#okay... yeah. i was listening to 'how deep is your love' while writing this as well. but it's a good freaking somg what can i say LMAO

[puckbunnyera]

Silver Spoons | Q. Hughes

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pairing: quinn hughes x reader genre: angst, fluff word count: 2.1k warnings: none summary: insecurities rise to the surface when meeting quinn's family for the first time author's note: writing is a little (very) rusty after being away for so long but i came up with this idea while listening to a song i found through tiktok. the song is silver spoons (demo) by erin lecount. definitely suggest listening to the song before or while reading to really set the tone. it can be found on soundcloud and youtube. tried to link it but it wasn't working :(.

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I stare at the house you were brought up in All the photographs and door frames are wooden I wish I'd known you when you were younger Before lovers

To say you were nervous would be the understatement of the century. Anxiety holds you tightly in her grasp and floods your mind with the dreadful thoughts that you had been trying so hard to keep away. What if they didn't like you? What if they didn't think you were good enough? What if they noticed how different you were from them? What if they thought you didn't fit into the perfect life they had created for themselves? Your thoughts were running wild and dragging your bruised heart around with them.

"You okay?" Quinn's voice soft and gentle as he slips his hand into yours.

"Yeah, of course." You give him a tight-lipped smile, hoping he won't be able to sense the internal chaos you are experiencing. He does, though. Even if he doesn't say it, you know he does because Quinn notices everything with you.

"Let's head in." He speaks, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Can put our stuff away in the room then head out into the backyard. Everyone is already here."

"Okay." You nod, voice barely above a whisper.

As he leads you through the beautiful home he was raised in, you look around in awe at the memories held in pretty wooden picture frames hanging on the walls and sitting on tables. You can tell it was a house full of love and happiness. While it's always warmed your heart to know that the amazing man you had the luck of calling yours was the result of such a wonderful upbringing, you can't ignore the painful twinge you feel deep down.

Stepping into Quinn's childhood room, your eyes are immediately drawn to a picture, sitting on his dresser next to the door, of younger Quinn with his family sitting happily on the couch together next to a Christmas tree. The trio stand in the driveway, wearing rollerblades and holding hockey sticks, big smiles plastered on their faces. It brings a smile to your own face.

"How old were you here?" You ask Quinn as you feel him move to stand behind you after putting your bags down.

"Fourteen, maybe." He replies, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as you both examine the photo.

"You were so cute." You speak softly, a longing feeling pulling at your heartstrings. You wished you could've known younger Quinn. When things were simple and life wasn't so complicated.

"I was? Am I not cute now?" He asks in mock offense.

"You know what I mean." You roll your eyes playfully and nudge him softly with your elbow, drawing a laugh from him.

"Come on. Let's go meet everyone." He pulls away. You instantly mourn the loss of his warmth but settle with the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you out of the room.

And I bet you grew up eating at the table Fed love from silver spoons, reasons to be grateful

You feel overwhelmed the moment you step out into the backyard. Quinn's parents and brothers are already seated at the dinner table that was set up, talking and laughing. You do your best to swallow down the panic that's trying to force its way up your throat as Quinn pulls you in their direction. You're only given about thirty seconds to calm yourself before you're standing in front of them.

"Quinn!" Ellen exclaims, standing up pulling her oldest son into a warm embrace. "I'm so glad you both made it safely."

"Hey," He returns her hug before stepping back and placing a comforting hand on the small of your back. "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is my mom, Ellen, my dad, Jim, and my brothers, Luke and Jack."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." You wave shyly, giving them the best smile you could muster amidst your inner turmoil.

"It's so nice to finally met you, too." Ellen steps closer before pulling you into a hug. You hesitate briefly before returning the unexpected affection. When she steps back and returns to her seat, Quinn leads you to the two chairs left empty for you both to sit.

"Quinn has told us so much about you. All good things, of course. It's nice to finally put a name to the face." Jim speaks once you're settled at the table.

"You as well." You blush. "I won't lie and say that haven't been nervous about this trip, but I've been wanting to meet the people who raised him to be the amazing person that he is."

"Oh, please." Ellen laughs, shaking her head. "You're making me blush. And there is absolutely nothing to be nervous about. We are so happy that you are here."

"How did Quinn manage to bag you?" Jack scoffs, a playful spark in his eyes. "I mean, just look at him. You could've done so much better."

"Like who?" Quinn glares at his brother. "You?"

"You said it, not me." Jack raises his hands in mock defense.

"Excuse my meathead of a brother. We're not all like that." Luke jokes. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N."

"You, too."

Shortly after initial greeting, food starts being passed around as everyone starts asking you questions about yourself. What do you do for a living? How did you meet Quinn? How is life in Vancouver? Where did you grow up? The questions seem endless, but you answer them with kindness and grace, mentally patting yourself on the back for managing to keep composure under the pressure you were feeling. As the dinner goes on, the tension in you eases, and you're able to genuinely laugh and smile. It's clear in how comfortable everyone is that this is just another evening dinner for them. Something that they've obviously spent years doing.

I spilt the good wine, I panicked A disaster, a knee-jerk reaction Then everyone around us starts laughing Is that how it's supposed to happen?

"Hey, Y/N?" Luke calls from across the table. "Could you pass me the bread basket?"

"Of course." You smile, picking it up to simply hand it to him. If only life was that easy for you. You watch in horror as the wine bottle in the middle of the table topples over, spilling the dark red liquid onto the white tablecloth. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" You jump up from your seat, grabbing napkins and throwing them over the mess. Tears threaten to spill as embarrassment floods through you.

"Baby, it's okay." Quinn stands to help you.

"Let me go grab some more napkins." Ellen rises from her hand and heads into the house. Once the mess is cleaned everyone settles back in at the table.

"I'm really sorry." You apologize again.

"It's no big deal." Jim shrugs it off with a chuckle.

"Are you sure? I can pay you back. That looked really expensive."

"It's okay, Y/N. Really." Ellen shakes her head.

A warm hand slide across your thigh, squeezing gently and settling your bouncing leg that you hadn't even realized was moving in the throes of your anxiety. He leans over and presses a comforting peck against to the side of your head.

"Definitely not the worst thing to happen at the dinner table." Luke laughs. "One time, Jack and Quinn got into and spilt a whole pot of soup. It got everywhere."

"I completely forgot about that." Jack gasps, laughing at the memory that has resurfaced. And like that, the wine incident is forgotten and everyone moves on.

We're the product of love that we do not receive I'll corrupt every branch of this family tree --- Silver spoons and butter knives Living hand to mouth, I'm getting by Just feed me love and give it time Oh, maybe in another life

After dinner, you and Quinn make your way up to his room to turn in for the night. As you move through the motions of getting dressed into your sleepwear, a pair of sleep shorts and one of Quinn's shirts, your mind has taken you elsewhere. Everything has been going well, but you can't help but feel a sense of sadness. And a little bit of guilt. Sadness at the fact that you are clearly an outsider in the perfect family that Quinn belongs to. Happiness and love seem to come so easy for them, but your life has been so different, and it shows.

You grew up in a home where love was conditional. It wasn't given unless you gave something in return that benefited the other person. Your parents weren't the type to ask you how your day was. They didn't show up to support you at school events or hold you when you were feeling down. When you made little mistakes here and there, you were treated as if you committed the crime of the century. Yelling and cursing were a common occurrence. Show of emotions and shed tears were met with eye rolls and ridicule. You spent your life walking on eggshells around the people who were supposed to love you. You learned to only depend on yourself, trust no one, and expect absolutely nothing from everyone. Until Quinn, and that's where the guilt comes in. Guilt for wishing you'd had better parents than the ones you had. Guilt for wishing your life had been different. Guilt for being ungrateful when your life could have been worse. Guilt for being imperfect in the presence of those who seemed to have it all. It was eating away at you and you didn't know how to make it stop.

"Babe?" Quinn calls, voice quiet and cautious as he approaches you.

"Hmmm?"

"Where did you go?" He strokes your cheek softly and carefully with the back of his fingers.

"Sorry. It's nothing." You shake your head, crawling into your side of the bed and laying down.

"Talk to me." He lays down beside you, turning to face you. "Somethings wrong. You forget how good I've gotten at reading you."

"Nothing's wrong, but that's the problem." You sigh, caving in. Knowing that you can't hide anything from him.

"I'm confused."

"Tonight's been absolutely amazing. Your family is amazing and perfect. You are amazing and perfect."

"But?"

"But I feel like I don't belong here. I feel like we come from too different worlds. This life you live, and the relationship you have with your family is completely for to me." You release a shaky breath as the tears you held in all night slowly start to cascade down your cheeks. "And I'm scared that I'll just end up corrupting it somehow. You are the most amazing thing to ever happen to me, and I don't want to fuck this up, but it feels like it's inevitable. Bound to happen eventually."

"You could never fuck this up." He lifts a hand to softly brush away your tears. "You've told me that your home life was never the greatest, but don't do this. Don't compare yours to mine and make yourself feel like you've done something wrong. You haven't done anything wrong. What happened has clearly hurt you in ways that I could never understand, but don't let it define you. You might not see it, but to me, you are perfect just the way you are."

"I just want to be good enough for you."

"You are good enough for me. More than enough. I wish you could see that." He sighs, leaning forward and kissing you softly. "I making a promise to you that I will spend every day showing you that and proving it to you until you start to see it for yourself. I know it will take time, but that's fine with me. Because this. Us. Is end game. You are end game for me."

"You are too patient with me."

"And you aren't patient enough with yourself. It's okay though because I have enough patience for the both of us."

"I don't deserve you."

"It's the other way around, sweet girl." He pecks your nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You curl into him, pressing as close to him as you can.

"Now sleep." He wraps his arms tightly around you. "I'm pretty sure my mom has put together a whole itinerary of things for us to do tomorrow so you'll need the rest." He chuckles.

"Goodnight, Quinny." You murmur, sleep ready to whisk you away.

"Goodnight, my love."

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter IV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.914 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I was feeling angsty when I wrote this y'all, so please forgive me for what you’re about to read. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You stumble, back hitting the door with a thud. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t look away. The door handle digs into your hip as JJ cages you in. – What’s your problem, JJ?! Let go of me already!

His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and you can hear the venom in his voice when he spits out his reply. – No! I’m not! I’m not gonna let go of you! You know why?!

– I’m on the edge of my seat, here!

He scoffs at your mocking, that bitter laugh falling from his lips like poison, his nails digging into your flesh. – I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to get back. I tried to be patient with you. I tried to give you space, but you don’t respond to me being nice, do you?! You don’t even acknowledge me! I bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?!

– Oh, yeah. Loving it. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Getting shoved against a door while you channel your anger.

– DON’T— He stops himself short, watching his tone. – Don’t fucking play around with me right now, okay?! Don’t do this.

– What, then?! What the fuck do you want me to do?! You don’t want me walking away, you don’t want me talking, what do you want from me?!

– I want you to listen!

– To what?! To your little lecture on why I should’ve been nicer to my brother after the way he treated me?! After he called me pathetic?! After he took my own phone from my hand?!

– He was trying to protect you!

– Protect me?! From going out?! From having fun with my best friend?! I’ve known Barry since I was a kid! I can handle him.

JJ shoots backwards, dragging his hands through his hair as if he was going insane. – HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU!

– Advantage of what, JJ?! My overwhelming wealth?! My deep connections in high society?! I don’t even buy his drugs—unlike you!

– Don’t! – He raises his finger, stepping forward again. It’s like having a whirlwind moving through your room, he can’t just leave things how they are.

– Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? You and John B can buy drugs, get arrested, blow all your money on some half-baked Pogue adventure, but I can’t even hang out with the guy that’s been my best friend since I was twelve?!

– No! No, you can’t, not when Rafe Cameron is involved!

– Oh, so Rafe is the problem, huh? If Barry had showed up here alone, you and John would’ve just given me a cheerful send-off? Maybe packed me a lunch for the road?

