fic #regulus x james #the marauders era #marauders #regulus black #james potter x regulus black #james potter

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