– Don’t do this right now.

– OH MY GOD, JJ! What can I fucking do?! I can’t do anything! Am I supposed to sit here in silence like some nun while you accuse me of every stupid shit that goes through your mind?! Listening to you lie your fucking face off?! And I can’t even defend myself?! What’s your fucking problem?!

– You are my problem! You are! – It’s infuriating, having to whisper to one another when you’re so angry, because JJ couldn’t wait thirty minutes for the nerves to die down. But he makes it up to you by grabbing at you, the tips of his fingers pressed so tight against your skin that you can feel the bruises forming. – I’ve thought about you all day! You’re gonna listen to me now!

You stare at him, heart hammering, pulse like static in your ears. It’s not the words that get you—it’s the way he says them, voice fraying at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s already lost, and he knows it.

You wrench against his hold, nails biting into his forearms, but it only makes him squeeze tighter. His eyes are burning—wild, desperate.

– You’re gonna listen to me now, – He repeats, voice low but shaking with barely contained rage. – I don’t give a shit what you think you can handle. I don’t care if Barry was your best fucking friend since birth—he’s bad news. And you know it.

– Right. Because you’re such a great judge of character!

JJ scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. – At least I know better than to run off with people who are just looking to use me.

You let out a groan.

This is exhausting, draining. Your head pounds and your chest feels heavy. You don’t even know where this conversation is going. – News flash, JJ, I’m not a fucking asset! There’s NOTHING to use me for!

His jaw clenches, and his hands are trembling now, even as he holds you in place. – You don’t get it, do you?! – His voice is quieter this time, rougher. – It’s not about what you have! It’s about what he can take. About what he can do to you!

Something in his face stops you—just for a second.

It’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something raw, something afraid.

You swallow hard, pushing past the sting in your throat. – And what, you think you get to decide that for me? You think you can just hold me here and—what? Teach me a lesson? Are you gonna bend me over your knee or some shit?!

JJ exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to force your eyes on his. – I don’t want to teach you shit, I just want you to stop acting like this is a fucking game!

– I’m not—

– You are! – He growls. – You’re acting like this is just some little rebellion. Like it’s just about proving a point to your brother. And I get it, okay?! I do! I don’t like the way John B treats you either, but this vendetta, this shit you’re trying to do, isn’t okay! It’s not, alright? It’s not. You don’t know how Rafe is! You don’t see the way Barry looks at you!

His words sink into you like a stone.

– And how does he look at me, JJ? Huh?! The way you look at me, or the way you look at Kie?!

His breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to make something in your chest twist painfully. Because you already know the answer.

You want to hit yourself.

You want to dig your nails into your palms until you bleed.

His grip falters. His fingers twitch against your skin. And for a moment—just a moment—you think he’s going to let go. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

You think maybe he’ll understand.

But then he exhales, and his hand tightens again, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he leans in, voice hoarse.

And he laughs.

He laughs in your face like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. – So this is what this is about.

– What?! – The question comes out before you can stop it. You want to sew your mouth shut. You want to tear your skin off your flesh. you should have learned by now that speaking your mind never gets you anywhere. Especially when you speak about your feelings. – What, JJ?! What is this about?!

– You’re jealous. You’re jealous of me and Kie, that’s why you went with them. Are you kidding me?! – Your skin crawls at the sound of his laughter. But disgusting as it is, you’re not angry at him. You’re angry at yourself for having said it. – You’re pathetic. – The word cuts into you. But it isn’t sharp. The opposite, actually. It feels like he’s stabbing at you with something blunt. Bruising your skin and breaking your bones before he can sink into your flesh. – This isn’t about your brother. This is about me! This is about you being completely fucking twisted!

You hate yourself more than anything as tears start brimming your eyes. – Don’t talk to me like this. – You try to move, try to turn your face away, but JJ just grips you harder.

– Like what?! You don’t want me to say the truth? You want me to lie? I can do that, babe. But you’re not gonna like it.

– Get off of me.

– I don’t think I will. – His laughter is manic, loud. At first you hated that he cared so much about John not hearing anything that he didn’t speak his mind, but now you just want him to stop it. – I’m not gonna get off of you. Because I clearly can’t fucking trust you not to do anything stupid when I’m not there to wrangle you in.

– Stop it, JJ. Just get off!

You’re crying now, and you hate it.

You hate crying.

And you hate yourself.

– I can’t fucking believe you! I can’t fucking believe you were so jealous that you had to jump on Rafe fucking Cameron to make you feel better about yourself! Because that’s what you did, wasn’t it?! You slept with him!

The sudden vitriol in his laughter sends you into a spiral. – What are you even talking about?

– Don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me. – He grabs you by the jaw again. – Tell me the fucking truth, just say it! YOU SLEPT WITH RAFE!

– I did not! I didn’t sleep with Rafe, I just met him!

– I CAN SMELL HIM ON YOU! – You can barely breathe within his grip in a second, and he jerks backward in the next, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stands there for a minute, back turned to you, hands pressing against his head, and you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, against the door. – I know you did! I KNOW! I know it! You slept with him, you— You didn’t even see him grab anything, but whatever it was that he took went flying and it shattered against the wall into a million pieces.

The noise was deafening.

You didn’t even realize you had covered your ears until you heard the stark silence jar you in the aftermath.

Your gaze remained on the floor for a second, trying to grasp at what just happened, when a sudden sound startles you out of shock: John’s door was the loudest in the house. No matter what you did, how you oiled it, whether you fixed the hinges or not, the sound still tore through the house like a scream.

You could hear him, his steps, running.

Your hands flew to the deadbolt just in time to see the handle turn.

The door remained in place as he struggled, then called for you, banging against the door in a panic. – What happened?! What was that?! Are you okay?!

You were leaning on the door now. Your strength gone, the fight in you having vanished. – Get out, John. – The voice felt foreign. Cold. Dead. As if it’d come from an outer ego.

You could hear your brother’s stutter. His hands still moving against the handle. Then something else, a twinge of something painful in his voice, something just as foreign. Guilt.

He calls out your name, almost begging. – Open the door, please. Please. Just let me see you.

You can’t think straight.

– I’m fine. Get out.

Your head is spinning.

– Please. Just— Just talk to me. Lets–

– GET OFF JOHN! JUST FUCK OFF! Go back to your room and leave me alone!

You don’t know where the rage came from, how it’d surged on you so fast, how it disappeared just as suddenly. But the scream lingered in between you like a live wire. The door seems to stretch, pushing him away, away from you, farther than you can hear.

John whispers your name one more time, almost thoughtlessly. Like he’s calling for someone he knows is gone.

Silence.

He stands there, wordless, for a minute. Shifting back and forth before your door.

All you hear is his breath before he mumbled: – I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? – You barely recognize his voice. It’s like you're hearing him underwater. – You should go to sleep. – He whispers.

You don’t answer.

But you lean your head against the door, breathing deeper, and tears roll down your chin.

You don't know how long you stood there.

But you heard the hesitation in his steps as he walked away. You heard the floorboards creaking. You heard his door squeaking loudly, slowly, until it finally snapped shut.

And you remained there, absorbed in the silence, for a long while before you turned around again:

JJ is sitting on your bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking softly. You don’t know when he started crying. You’re not very sure why he is.

But you trudge forward, almost in a trance.

It takes two steps for you to be right in front of him, the ends of his blonde hair brushing against you. Whispering against the fabric of your skirt.

You've been here before.

In this weird deja-vu.

The way he reaches for you, it's almost like slow motion.

His eyes are steel blue, like the edge of a knife. His lips are red, swollen. There are tear streaks running down his face when he looks up at you. Under the dim light, he almost seems like an angel. His knuckles are pale, but you see the rapid pulse beneath the skin of his wrists as his hands reach forward, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in.

You once heard moths weren't smart enough to struggle against flytraps if they closed in on them fast enough.

JJ's arms lock around you before you can react. He holds you like his life depends on it. Tears soaking through your top as he buries his face in your stomach, hiding from something unidentified. Himself, maybe. Perhaps guilt.

Though nothing about the way he acts seems guilty.

Your arms were at your sides before. You don’t know when they came to rest around his shoulders. You don’t know why your hands are tangled in his hair. But you feel his teary lips flutter against your skin as you stroke through the soft strands within your fingers.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but he shudders.

He's still crying, but when he lifts his face to look at you, he almost seems at peace. – You drive me crazy. – He whimpers, bare knuckles cracking against your hips as he squeezes you closer, like he’s feeding off of your warmth. – I feel like I’m going insane… I don't know how you do this to me.

You don't know what to say.

Even if you did, your mouth wouldn't open.

You've never felt this numb.

His breathing steadies against you. Slow and deep, like a wave pulling back into the ocean. The warmth of his breath seeps through your clothes, the heat of his skin pressed against your stomach, the damp trail his tears left behind cooling under the soft stroke of your fingers through his hair. He exhales sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, the sound somewhere between relief and something else, something deeper.

His arms are still locked around your waist. The grip loosens, just enough for his hands to move, sliding slowly over the curve of your thighs, fingertips dragging across the fabric. Not a caress. Something closer to an anchor, as if grounding himself in the presence of you, in your softness, in the fact that you’re still here, still touching him, still letting him take and take and take. His hands flex, curling into the back of your legs before going still again. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

You feel the shift before you see it—the slow tilt of his head, the subtle shudder in his ribs as he exhales against you, his lips parting just enough for his breath to warm your skin. He’s watching you now. His lashes are wet, his eyes still rimmed red, but the way he looks at you is something close to reverence. The way your fingers move through his hair, the way your thumb ghosts along the damp trails on his cheekbone—he drinks in every motion, every second, as if memorizing it. As if memorizing you.

– I don’t like fighting with you. – It’s a whisper, barely there, but the words settle between you, heavy and delicate all at once.

You don’t answer.

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, and his eyes flutter shut, his body softening against yours like an animal melting into its keeper’s touch. His forehead presses into your stomach again, his arms slipping around the backs of your legs, pulling you closer. The tension in his muscles fades as he exhales another slow, steady breath. He’s calm now.

The fragments of whatever he threw at your wall litter your bedroom floor, making a glittering constellation out of the floorboards. But he’s calm now.

– John B’s right, – He murmurs after a long moment, voice muffled against you. – It’s been a long day. – You feel his lips shift into the barest hint of a smile, like a child reassured after a nightmare. – We should go to sleep.

You don’t react when his hands shift again, when he tugs lightly at your shirt, when he tilts his head just enough for his lips to brush over the fabric. You don’t react when his grip on you tightens, when he starts to rise to his feet, hands still firm at your waist, guiding you toward the bed.

But when he tries to pull you down with him, you stop him.

His brows furrow, the haze in his expression flickering into something uncertain. He waits for you to move first, to change your mind, to follow the unspoken rhythm between you. But you don’t. You just stand there, looking at him, the weight of exhaustion pressing into your skin.

– You should go home, JJ.

JJ blinks. Confusion first. Then something else. Something vulnerable. His hands flex at your waist like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shake your head, and his grip tightens.

– We shouldn’t go to sleep mad, – he says, voice smaller now, unsteady in a way that makes something deep in your stomach twist. – We can fix this.

– I’m not mad at you. – His lips part, like he wants to believe you. Like he needs to. But something in your voice, in your face, keeps him from speaking. – But I don’t want to be with you, right now.

The words land between you like a stone.

His breathing stutters. His fingers twitch at your waist, hesitating, before slipping away.

You don’t look away.

– Baby…

– I don’t want to sleep next to you. – Silence. – I really don’t want to see you right now, JJ.

For the first time since he pulled you into him, JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He just stares. – I know you’re mad, but—

– I’m not mad. – Truthfully, you weren’t sure. But when it came to feelings, exhaustion always outranked them all. – I’m not. But I want you to leave, JJ. I can’t do this right now.

His face shifts as his arms fall back to his sides.

Contempt.

Maybe ridicule.

You don’t know. You can’t bring himself to care.

But he scoffs before he steps away, shoulder bumping yours, almost by accident.

Almost.

And the door knocks closed at last, the sound absorbing every last bit of tension from the room like a sponge.

The sun streams through your lace curtains as soon as it comes up, 6:30 on the dot on a sunday, but you can't toss around and fall back asleep.

You barely slept.

Whenever, by some miracle, your conscience drifted away from you, it always came back, headlights burning your eyes open to hit you like a truck.

You feel disgusting.

The sweltering heat pushes down against you like a layer of wet concrete: heavy, overwhelming and inescapable.

You’re still wearing the same clothes.

The lower half your body hangs off the mattress, and having kicked off your shoes just before collapsing into the bed, your naked feet brush against the shards JJ's outburst left behind, stinging.

All you can glimpse of the cuts as you move your head to look down are the crimson streaks of blood now running dry.

You struggle to sit up, your head sways when you finally do so. The pounding in your skull is unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The world still spins when you pry them open again.

Glass glints like jagged stars across the floor, scattered in violent constellations.

You stare at the mess, at the thin, half-dried ribbons of red trailing through it, and realize there’s no way out of this without making things worse.

You’ll have to put your shoes on. Walk through it. Grind the shards deeper into the floorboards, deeper into your own skin.

Just the thought makes you shiver.

You reach for the beat-up sneakers, thrown half-hazardly amongst the chaos, and look at them for a moment. Your eyes drift from the shoes to your feet, the pulsing sting of each cut almost begging you not to do it.

You don’t have a choice.

The second the fabric scrapes against the cuts, you hiss through your teeth. Your fingers instinctively curl into a fist. You bite the inside of your cheek and try again, slower this time, forcing yourself through the sting. The laces come undone too easily, sticky with blood. You’ll have to wash them later.

The thought makes your stomach turn.

Once you manage to step out of the room, the pain accompanying you every step of the way, you wonder why you decided to do so in the first place.

Everything is too much.

The pain, the heat, the regret.

No one likes being talked down to, but you’ve always been the sort to dig your heels in when you feel challenged. The way your brother spoke to you before —Before you jumped into Rafe’s car, effectively sealing your fate— was not the sort of thing any sane person could take with a smile.

But it’s tricky, the way it trickles down.

You knew going with Barry was a bad choice, and you followed through for the sake of defiance.

You knew you shouldn’t have fed onto the fire when John first raised his voice, and you did so because you refused to let him walk all over you.

But was it worth it?

You sweep the floor over with a broom, the glass quickly mounting against the wall. Your feet are bleeding, your head is pounding from how much you cried, your back is sore from dragging Rafe everywhere, and you can feel the new bruises both John and JJ left you with already pulsing.

You lean your head against the broomstick, and close your eyes for a moment.

And then—Rafe.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sudden and suffocating. If you feel this bad, if your head is splitting open and your body is aching, how is he feeling? He wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t just reckless. He was a breath away from dying.

You clutch the broom tighter, fingers aching with the pressure, but the grip on your chest doesn’t ease.

Is he even awake yet?

Is he okay?

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe you should check.

But how would you check on him? You don't have his number. The person closest to him you can ask is Sarah, who you doubt Rafe would like to be aware of his drug mishap. And Barry, who does know, probably won’t be responding to anything from you for the next week or so.

You sit back down to take off your shoes and wonder.

It gnaws at you, the not knowing. You don’t care—at least, you tell yourself you don’t—but the weight of it settles in your chest anyway, coiling tighter the longer you sit still.

You should get up. Move. Do something other than dwell on the wreckage, both in your room and in your head.

So you try to force yourself into motion.

Your body protests as you pull yourself up, legs stiff, joints aching. You peel off last night’s clothes, wincing as the fabric sticks to your skin, a mix of dried sweat, salt, and blood. The shower is lukewarm at best, John still hasn’t fixed the heater like he promised, but it rinses the worst of it away. You brace your hands against the tile, letting the water drum over the back of your neck, waiting for it to wash the rest of this feeling down the drain.

But it doesn’t.

By the time you're dressed, tugging your damp hair into something passable, the weight in your chest hasn't budged.

You pull open your dresser and grab your uniform, the cheap fabric wrinkled from being shoved into a drawer.

You should be thinking about work—about the bus you have to get in 5 minutes, about the lunch rush, about the heat in the kitchen, about whether Kiara will be on shift today and if she’ll look at you like she doesn’t remember the talk you had three days ago.

But instead, you think about Rafe.

About how easily he could have died.

About how no one else knows.

About how, if he had, you would’ve been the last person to see him alive.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a cigarette, a distraction, anything to pull your mind somewhere else.

You’ve given in to the nicotine cravings as you run about the empty living room, looking for your keys. You have your father to thank for your smoking habit, he smoked maniacally ever since you could remember, but the reason poverty hasn’t forced you to go cold turkey a long time ago is JJ. —Your house might be empty of food, and maybe you’re behind on the light bill and the city shuts down your power again, but if there are two things JJ and John keep in stock around the place, those things are cheap beer and marlboro lights.— You fish a cigarette from a half-smoked package on the counter, struggling with the lighter for a while before you finally give up and use the stove.

You think you’d be a little more relieved when the chemicals finally start sinking in, but your eyes catch the door just as you inhale. JJ’s shoes are still sitting beside it.

He hasn’t left.

You look around for a moment, mind slowly drifting back to the blonde. But you don’t let yourself linger there. Instead, you grab your keys and slip out the door before you can bump into him.

Public transport in the Outer Banks is less than stellar. Everyday you commute with at least 70 other people, just as broke and anxious as you are, in that crammed bus: the single line that goes from anywhere near your house to about a 20 minute walk away from The Wreck.

It’s a miracle anyone ever found a place to sit, and of course, no divine intervention permitted that miracle ever happen to you. So you spend the half an hour ride standing on your cut up feet, to prepare yourself for the next eight hours of running around in that stuffy kitchen, listening to Anthony, the head Chef, and his inexorable screaming, and Mr. Carrera’s endless scolding of the kitchen’s staff’s time.

The air inside The Wreck’s kitchen is thick with the scent of seared meat and butter, the hum of the ventilation system barely cutting through the clatter of knives against cutting boards and the sharp hiss of oil meeting raw protein. The moment you step through the swinging doors, the heat slams into you, clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Willis is already at his station, sleeves rolled up, hands working quickly over a slab of beef. He doesn’t look up as he calls out. – Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you Routledge?

You sling your bag into your locker, ignoring the jab. – Morning to you too, hon.

He snorts, finally glancing up. – Barely. – There’s a glint in his eyes, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. The look he gets when he wants to gossip.

– Go ahead, Will. Spill it.

It’s early enough that the kitchen is still in its controlled chaos phase —everyone moving, prepping, getting ready for the inevitable hellstorm of the lunch rush. You grab your apron, tying it tight around your waist, and wash your hands before heading to your station. The prep list is long, but that’s nothing new.

– There’s nothing to spill. – He hums. – Unless you know something. – Willis mutters as you start working, his knife gliding through a rib rack with practiced efficiency, you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for the bomb to drop. – Boss is in a mood. Apparently his daughter didn’t come home last night.

– Kie? – He hums in agreement. You wonder why.

– I heard the two of them arguing in the back this morning. He was talking about a boy driving her here. It’s not your brother, is it? Aren’t they friends?

– John has a girlfriend.

Willis laughs knowingly. – That never stopped anyone. – You force yourself to smile back at him, though it's the last thing you want to do. – Anyway. Don’t get in his way today. You know he’s already iffy on you.

– Well, there go my plans for the morning! – You mutter, and he chuckles, passing his cut over to you. The conversation’s over. But his words still echo in your mind.

You're thankful for the work, for once. The familiar motions take over—seasoning, basting, trimming fat, getting everything ready to be fired later. The methodical nature of it helps, the repetition keeping your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.

The doors swing open, and Kiara walks in with an empty tray balanced on her hip.

The noise of the kitchen swallows whatever she says to another server, but you feel her gaze before you see it. When you glance up, your eyes meet for just a second—hers unreadable, yours careful— before you turn back to your work. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth dredging up in the middle of prep.

Hours slip by in a steady churn of orders, the quiet build of the morning shifting into the controlled chaos of the rush. By noon, the kitchen is swamped, the air thick with steam and stress. Anthony's voice cuts through the din, barking orders as plates fly from station to station. Your hands move on autopilot, flipping steaks, checking temperatures, slicing roasts. Willis works beside you, muttering curses under his breath every time an order gets sent back for modifications.

Then, the ticket comes in.

You don’t read it at first, just reach for the next cut of meat, eyes scanning the details like second nature. Roast dish, standard sides. Peanut-glazed roast chicken.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the words sticking out. It’s been a while since you saw that dish being ordered, you were almost sure they took it out of the menu. The request is simple enough, nothing unusual. But something about it needles at the back of your mind.

You push the thought aside, refocusing. Just another plate in the middle of the rush. Another ticket among dozens.

Nothing to worry about.

You get to work on the glaze. The sauce pan is already waiting on the stove, a thin layer of oil shimmering in the heat. You move fast, scooping a generous spoonful of peanut butter into the pan, letting it loosen and melt as you stir.

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of honey. The scent blooms instantly—sweet, nutty, rich. You reach for the rice vinegar next, just a touch to cut through the heaviness. Then, garlic, grated fine, barely a whisper of sharpness underneath the smooth layers of flavor. The heat coaxes everything together, the sauce thickening, darkening, turning glossy as you work.

A final stir, a taste.

It’s perfect.

The timer dings. You pull the chicken from the oven, the skin crisped and golden, the juices pooling at the edges of the pan. With a practiced hand, you brush the glaze over the surface, the deep amber sheen soaking into the heat, clinging to the curves of the roast. Another minute under the broiler—just long enough for the sugars to caramelize, for the edges to darken into something tempting.

The moment it’s done, you move fast. A quick slice, checking for doneness. Then plating: the chicken settled onto a warmed plate, nestled against a bed of seasoned rice. A handful of crushed peanuts sprinkled over top, a sprig of fresh cilantro for contrast. Every detail placed with intention.

One last look.

Then the plate is up, Kie already reaching for it, her eyes drifting through you one last time. You watch over your shoulder as she carries it out, disappearing beyond the swinging doors.

It’s out of your hands now. But the feeling lingers. That quiet, nagging thought.

Something about this order doesn’t sit right.

You throw yourself into the rhythm of the kitchen, trying to drown out that nagging feeling with movement. There’s too much to do, too much heat, too much noise—no room for doubt. The oil hisses as you slide a seared steak onto a plate, the scent of garlic and thyme curling up with the steam. You reach for a handful of fries, tossing them onto the side, then move on, wiping down the station before plating the next order.

Your hands are steady, but your mind isn’t.

It’s stupid. It’s just a dish. But something about it lingers, sticks to you like the grease on your skin.

– Hey, – Willis speaks up from beside you, not looking up from the salmon he’s searing. – You got that worried look on your face again, what's going on?

You scoff, grabbing a garnish. – What, my thinking face? I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so pretty and all, but sometimes I do actually think.

He finally glances up, raising a brow. – Spill.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you reach for another plate. – I’m fine. Just wondering if we’ll make it through lunch rush without Anthony popping a vein.

Willis snorts. – Fat chance.

You flash him a smirk, hoping it looks convincing. It doesn’t matter, because before he can push any further the kitchen doors burst open.

The air shifts.

A new kind of heat floods the room—thick, charged, the kind that makes people tense without thinking.

Mr. Carrera stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the kitchen like a predator. – Who made the peanut-glazed chicken?

The words slice through the chaos like a knife through flesh.

You freeze for half a second—just half. But Willis notices. His gaze flicks to you, sharp, before you even turn to face Mr. Carrera.

Your throat is suddenly dry. – I did.

Mr. Carrera moves. Storms down the kitchen like a bull with a target, weaving through stations without breaking stride. The space around you tightens, the air sucked out of the room.

Willis takes a step back. He’s not going to get in the way of this.

No one is.

And then—he’s there.

Standing in front of you, looming.

And you know, whatever this is, whatever you missed, it’s bad. – You could’ve killed someone, Routledge. You know that?!

Your mind rushes.

You think of every step and every second you spent on that dish. Every spoonful of each spice, every condiment, every sauce. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, you paid more attention to it than to any of the other dishes you were making. – I don't understand, sir.

The kitchen remains a vortex, the noise of plates, the roar of fire, the shouts from the servers, they still echo again and again through the thick walls of the room, but none of the cooks make a sound.

They don't scream.

They don't curse.

They don’t ask.

They're all quiet, eyes drifting between you and their work.

– The customer you made that for. He has a nut allergy. You could’ve killed him, Routledge! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to convince him not to sue?!

You freeze.

For a moment, you want to laugh. You feel it coming up your throat, inching into your face in the way your cheek twitches. But you bite your tongue the last second.

– Did he eat it?

– We ought to be glad he didn't! Do you have any idea what could have happened if he had a reaction here?! How much money we would’ve lost?!

– He asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, sir. There was nothing else in the ticket. Just that. – Kie is standing by the door, looking over at the two of you. A couple servers look at her weird as they push through her. You can't read her face. —Concern, doubt, curiosity— Whatever emotion dances in her face remains shrouded in her attempt to keep it blank. – Kie was the one who rang it in. Right, Kie? The ticket said peanut-glazed roast chicken.

She doesn't even make a move to speak.

But her father is already shouting at you again: – You want to tell me that a man who is allergic to nuts would've asked for a peanut-glazed dish?!

You don't want to insult him.

You can't afford to lose this job.

But this conversation is getting more idiotic by the second. – It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, sir.

You’re not lying.

Your breaks are populated by the endless recollection of people who knowingly or not ask for dishes they're allergic to, then come back to make a scandal.

All the other restaurants you’ve worked at were the same.

But Mr. Carrera looks at you as if you had just spat on him. – What did you just say to me?!

– It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Anthony comes in, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms like he does whenever he wants to seem tough. – What’s happening?

You open your mouth, but the owner cuts in before you can utter a word. – Your cook just made a peanut dish for someone who is deathly allergic!

–You did what?! – It's a scolding, but he shouts it at you like a bark. You try not to shrink into yourself. – What the fuck is your problem, Routledge?!

– The customer asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, Chef! I just did what was written on the ticket!

You don't like the way your voice rises. The way it trembles slightly. But you can't help it. You feel your pulse starting to roar in your ears, the adrenaline that was already there making you shake.

– The customer did?! The customer that's allergic to fucking peanuts?!

Anthony's favorite past-time is wishing people choke to death on whatever they're allergic to. He says it at least once every shift. Yet he’s acting like it’s the most absurd thing he ever heard. Treating you like an idiot.

– You know better than anyone it’s not the first time this happened, Chef. – You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. You don’t know why they're going so hard on you. – Joey, – You’re calling for the pastry chef before you can help yourself. – Joey! Didn’t you just have to re-do the caramelized pineapple tarte because the customer was allergic to pineapple?

The freckled boy looks up from a dessert plating, and nods, but before his mouth opens, Mr. Carrera interrupts you again: – Don’t try to shift the blame here Routledge!

– I'm not shifting any blame! This isn’t anyone's fault! The ticket said Peanut-glazed roast chicken, so I got on my station and made a Peanut-glazed roast chicken! I can’t read the customer's mind!

– Don't start getting smart with me now, girl! You got the dish wrong and you don't want to admit it!

– I did what was on the ticket! That’s all I did!

You turn around, already looking over the tickets on the dashboard, but as soon as the paper is in your hand, someone yanks you back. – Don't turn your back on me!

– Look, Look here— This is the ticket!

– Don't talk back at me!

– I'm not! I'm just trying to show you—

– Take off that apron! – Your face falls. You look back at Anthony, his eyes widening for a split second under his thick black brows, but he remains there, naked arms crossed over his Chef's whites, not moving a muscle. – Take that apron off right now, Routledge!

– Mr. Carrera—You're stuttering. Head spinning. You don’t know where to look. – Please—

– Take it off!

– I need this job, sir, please. Please. I'm sorry—

– Take it the fuck off before I have security drag you out of here, Routledge! Take it off!

Willis places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back softly. You're shaking. His eyes shift as he looks at you as well, and only then you realize you were crying. How long has it been? Months, Maybe a year since you cried. And now you've done it three times within the span of 12 hours. – With all due respect, sir—

– I don’t need your due respect, Redfield. Get back to your work!

– Mr. Carrera… – He tries again.

– GET BACK TO WORK!

Willis retreats as soon as he's come forward.

– Please, please. I can’t lose this job. – You look at Anthony, then back at Mr. Carrera before the pity starts forming on the chef's face.

– Should've thought about that before you disrespected me!

– Michael, – Anthony's voice is level, the closest to pleading he'll ever come. Even he seems a little confused. – I can’t finish the day with a single Roast chef, half the orders go to them.

– Chef? This girl isn't a chef, Anthony! She's just a cook! A cook that clearly has no idea of what she's doing!

– Chef, please… – You're begging. You don't know what else to do.

– I won’t tell you another time, Routledge! Take that fucking apron off!

Anthony looks away from you as the screams echo around the kitchen. He shifts on his feet for a moment, almost as if he didn’t know where to go.

You reach for your back, undoing the double knotted bow you became so used to doing with shaky hands.

Mr. Carrera still looks at you expectantly after you lay the apron in his hands. – The uniform, Routledge.

You want to disappear. – I'm not wear—

– TAKE IT OFF!

You feel a dozen pairs of eyes on you.

The tears that fall from your eyes feel like acid as they run down your face, more and more constant as humiliation sears you from the inside out.

Your fingers reach for the black buttons of your chef's white. You had stolen a couple buttons from your dad's old suit to fix this uniform, when they tore at the beginning of this year, before he’d disappeared.

It's fitting that, even if spirit, he's here to watch you be scrutinised.

You can just hear him now:

“What’d you think would happen?”

The cheap fabric scrapes against the bruises on your arms. The fainter bruises around your neck, where JJ had grabbed you, in full display.

“You should've known better” He would say.

You can't say you're glad for the less revealing sports bra you're wearing. Because you feel as if you're standing, naked, in front of these men when you finally pull the coat off.

“Can't say I'm surprised”

– Get out of my kitchen, Routledge. – Kie's father's voice is a blade. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see him look at you. – I better not see you when you come to get your things.

You barely muster the strength to whisper a “yes sir” before he pushes past his daughter, out into the salon again.

Anthony holds your coat. His pity burning holes into your skin. – Routledge—

You don't let him finish it.

You just raise your hand, holding down a sob, and say – I'm sorry, chef.

The door doesn't hit you on the way out, but it feels like the world has crumbled around you as you sit down on the concrete and sink your head in your hands.

You sink onto the curb, your knees knocking together as you fold in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your middle like you can hold yourself together by force. But it’s useless. You feel hollowed out, like a pit has been scooped from your chest, leaving only raw, open air where something solid used to be.

The sounds of the restaurant leak out onto the street—laughter, clinking plates, the rhythm of a dinner rush you are no longer a part of. The life you've had for three years, ripped away like it had never belonged to you in the first place.

JJ's words are the ones that echo in your mind now: "They always win, don’t they? They always win and we're left to scrap by."

You stare down at your hands, your fingers stiff, still curled like you’re gripping something, though there’s nothing there. Nothing left. The buttons, stolen from your father’s suit, glint dully in your palm. You try to close your fist around them, but they press into your skin, sharp, biting. A cruel joke. Even the things you steal for yourself are taken back in the end.

The back of your throat burns, tight and aching. Your breath stutters, and for a second, you think you might stop crying—but you don’t. You can’t. Instead, the grief settles, thick and choking, pressing against your ribs, your skull, crushing you from the inside out.

You tilt your head back, staring up at the sky, searching for something—anything—to ground you, but the sky is smudged, blurred, swallowed by the glow of a city that’s barely there. There’s nothing up there. Just empty space stretching forever, indifferent to the small, insignificant thing you have become.

Have always been.

And then—your father’s voice again. Not real, but real enough.

“Is this what you thought would happen? Did you really think you could keep up?”

Your nails dig into your palms. You know you should move. Get up, go home, figure out what comes next. But you stay where you are, stuck in this moment, in this feeling. Stripped down, exposed, like a wound left open to the air.

A car rumbles past, the headlights flashing over you. And for one terrible, fleeting second, you think about standing up—stepping forward—just enough.

But then it's gone. The thought, the headlights, the car.

You exhale shakily. Pull your knees closer. And keep sitting there.

A sound cuts through the noise—sharp, distant. Your name.

You don’t move at first. The world around you is muffled, drowned beneath the weight pressing against your ears, the thick, suffocating quiet that only grief can bring. The restaurant’s noise hums at the edges of your senses, blurred and detached, as if you are hearing it from underwater.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has unraveled, slipped through your fingers like the buttons in your palm.

Your name again, firmer this time. A presence at the edge of your vision.

Slowly, you lift your head.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his Range Rover parked in the shadowed corner of the lot. The keys dangle from his hand, catching the light. He’s smiling—like he always does, like this is nothing, like you’re just two people crossing paths on an ordinary night.

But then he sees you.

Sees your face.

And his smile vanishes, something darker flashing through his face.

[1d1195]

I am in love with hockeyrry 😍🥰 he's my literal dream and this story is so fucking FUNNY and ADORABLE I can't stand it (I can). Please don't apologize for writing more parts 😂 I would read 100 more! I've reread this story every day since you started posting 😅 how bout a sneak peak into part 3🙃

I am HIGH KEY in love with him too 🤭 I'm so glad you are loving it! Funny is so sweet, that's honestly the best compliment!!! Thank you so so much! I'm not sure about 100 parts, but we'll start with 4 or 5 I think!! 🤭💕

xoxo

(And a sneak peek you say? 👀)

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards facing her holding his hands out for comfort. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps,” he explained. He watched her feet. “Y’okay?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He tightened the hold of her hands and pulled her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s easier to balance.”

He grinned softly. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued skating in front of her backwards.

“How do you skate backwards?”

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry,” she sighed.

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life,” he told her.

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice."

[lususnatura]

blamore when he's in love with someone is like the epitome of ' how deep is your love. ' and honestly, in addition to that song being a banger (the bee gee's has made a lot of those in my opinion though NGL LOL), i say this because it really is that lover who silently wants their partner to give them ALL of their love and who is that ride or die whom won't let anyone break them down + will always have a 'it's both of us versus the world' mindset.

because whenever it comes to love... it is all or nothing with blamore. which means he will be completely devoted to whoever this partner at the time may be, and will kind of have an unspoken expectation that they'll also be devoted to him, but in a very sweet way like twin-flames or something. Because, and don't tell it i said this (nahhh, i'm just kidding around with y'all LOL i know he isn't real ofc but you know the vibes), the plant-hybrid is sort of a romantic deep down

[mysticlael]

Bat inco quotes

Roy, in Jason’s bed: Morning… how’d ya sleep last night? Jason, knocking Roy off: WHAT THE HELL?! Roy: Ow— Jason: What were you doing in my bed? You were supposed to sleep on the air mattress on the floor! Roy: I had a nightmare. Jason: You had a nightmare? What are you, five years old? Roy: Listen, I needed to feel comfortable and I was getting this perverse power dynamic vibe from me sleeping on the floor and you sleeping up there- Jason, in a royal accent: Why yes, how high and mighty I am up on my twin XL! Roy: That is not what I meant— Jason: Silence in the presence of your king, who sleeps a lofty twelve and a half inches above the ground! Roy: Listen, I’m not ashamed. I slept comfortably when I got up on your bed and I’m sure you did too. Jason: Yeah, okay- Roy: You know what? I wanna know. How’d you sleep last night? Jason: …That was the best I’ve slept in a while. Roy, gasping: The king slept comfortably with a peasant in his bed! Jason: I did not consent to this- Roy, dramatically: But my liege, our love is forbidden! Jason, on the phone: Hi, is this the front desk? Yeah, there’s a bed bug in my room and he’s five-foot-eleven, he’s got red hair- Roy: Ask them if they have one of those “Do Not Disturb” signs. I’ll put it on the door next time we… do it. Jason: Okay, I'ma go shower and wash all of the you off of me. Roy: Oh, maybe together we could— Jason: NO. Roy: Just to save water— Jason: No! You don’t even pay for the water! Roy: …Good point.

Steph: *Texts a selfie to the group chat* Hey besties!! Jason: *Texts a selfie clearly parodying Steph's* hey besties !!1! Steph: I literally hate you so much.

Dick, holding a box of Lunchables: Ah, I loved these when I was your age… fine dining. Damian: Fix yourself.

Tim: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Steph: 'Prettiest Smile' Dick: 'Nicest Personality' Jason: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Cass: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Steph: Today at 7 am, Tim poured a Monster energy drink in their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Dick: I watched Tim brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm. Damian: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

Damian, carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day? Bruce: … Bruce: What’s in the box? Damian: What woul- Bruce: Damian, what’s in the box? Damian: I think you know.

Bruce: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Damian: Even better! Bruce: What the fuck did you- Damian: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.

Tim: What are we gonna do?! Jason: Blame you?

*Dick comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Barbara’s bedroom.* Barbara: Dick, are you.. coming to bed? Dick: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend. Dick: *Lies on the ground and falls asleep* Barbara: ...

Roy: sapnu puaS. Kori: What?? Jason: What language is that? Roy: Turn your phone 180 degrees. *Roy was removed from the groupchat*

Kon, admiring a sleeping Tim: You’re so cute. Tim, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Kon, lovingly: I know.

Duke: How do those little boys on XBOX parties always know what slur to call you? Tim: They're empaths.

Steph: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Dick: No, that's not how you make cookies. Duke: FLOOR IT!! Jason: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Damian: YOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Steph: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Tim: DO IT! Bruce: NO-

Tim, at Kon: Would you like to stay for dinner? Bernard, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?!

Damian: What the fuck is with english teachers and being like; "write a story about a deep and personal memory that impacted your life". Ma'am, if I do that you're going to send me to the counselor's office.

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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[screampied]

i’m obsessed with ur fics and want to live inside your pretty little brain, you just write jjk characters so well 🫠

recently i’ve been thinking about choso having a bad day or something and just wanting to be taken care of, so now you’re nursing him while you jerk him off and he’s a whiny moaning mess and it’s so cute and when he thinks you’re done with him you get on top and ride him and he’s begging you to stop bc he can’t take anymore pleasure :( like i’m sick over this i need him so bad

❤︎ ໋𓈒 pleasing choso after a long day.

warnings. fem! reader, overstim, jerking choso off, pampering choso bc he deserves it, whiney choso, cowgirl, creampıe, praise, mdni + thank u sm !!!

“. . please,” choso would murmur in a frail weak tone, he sounded so drowsy, so needy. he’s barely through the door before he wraps his strong bulky arms around you. you giggle, being squished between his warmth before he buries his face into your neck. he gently runs his tongue against your collarbone before continuing to speak in muffled sentences. “missed you so bad. had a long day ‘n just need to . . need to unwind.”

you smile, stroking his back lovingly. “aw, bad day today, ‘cho?” you’d sweetly reply, feeling him shudder from your touch alone. despite you being so gentle, he was always so incredibly weak around you, including a simple few electric touches from you. “of course baby, i’ll help you.”

“can….you help me um,” and he’s struggling to get the words out. the two of you were finally secluded together in the large spacey bedroom. choso’s laid back, shirtless and heavy heaving breaths depart from his lips every few seconds. the more you stare at him the more he finds it hard to swallow the growing lump in his throat. “can you do the thing? like last time?”

you giggle, glancing at the poking tent in his boxers. “a handjob, baby?”

“…handjob,” he repeats, his eyes softening before a mere whine escapes from his throat. “oh … yeah, that. please,” and his lungs felt so clouded. with a hand running through his hair, he sighs cutely. “yes p-please. i wanna handjob. i’d do it myself but you always do it better, p-princess.”

choso was so cute, the way he was basically putty underneath your hands..

his words always trembled, he wanted you more than anything. he was always like this whenever he came home, so needy each and everytime for nothing more than your simple addicting touch.

“okay,” you’d comply, just a single word that pours from your lips alone was so seductive to him. he could listen to your voice all day. it was his own type of harmony, a song he’d love to listen to every day on repeat if he could.

your voice.

you reach beside him near the black short nightstand, grabbing a lube bottle before making sure to not waste any time.

you could tell by choso’s dilated pupils and his irregular rapid pants that he was growing more and more impatient as the time passed.

“wanna feel you s-so bad,” he whimpers, tensing a little from the way your hand springs out his length, lubricating around his pulsating cock.

you always made sure to be thorough— slicking every inch of him down with the liquid, starting from his swollen tip, then down towards his shaft, then his base. of course, his balls too. whenever you fondled with his fat puffy balls, choso would make such the cutest whines imaginable. “f-fuck, m-more. hurry, princess.”

“baby, don’t rush me,” you tease, sitting right beside him before pressing a sweltering hot kiss against his temple. he whimpers at your touch yet again, the softness of your lips having him in utter shambles. you made sure to have your dominant hand pay close attention towards the head of his dick, the most neglected sensitive spot. he inhales then exhales, gnawing at his lip before dark eyes of his stares up at the idle ceiling fan. “mhm. you’re so pent up, must have had a really rough day, hm?”

“so h-horrible,” he pouts, despite his voice being naturally deep and a bit gruff, the delivery of how whiney he was was just so cute. “i’m just glad i always come home to you. y-you always know how to make me feel better.”

you simper, your hand finally fully wrapping around his base before you start to give him a few solid pumps.

he moans, thickly swallowing the remnants of sweet syrupy spit that remain all in his mouth.

so so good..

you drove him crazy in the right ways possible. choso felt a sudden ringing sensation rigorously vibrate throughout his ears. he felt hot all over, radiating with a staggering high temperature of scorching boiling heat.

the tempo you had with jerking him off was a decent pace at first, gradually fisting his cock with each concise stroke—you occasionally glance up at choso who’s panting up a storm. “. . . . ugh,” he mewls out through gritted teeth, a hand of his own attempting to grab towards yours. “i wanna touch you t-too.”

“no choso,” you sneer, moving his hand away.

oh, the pout that suddenly spreads across his lips was so cute.

he’s giving you puppy dog eyes as if he’s questioning you a perplexed little, ‘huh?’ whilst you’re still stroking him at such a quickening pace, you make sure he keeps his hands to himself. “you wanted me to touch you, not choso, ‘kay? let me do everything, be a good boy for me.”

“i-i’m sorry, sorry,” he mutters in short breaths, finding your tone to be so hot. the twitch he feels in his dick only gets him more aroused. for a split second, you feel a vein that ran down the middle of his shaft pulse against your palm. “you’re right. ‘m gonna let you please me. gonna be a good boy ‘n keep my hands to m-myself.”

you peck a kiss against his hot cheek. “so good for me.”

“p-praise me more, please.” he whines.

“choso,” you giggle, and he was more needier than usual today. his voice grew a bit more high the faster you stroke him—his beefy thigh starts to bounce and bounce before he’s leaning back in pleasure. “you want more praises?”

he nods. “i- i do, your voice ‘s so hot, so s-sexy,” and his breathing abruptly hitches once you give him a sly smile. “not the right word, that was inappropriate— i- i mean, attractive. your voice when you praise me ‘s so attractive, i want more.”

the way he corrects himself from his choice of words was adorable.

whenever you gave choso a handy though, he’d never really last long regardless. choso would usually only last a few good minutes, especially with your hand work, your techniques.. he was simply no match.

“i’ll praise you all day, baby,” you whisper, watching as he’s feeling himself get close. he’s so desperate to touch you. he wants to, to stroke himself with you, wrap his big hand against yours. choso bites his lip in anticipation— feeling how he’s steadily losing composure. immensely, he starts to feel his throat grow dry, the air felt richly thick and he starts to get more and more vocal. “close?”

“uh huh, uh huuh,” he nods, pretty long lashes of his squeezing shut. choso’s about to fall into that trance again, your speed had him losing his mind. in his mouth, he starts to salivate. you’re so steady and precise with your beats and pumps against his cock that he’s about to spiral completely. “princess, ‘m gonna make a mess. you’re gonna make me m-messy again.”

“be messy for me then,” you invigorate to him against his ear, playfully licking a stripe near the soft outer shell of his lobe. he shivers at that, so sensitive. again, if it was anything that could be considered as choso kamo’s weakness— it was your voice. “give it to me, c’mon ‘cho.”

he’s so hard, his dick was all slick and wet from the translucent colored lube running down the sides of his hefty shaft.

a shaky breath snatches out of choso’s mouth before his abs tense up.

a hand goes through his hair before he feels the pressure finally hit him. “shit, s-shitttt,” he whines, feeling the area of his frenulum pulse and pulse. he’s seeing pure splotches of white— once his climax comes, it takes merely everything out of him. static shoots out from his ears and he lets off a cute shriek. “a-ah.”

you stare at the mess he’d just paint on himself. a few spurts of his own sticky cum shoots against his tummy, right near his lower abdomen. choso’s eyebrows significantly lower before he lets off a cute, “phew..”

“want more?” you coo, unraveling your hand around his dick before staring at him— he returns your gaze with half-lidded dark eyes.

he nods, panting off a sweet desperate. “yes please.”

choso figured you were gonna stroke him off again, but his eyes briefly widen once you end up up making your way onto his lap. straddling him in such a lewdly titillating way, he gulps. the ringing throughout his ears reverberates louder before you align yourself against the wet tip of his cock.

he was so aroused, so needy, so in love..

being a half curse spirit— he’s never got to fully experience types of pleasure like this.

albeit, he was always grateful to you for being able to show him everything he was missing out on though. with his bottom lip quivering, he gasps once he feels you slowly sinking down onto his length, feeling the warm pool of heat introduce itself to his cock that’s gradually splitting you open.

“oh…..fuck,” he’d groan, and at this particular point, his voice grows a raspy low. hooded eyes stare at you, studying your every move. from fixating his pupils on your hips, your chest, and even your face— he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “y-you’re gonna ride me?”

“yes baby,” you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a deep sensual kiss. he’s panting, each breath feels like it’s gonna be its last with you. warm tongues tangle and tango amongst each other before you briefly suck on his. a whine pulls from his throat before he feels your hips start to jerk.

abruptly, choso pulls away, whimpering a sweet. “can— can i touch you now at least? please. f-fuck, can’t take it anymore princess.”

“touch me however you’d like, pretty boy,” you’d speak in a hushed tone, licking another long strike against his neck. he was so sensitive, his eyes were practically about to roll all the way back by this point. you’re easing your sloppy cunt down onto his length and his roughly textured hands grab against your hips. choso then spanks your ass, only to give it a mean squeeze afterward just to see you gasp. “like touching me, huh?”

“y-you know i do,” he pouts, feeling the deep stretch. it was so so good— mouth watering, a perfect way to describe his mouth at the feeling of your pussy taking him in in such a sloppy, erotic way. already, you were a bit soaked from earlier, coating his base with a candied gossamer ring of your slick arousal. “my god, my g-goddd.” he throws his head back once you start to move against him.

a few solid rhythmic thrusts and choso kamo was done for.

he stuffs you full of inches, you lean up close to his face to plant your lips against the bridge of his nose— softly smooching against the area where his darkened scar remained. pink wet lips of his quaver from that simple action and his grip against your hips only tightens.

clammy, sweaty hands guide your hips to fuck against him harder before his head leans back. “fuck me, f-fuck me, jus’ fuck me pleaseeee. can’t c-cum, don’t think i can come anymore.”

choso becomes more whiny, his voice starting to strain overtime and you feel your stomach briefly seizing from how deep he’s hitting you.

relentlessly, you’re moving against him so good that not even he can keep up with you. your pussy’s the perfect match for him, fitting nice and snug like a lock fits inside a key.

oh, but the grip..

the grip of your sopping wet cunt against his dick was so appetizing, he only wanted more. more more more, the squelching noises had him feral and by now, with a tight enough grip he’s helping you slam down against his lap. “hah, can’t . . ‘m not gonna cum again, baby, f-fuck. fuck me so good, i—i love you, love you ‘s much.”

“i love you too baby,” you moan yourself, pulling him back into a steamy kiss. his sweetened whines and whimpers pour right into your mouth, ravened strands of his hair sticking against his forehead like glue. choso was drenched in sweat, perspiring such amounts that it makes his skin glisten entirely. “yes you can,” you hum between sultry breaths, coating his entire face with your kisses. you watch as his eyebrows arch and he squeezes against your ass just a bit tighter. he loves the recoil— spanking your ass just to witness and see the jiggle, it had his dick twitching even more. “you can give me one more, know you can, baby.”

“f-fuck, you’re gonna make a mess outta me,” he whimpers. the way you grind against him has him going feral by the second. hot deep breaths wretch from his throat before his head goes back. he leans all the way back, washboard abs flexing and curling up. with a single finger of yours running down his sharp chiseled v-line, he nearly loses it. your touch, his ultimate weakness. “gonna c-cum again, ‘m gonna flood your pussy again, oh fuuuuck.”

with your arms still lazily thrown around him, choso hugs you tightly, pumping further into your gummy walls that clamp him down oh so good before he ends up cumming again. this time, inside. it’s so hot from the inside—your pussy was all toasty, balmy from every crevice of your walls and the addictive hold it has on him. he shoots a long thick rope into you, it comes out into satiny spurts, filling you up to the very brim.

choso’s reaction was so cute, he’s literally speechless, yet his grip against your ass doesn’t even lessen. his face was practically covered with strands of his hair, half lidded eyes and a pussy drunken smile curling against his thin crimson red lips. “i— oh my,” he hiccups, catching his breath for a moment. the entirety of his body felt a plethora of emotions— hot, cold, warm, all of it. for a moment, his eyes meet your gaze before he swallows, reaching down, swirling two fingers against your sloppy cunt. you moan, feeling him gather up a good amount of his own cum that oozes out of your hole before bringing it toward his lips. choso pops his fingers into his mouth, getting a good taste and he moans, still feeling himself deeply buried into your sweet cunt.

so filthy, tasting himself like that with no shame..

“taste okay?” you puff out, watching as he’s got his two digits stuffed all in his mouth. with a cute nod, he pulls you closer towards his broad chest before you slowly pull his fingers out his mouth. “good, because ‘m not done with you yet, baby. wanna see if you can give me one more. can you be a good boy ‘n do that for me?”

“i- i’ll be your good boy,” he pouts, moaning harmonically once your hips start to make haste, picking up again. “wanna be so good for you. promise i’ll give you one more. f-fuck, i love you.”

[kitten4sannie]

pairing: ex! san x fem! reader feat. wingman seonghwa and instigator mingi

genres: omg actual plot ??, exes to lovers, romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff, an attempt at humor, smut finale

summary: during a winter getaway with your friends, you end up having to come face to face with choi san, the man who broke your heart in two just last christmas.

w.c: 8.2k

tags: features the unholy trinity: misunderstandings/miscommunication/messiness, drama (i bring drama-ma-ma-ma~), alcohol use, mutual jealousy, mutual pining, lots of banter, third parties, poor sannie and reader are just two big dummies with even bigger hearts </3,, like 20 flashbacks (okay it’s like 2 but i like being dramatic sue me), too many winter analogies, insecurities, confessions, l bombs, tears, all that jazz

warnings: soft dom! san (literally the softest dom to ever exist IM SICK), subby! reader, pussydrunk san and cockdrunk reader (like these mfs are so desperate for each other it’s actually disgusting), dirty talk, pet names, praise, possessiveness, kissing, a lot of spit (leave me alone!!!), tit play, grinding, body worship, oral (receiving), passionate condomless lovemaking by the fire baybeeeee, breeding kink, bulge kink, creampies

a/n: so i listen to last christmas religiously every year and while i was jamming my hamster brain was like “WRITE WRITE WRITE” so i diddd and yeahh this happened??? lmao but fr this was the most fun i’ve ever had writing since feb filth fest…. like wtf. i gotta write plot forward fics more often this shit’s like a drug man. anyways i hope you enjoy my dear lovelies <33

*shoutout to my sweetheart bunbun @cottoncandy-girl for beta reading and hyping this fic up during the writing process. i would’ve second guessed myself twice as much if not for you. you’re a lifesaver!! mwah mwah ~~

song rec for the general vibe: last christmas by wham obv <3, fool by frankie cosmos, snowfall (slowed and reverb) by oneheart, know me by gemini, easily by bruno major, flowers and chocolate by eyedress

angst: pleaser by the wallows, do me right by gemini, homesick by wave to earth, cherie by hojean

smut: mice city by hotel ugly, between your thighs by jimmy brown, lock me in by hojean, touch by keshi, your love by brb

Masterlist

“Hey, Y/N,” your best friend began, walking around the side of your beat-up car to the trunk where you were busy shoving various suitcases and bags into the small space and trying to make them fit. “So, don’t get mad, but–”

With a case of wine bottles in hand, you slowly set it down on the lip of the trunk, side-eyeing your friend with the intensity of a thousand suns. It was so powerful, it’d probably melt the snow that had been falling around your feet for the past thirty minutes. “Why would I be mad? What’s going on?”

“Just breathe for me, okay?” she sighed, bringing a hand up to play with a few strands of her hair. “So, you know how Seonghwa’s coming up to the cabin with us?”

“Um, yeah…? I don’t care about you bringing your boyfriend with us, you know. Just let me know if you’re gonna fuck so I can put my headphones on,” you replied, lifting the case up and pushing it inside the empty space of the trunk, satisfied that your long game of tetris was finally complete.

She quickly waved her hands, shaking her head. “No, that’s not…” she started, taking in a deep inhale, before letting it out, a wave of condensation hitting the cold air between the two of you. “He invited…someone. Someone you know.”

You bent down into the trunk to move a few items around, making sure they wouldn’t collapse on each other. “Okay? I only know you and a few other people, bestie. Who could it possibly be–”

“It’s San,” she finally blurted out, her face scrunching up in anticipation of your reaction.

Once your ex was spoken into existence again, a flood of memories from the previous year bombarded your defenseless brain and heart, causing you to stand up so quickly, you hit your head on the edge of the trunk lid.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” your friend gasped, already at your side, helping you stand up straight and placing her hand on the one you had held against the back of your head.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. I think that fixed me actually. Ready to head out?” you chimed, giving her a thumbs up with your keys in hand, stumbling a bit in place, your vision fading out slightly.

Sighing, your friend reached for the keys. “Yeah, I’m driving.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Your friend pulled her keys out of the ignition once she parked in a free space near the cabin you’d both be staying at, turning her head to observe the way you were playing with the drawstrings of your joggers, your lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Y/N, are you sure you’re okay? You know, we’re visiting everyone else later, so you can always stay at their cabin, if you’d like. It’s much bigger and has wifi, and definitely won’t have S–”

“I’m not a little bitch,” you suddenly whined, your eyebrows furrowed, your pout growing. “I can handle being in the same cabin with my dumbass ex, okay? I don’t even care that he’s here, actually.”

She nodded her head knowingly, giving you a gentle smile. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable, please. And if he starts up with one of his…unique personalities, tell me or Seonghwa, alright? He knows how to handle him.”

“I can handle him myself. There’s plenty of snow for me to toss him into, or some flames if our cabin has a fireplace,” you muttered, too stubborn to admit that your heart would most likely explode as soon as you had the displeasure of witnessing his disgustingly handsome face and charming dimpled smile.

Your friend shook her head slightly, unable to keep from smiling in your direction. “There is a fireplace, yeah.”

You sighed contentedly, admiring the expanse of dense snow, the sundry of oversized pine trees, the far away mountains covered in white, and the cluster of cozy-looking cabins beyond the frosted windshield. “Finally, some good news.”

Once you both got to the front steps of the cabin you’d be staying at, your arms full of the items that you could bring from the car, the front door swung open, almost giving you a heart attack on the spot.

“Baby, you’re here!” Seonghwa gasped, pulling your friend into his arms when she set her stuff down on the porch and spinning her around in a small circle, his eyes twinkling with pure adoration.

Once Seonghwa acknowledged your presence with a warm greeting, you stood off to the side while your friend and Seonghwa kissed and giggled with each other, your arms beginning to feel like jelly, wishing someone would just stamp the words “third wheel” on your forehead already.

“That looks heavy,” you heard someone say in a deeply familiar baritone voice, causing you to whip your head towards the origin, your wide eyes meeting San’s concerned coffee brown ones. “Do you want me to carry it in for you?”

“San,” you automatically blurted out, alarm bells going off, the mini versions of you running around in panic inside your head, your fingers clasping tighter around your things.

“Y/N,” he parroted back in the same cadence, already moving closer to you, his arms sliding underneath your belongings and holding them up with ease, his navy sweater doing nothing to conceal the solid mass of his arm muscles. “Is it like, misogynistic for me to carry your things?”

You opened and closed your hands, trying your get rid of the pins and needles. “No, I’d say it’s progressive since it’s a big dumb caveman carrying my things, so women: 1, patriarchy: 0.”

San offered you a dimpled smile, his wide shoulders scrunching up slightly, as a hearty laugh emanated from his throat. “Caveman, I like that. Should I go find a cave to explore?” He tilted his head, his eyes flitting between yours and your pleasing body line. “Maybe try to start a fire?”

Your heart leapt into your throat, forcing you to gulp it down. You sneered, already beginning to push past him to enter the cabin, only turning your head back to tell him, “Start a fire and jump inside, caveman.”

San smiled at you, seeing right past your act, watching you walk away, before turning his head to look at the two lovebirds still hugging on each other. “See that? She already gave me a pet name.”

❆ ❆ ❆

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping yourself down onto the surprisingly comfy mattress in the cozy guest room you were occupying, finally done with putting your clothes and toiletries away in their respective places, for the most part, also noticing that the violent hammering inside your chest had subsided.

And then your door opened.

“Yo, this cabin is pretty sick, right? It’s got a nice, cabin-ey feeling to it,” San announced, walking into your room and looking around like he owned the place. Typical San behavior. Whistling casually, he eventually headed over to your side of the bed, picking up a few skincare products that were sitting on your bedside table to study them. “Does this retinol shit really work?”

“Excuse me, but are you lost? This is my room,” you combated, not bothering to get up from the bed you were currently sinking into, simply turning on your back and lifting your head up slightly to glare at him.

“Bro.” San clutched his chest like you had just stabbed him directly in the heart, his eyebrows turning upwards, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Why do you act like we haven’t been inside each other?” He climbed onto the bed, looking down at you past his black bangs. “Matter of fact, I know you better than your little friend downstairs.”

You stared up at him, cursing yourself for wanting nothing more than to grab him by his stupid face and kiss him — but you wouldn’t, not after what he did. “You’re so gross.”

“Like in a sexy way, right?” he quipped, chuckling when you just shook your head. San slowly laid himself down beside you, looking up at the ceiling, reaching up behind his head and cupping the back of it to get more comfortable. “You didn’t argue against the fact that I know you better than your own self proclaimed ‘bestie’, you know.”

You let out a small sigh, resting your hands down at your sides, gripping the quilted blanket underneath you, your heart pounding inside your chest just like it did last Christmas. Did you ever fall out of love with him? Was that why your heart felt so stuck? Frozen in place? Like you had been waiting all this time for San to make it beat again? “Well, for once, you’re not wrong. I…let you in back then, obviously, so yeah, you know me better than she does. You know me better than anyone.”

San began to reach for your hand, hesitating for a second, not even realizing his walls were just as high. If only he could gather the courage to bring them down. “Y/N…”

You turned to look at San just as he turned his whole body towards yours, giving you one of his infamous gazes, his eyes closed ever so slightly, his lips parted, drawing in a breath. He lowered his hand, touching the top of yours, rubbing it with his thumb. “You know what else I know?”

Why did he have to do this to you? Just what the fuck was his problem?

“What, San?” you questioned underneath your breath, seconds away from losing it completely.

His eyes lost their playful twinkle, instead displaying sorrow. “Y/N, I–”

Seonghwa popped his head into the room. “Y/N, have you seen– Oh,” he deadpanned, displaying an oddly delighted smile for a split second, before his lips evened out. “We’re heading to the hang out now. It’s gonna snow pretty hard in a bit so it’s now or never.”

You both sat up from the bed, your cheeks burning like you had just been caught, well, inside of each other.

Seonghwa was about to say something when your friend walked up behind him and pulled him into whisper something, causing him to whisper back, the both of them nodding at each other.

You and San exchanged glances, before all four of you looked at one another. “Are you hiding things from me, pookie?” you gasped dramatically, grasping at your chest.

“No, I’d never hide anything from you, pookie wookie baby bear!” she cried back, running into the room and tackling you back down onto the bed.

San looked to Seonghwa, making grabby hands at him. “Where’s my hug?”

Seonghwa clicked his tongue, pointing at San’s thin sweater as it rose past his hips. “You better put on some more layers before we go, pookie bear. It’s cold as balls outside.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Instead of hanging out inside your friend’s friends’ cabin where the party was at, you loitered outside in the snow, building yourself a snowman. Maybe he’d stay by your side longer than the last one.

“Hey, what are you doing out here by yourself, ba–” San started, standing with his arm just barely pressing into yours, immediately clearing his throat, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. “Y/N, I mean, heh, sorry I’ve had a few drinks.”

You almost broke the empty beer bottle you were using as the snowman’s nose inside your hands from hearing San almost address you as baby, turning your head to look at the adorably goofy smile he had on his stupidly cute face. You bit your lip, wishing he would just say it, the layers of ice around your heart starting to crack. “I figured. Well, how come you’re out here with me, instead of shotgunning a beer or something with your caveman friends?”

Amused, San nodded his head, impressed by your ability to keep up with your shtick. “They’re too busy hanging around the fireplace, you know. The fire’s so pretty, they got distracted.” He grinned at you, grinning harder when you began to smile back at him, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of the giggle that escaped your lips. “I missed your giggle…missed you…” he murmured absentmindedly, pretending to stay busy by helping you round out the head of the snowman, while you stuck a rock into it where one of the eyes would be.

You dropped the other rock, standing still, feeling your mouth go dry. You racked your brain over his words, wanting to ask him why he didn’t stay with you in the first place if he was just going to miss you so much. You missed him too. You wanted him to know.

By the time you had made up your mind, San had picked up the rock and stuck it into the snow, completing the snowman’s face. “There we go. Mr. Snowman’s looking real nice.” He waited for a second, before turning to look at you with a concerned pout. “He’s not cuter than me, right?” When you didn’t respond, he blinked, leaning in. “Y/N?”

Instead of responding, you found yourself wrapping your arms around San’s neck, pulling him into a hug. You didn’t even say anything — you just focused on feeling his warm body against yours, recalling what it felt like to be his. His baby. If only he would just say it.

“Baby…” he whispered just under his breath, so carefully, like he risked the chance of causing an avalanche if he spoke any louder, gently rubbing your back in circles, automatically resting his head on the top of yours like he did last year. “What’s this about?”

“I don’t know, I just–” you murmured into his chest, your own about to collapse in on itself from hearing what he said, hugging onto him a little tighter than before, wishing things were different. “I…I think I’m drunk…”

“Oh…” San replied, swallowing harshly, only pulling away once you started to. He tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, giving you a concerned look. “You should come back inside and drink some water, then. Seonghwa was right to tell me to check up on you.”

Your face fell slightly, the bottle that was stuck inside the snowman drooping inside the melting snow as if it was mirroring your disappointment. “You…only came out here because Seonghwa told you to?”

“Well, I mean, he was the one that noticed you were gone, so he just thought I should make sure you were okay, yeah…” San explained, rubbing his arm.

You nodded your head, a soft smile returning to your face, not wanting San to see the hurt you felt, not yet, anyway. You were still able to hide it as of late. “That’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, Hwa’s a sweetie,” San mused, noticing the sad snowman, reaching out to fix the position of the beer bottle. “Too bad he’s taken, otherwise I’d be wifing him up and giving him the exclusive Choi San Caveman Experience. There’s a trademark on that, by the way.”He gave you another goofy smile, his smile growing when you offered him a few small giggles.

“I think you need water more than I do,” you mentioned, gently punching his arm.

San chuckled, his smile softening, wanting to say so much more than just, “You might be right.”

After a few seconds of too much silence, and too much yearning for an important conversation to take place, you instead pointed to the lively cabin behind you. “You should go get some. I’ll be back inside soon.”

“Okay, sounds good.” He put his hands back into his pockets, lingering there for a moment, before heading back inside.

You stood there for a while, watching the makeshift nose of the snowman begin to droop again, before you reeled your foot back and kicked into the base of the snowman, watching it topple over and fall apart.

❆ ❆ ❆

You lingered near the spiked punch bowl that sat inside the corner of the cabin’s empty kitchen, drinking down a solo cup’s worth of the fruity beverage and tossing the cup into the sink, not noticing another person’s presence until you turned to the side and bumped your nose into their broad chest. “Oh, shit– I’m sorry,” you apologized, backing up a bit to see that you had ran into no one other than Song Mingi, the man you had trauma dumped and cried to for an hour before having mindless rebound sex with after San dumped you. “Min, hey. Long time, no see.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you again. Very nice,” Mingi mused, taking a long sip of his drink, just studying you with his amused, half-closed eyes, pointing upwards with his finger. “What are the odds of this?”

“Hm?” Your eyes followed where he was pointing until your gaze settled on the mistletoe that hung from the doorway above the two of you, a memory of the past immediately lighting up the insides of your brain like the flash of a camera, the snapshot still fresh in your subconscious as though it had never faded in the first place, much like your feelings for San — but who were you to admit that to yourself?

“Jesus, what is with people and mistletoe?” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your itchy christmas sweater, ready to shield your eyes so you didn’t have to look at the two people vigorously making out underneath the red berries that were hung from the ceiling of the crowded cabin.

San hovered near you, running a hand through his hair, his eyes studying your scrunched up, flushed face, wondering how you could be so cute. “The origin of mistletoe is actually really romantic, y’know.” Once you met his gaze, his lips curled into a smile, his dimples making an appearance.

You gripped onto your sweater sleeve, smiling softly back at him, your annoyance fading. “Tell me about it then, Mr. Historian.”

San’s eyes sparkled at your reaction, his shoulder gently pressing into yours as he brought his drink up to his mouth. “Mistletoe has always been able to survive in the harshest of winters. Even when everything’s frozen…” When he lowered his hand, the side of his pinky touched yours, sending warmth into the both of your bodies. “….it still finds a way to bloom.”

You took in a quick breath, having to look down at your feet before your heart burst out of your chest as an unintentional ode to Alien and ruined the annual Christmas party. “I didn’t peg you as a hopeless romantic, San.”

“I’m full of surprises, baby.” San hummed, gently taking your chin in his grasp and pressing a kiss to your lips, giggling delightedly as you buried your scorching face into his chest, his heart pounding, wanting nothing more than to show you just how hopelessly in love he was with you, but too afraid to grant you access to the very intense, very full extent of it, let alone himself.

He was full of surprises, so full of them that he was able to show such a meaningful display of love to you and still break up with you on the very same night, with little to no explanation, just a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ Choi San was truly an enigma — one you cursed yourself for still wanting to grasp, to hold, to forgive.

You looked down at Mingi’s drink only for him to motion for you to take it, immediately downing the punch until you were sucking on an ice cube and crunching it between your teeth, satisfied with the buzz coursing through your body, bitterness still seeping its way in your veins. You knew that what you were about to do wouldn’t make you feel any better, but you did it anyway, grabbing Mingi by the collar of his ugly Christmas sweater and smashing your lips against his. What you didn’t know, however, was that San was standing at the end of the hallway, with his hand in his coat pocket, there to witness how Mingi pressed you into the wall.

❆ ❆ ❆

Your friend slowly inched her way towards you from across the brightly lit, festively decorated living room full of your boisterous acquaintances having a battle with each other to determine who could be the loudest, drunkest individual in the room. Currently, it was San, unsurprisingly, who had a beer in one hand while hugging onto the obscenely large Christmas tree in the middle of the room. You couldn’t tell exactly what song he was singing, but you were pretty sure it was a romantic, mostly cheesy pop ballad from the 80s.

“Having fun?” your friend gauged softly, sitting down on the sofa in the corner beside you, clinking her glass beer bottle against yours.

You shrugged, taking a few sips of the chilled beer, crossing one leg over the other. “I made out with Mingi earlier, so that was cool, I guess.”

“You what?” she gasped, pressing closer to you, grabbing your arm and shaking you. “Y/N, oh my god, that’s so —” Her gossipy tone turned into one of concern. “But what about San?”

“What about San?” you grumbled, internally annoyed that all you could think about was San when Mingi’s tongue was down your throat. “He probably already did the same thing, considering how torched he is.”

She sighed, sinking into the couch, very well aware of how San truly felt about you, last Christmas, and how much he wanted to turn things around. Of course she would know. She had to hear it from Seonghwa, who in turn heard it from San off and on for the entire year, but she wasn’t about to speak for him. He would have to do that himself.

“Are you going to play truth, dare, or drink with us?” Mingi suddenly asked you, leaning his hip against the side of the couch, causing you and your friend to look up at him.

“Ehh.” You shrugged your shoulders at him.

He put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it, feeling someone’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head, figuring San was watching the both of you from the tree, who indeed was, his hands tightening around his beer and the scratchy pine needles he was holding onto. “It’ll be more fun if you join in, Y/N. How bout it?”

You sucked on your teeth for a second, your eyes moving past Mingi to gaze at San across the room, who was now talking to a girl who had came up to him, your stomach sinking at the clear appearance of his dimples. Stupid caveman.

You stood up, fingers squeezing around your poor beer bottle. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

“Good, good,” Mingi replied, smiling absentmindedly, bringing his own drink up to his lips, as if he wasn’t aware of the disaster he was about to bring into fruition — and all for the chance that he could recreate the events of last year’s Christmas party. It led to him having a pretty, teary-eyed girl in his bed to take care of, after all.

❆ ❆ ❆

“Yo, I can’t believe — he actually — I can’t breathe,” someone gasped out in between soundless laughs, falling back into their chair along with their other friends, pointing at San as he trudged back into the cabin past the sliding door, clad in only a form-fitting pair of Christmas themed boxers, wiping some snow off of his shoulders, before immediately going for his mixed drink and tossing it back victoriously, one hand on his hip.

“You bitches really thought I wouldn’t do it,” San chuckled self-righteously, taking another sip, before letting out a low ‘aaah’. “Someone owes me 20 bucks. Which one of you was it?” He held up an accusative finger to one of the girls nearby, who giggled and held her hands up defensively. “It was you, wasn’t it? Give it up!”

The rest of the group laughed in response, drunkenly leaning into each other, gleeful smiles plastered on their flushed faces.

“San’s pretty lively tonight,” Seonghwa said near you, nudging you gently with his elbow. “It’s almost kind of cute, huh?” Poor man was out of the loop, but he was trying, bless his heart.

“Cute?” you muttered, raising an eyebrow at him. “He’s butt-ass naked at a Christmas party. He’s a grown man wearing boxers with candy canes on it. What on earth is cute about that?”

Seonghwa pursed his lips, side-eyeing you. “I don’t know, I just thought you’d agree with the way you’ve been staring at him all night.“

You almost choked on your spit, bringing a hand up to your hair to smooth it out. “Well, it’s hard to keep my eyes off of him when he’s being an annoying ass pick-me like that.”

“But you picked…him.”

“I did. Ages ago, Seonghwa,” you corrected him, watching San out of the corner of your eye, unable to believe that he was letting the girl slip a twenty directly into the waistline of his boxers. As soon as you looked down, San’s eyes were on you, his lips turning into a frown, immediately pushing the girl’s hand away when it lingered a bit too long, his eyes filled with bitter determination. “You know what he did to me. He spent all that time getting my hopes up all year long, only to hit me with the ‘i’m bad with commitment’ card before he left the party last year. That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

Seonghwa sighed in defeat, sinking back into his seat, biting at his lip. “I get what you’re saying, Y/N, I really do. It was unbelievably shitty for him to do that to you, but San…I think he really regrets it. All he talks about is you, Y/N.” Seonghwa turned to face you, gently touching your wrist. “He’s always loved you. He just doesn’t know how to verbalize it.”

You started biting at your lip too, simply listening to your friend’s words, wondering if there was any truth to them. It’s not like you were hearing them from San himself. That would be a different story — though you didn’t know if he was even capable of that kind of vulnerability. “I’d like to believe that, Hwa. I just…”

“Oh my god! With tongue? My virgin eyes!” someone gasped loudly at something, covering their eyes, their friends laughing at his dramatic performance.

“At least someone’s getting some,” Mingi chuckled, while eyeing you, currently holding up the same piece of mistletoe you had encountered together earlier, only this time someone else was under it. Someone that made you wish you had never even came up to the cabin in the first place.

“There’s no way…” you whispered to yourself, unable to take your eyes off of San, who was holding that same girl against him, his hands clutching her hips, his tongue halfway into her mouth by the time you got up from the couch and grabbed a water cup from the coffee table, determined to keep your tears inside your body before you stormed out, but you had to answer to your demons first.

“Y/N, he’s just drunk! He’s trying to make you jealous, okay? He’s being an idiot! Y/N, listen–” Seonghwa tried fruitlessly to reason with you, reaching for your wrist, only for it to slip out of his grasp as you made your way up to San and the unsuspecting woman.

Your bitter, frozen heart quelled you to toss the water at San, watching it splash onto the side of his reddened face, the shock of it sobering him up almost instantaneously, causing him to pull away from the woman and look at you, the weight of his faulty decisions hitting him square into the chest when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Y/N…I…I didn’t mean….I just…” Tears began to form inside his own eyes. “I just wanted you to see me.”

“I see you, San,” you whispered, your voice cracking underneath the weight of your emotional turmoil. “I’ve seen enough, actually.”

San froze in place, while what felt like cement sink to the bottom of his stomach, unable to get himself to stop you from grabbing a freshly opened bottle of booze from someone’s hands and walking away from him.

Your friend tried in vain to reason with you, getting hit with a death glare, before you stormed out. She turned to Seonghwa, whispering “Do something,” encouraging him to run over to San, grabbing him by the shoulders and temporarily keeping him upright.

“San, listen to me.”

San sniffled, his nose sporting a pink hue, as hot tears began to drip down his clammy face, sinking down to his knees, watching as Seonghwa sank down with him. “Seonghwa, I fucked up. I just wanted her to want me. I wanted her to get jealous and take what’s hers. I didn’t know how– a-and her, and Mingi– I just thought maybe if I–”

Seonghwa shook San a bit, his nostrils flaring, his fingers squeezing into his friend’s trembling shoulders. “Get a grip and listen to me!” As soon as San took in a shaky breath and let it out, Seonghwa cleared his throat. “You’re going to put some fucking clothes on, nut up, and go after her. It’s now or never.”

San wiped his eyes, trying to control his breathing. “B-but what do I say, Seonghwa? How can I possibly–”

Seonghwa suddenly pulled him into a hug, clutching the back of his head, feeling San slowly begin to relax against him. “You’re going be honest with her, San. Tell her what you’ve always wanted her to know. The world isn’t going to end after you do. She’ll still be there, and you’ll be safe.”

San clutched Seonghwa’s back, blinking away a few remaining tears. “You promise?”

Seonghwa pulled away, curling his pinky finger around his best friend’s, giving him a firm nod. “Promise.” Seeing the trust inside San’s sparkling eyes, Seonghwa reached up to ruffle his hair, smiling softly. “Oh, and give her that Christmas present you’ve been waiting for her to open.”

A small smile slowly apread across his splotchy face, before he gave Seonghwa a stern nod back, reaching his hand inside the pocket of his coat to feel what had been sitting inside and collecting dust for the entire year. It was time. Things weren’t going to end up like last Christmas. It would be different this time. He would make sure of it.

❆ ❆ ❆

With each passing minute, you sank a little further into the abyss of your memories, as well as the freshly fallen layers of snow that surrounded you, splashes of alcohol melting into it whenever you took a lazy swig and dropped the bottle back down at your side. “You dummy…” you mumbled to yourself, sniffling, your warm tears and body doing its best to combat the chilly environment around you.

Once you reached a street lamp, the warm light glowing onto your damp clothes, the memories of last year, that had once been frozen over suddenly flooded into your mind so quickly, you had to lower yourself onto the gravel beneath you, resting your back against the metal of the large buzzing lamp. “Shit…” You brought your wrist to your eyes, smearing a fresh wave of tears into your slightly damp hair, realizing you had been there before, the deja vu hitting you harder than the icy night wind hit your flushed face.

“San, what’s wrong?” You stood next to your boyfriend, watching him simply stare at the Christmas tree in front of him, his hands in his coat pockets.

San clutched onto the present he had spent weeks waiting to be custom-made and even longer just staring at it inside his apartment, wondering if it was enough, if he was enough, for someone like you.

San slowly shook his head, taking his hand out of his pocket to gently grab your wrist, leaning in to ask, “Can we talk?”

“No, we’re not doing this right now,” you told yourself out loud, smacking the side of your head and shaking it back and forth to hopefully send the memory packing, but it persisted, much like the snowfall around you.

“I don’t understand, San, we were fine! We’re okay. Why are you doing this?” you cried, trying and failing to keep San from leaving the cabin, unable to catch the corner of his coat sleeve until you were both under a street lamp, the light blinking occasionally.

San slowly turned around to face you for a moment, shaking his head, keeping his tears at bay. He didn’t know what he was thinking. How would he be enough for someone like you? Poor San simply couldn’t see the beauty he saw in you in his own self. “I just can’t, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I really am.”

“Can’t what? Can you just talk to me, San? I want to understand, San, please, talk to me,” you begged him, your heart sinking further with each step you took towards him as he continued to walk away. You stopped eventually, in the front of his car, your breath caught in your throat. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Just like that?”

San stroked his hair with a shaky hand in an unconscious act of self-soathing, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, looking off to the side, before gripping the door handle of his car, as well as the felt box inside his pocket with his other hand, only seeing a blurry version of you by the time he looked back up. How could he explain how afraid he was of you and the love you offered him? How his many walls, like ice, were impenetrable, until you melted them away? It frightened him, so much so that all he could say was, “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” before he got into the car and shut the door.

“You…dummy…” you repeated, this time in a whisper, taking another swig from the bottle and choking down the strong liquor, about to force yourself to down it when you heard what sounded like a set of boots quickly shuffling through the snow.

“Y/N,” San gasped, almost completely out of breath from running through the rough winter terrain, bending forward slightly with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, sending puffs of condensation into the air around you. “I have to – tell you something–”

“Oh, now you have something to say? After all this time? That’s rich,” you scoffed, wobbling a bit as you stood up, trying to put up a front like you had done earlier, though your facade had since melted away, your quivering lips and red, teary eyes on full display. “…Go on, San…”

San finally caught his breath, his heart still hammering away inside his chest, reaching up to his head to stroke his somewhat damp raven hair, trying to swallow the growing lump inside his throat. “Y/N, I…I should’ve said this a long time ago, instead of just leaving you the way I did…”

The longer you stared at him, the longer he felt his walls crumbling around him, figuring that he had no choice but to tell you what had always been lingering on his tongue, buzzing in his heart and mind, and swimming inside his thoughts each night when he was alone. He realized it was worth the risk of having to return to a cold, silent heart, a bitter soul, and even higher walls that he could box himself inside of. To him, you were worth anything.

Your anger slowly subsided at the sight of his serious gaze, his warm coffee-brown eyes studying you like nothing else existed besides you. In fact, nothing did, inside his world, except for you. “San…” you murmured, reaching out to touch his hand, but he already beat you to it, interlacing your cold fingers together.

“I love you, Y/N,” he admitted in the softest, most convicting voice you’ve ever heard from him, slowly pulling out the box he kept inside his coat, opening it to reveal a small gold ring with a jewel shaped like mistletoe, gently sliding it onto your finger when you held your hand out. “I love you so much, baby. So much it terrifies me.”

“Oh, San…” you sighed, breathless, bringing your hand to your chest from being so overwhelmed with emotion. After a moment, you reached for his hand, squeezing it, moving closer to him, his confession and gift warming you up more than a raging, crackling fire ever could. “San–”

“If I had just told you how I felt back then, I wouldn’t have hurt you the way I did.” He squeezed your hand back, his chapped, lower lip quivering. “I wish I could take it all back. It’s all I’ve been able to think about– How I wish I could just turn back time and–”

You silenced San’s words with a gentle kiss, letting go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, his arms following suit, closing around your waist. You broke the kiss after a moment to whisper, “I love you too, San. Always have.” You caressed his face, making sure he felt the love pouring out of your words when you promised, “Always will.”

San let out a trapped breath of air, hugging you against him, protectively clutching the back of your head, unable to stop everything he had held inside from spilling out of him all at once.

You simply held him in your arms and stroked the back of his head, not noticing when the light above you had flickered once and went out for a split second, only to shine brighter than it did before, the light warming the exposed skin of your flushed cheeks.

❆ ❆ ❆

San sat on his knees beside the crackling fire, adjusting a piece of firewood, watching the flame catch onto it and travel along the cedar, enjoying the warmth on his skin, eventually turning his head back to admire the sight of you bundled up on the couch with a plush blanket on your lap, your hands clasped around a cup of tea, your eyes admiring your twinkling ring, before you noticed his loving gaze.

“Sannie, come here, love,” you spoke softly, taking one finger off of the cup to beckon him to you, sliding the blanket off and putting the cup down after one more sip.

“Coming, baby.” Eyes sparkling, San inched his way over to you, still on his knees, fitting himself in between yours so that he could wrap his arms around your middle, resting his head against your chest. “Mm, you’re so warm.”

You ran your fingers through his soft, still slightly damp hair, waiting till he looked up at you to caress his cheek, a small sigh leaving your lips. “I’m sorry for what I did to you earlier. I really shouldn’t have reacted like that. It was hypocritical of me.” You ran your fingers gently along his jaw, noticing the way he leaned into your touch.

“No, baby, I’m sorry,” he replied, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, pouting. “I did…that to you in front of everyone…It was really shitty…I just couldn’t think straight after I saw you with Mingi.”

Your face fell, your fingers sliding back into San’s hair to play with it. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t…I want you to know that there was no meaning behind it, love. I was just bitter. And drunk.”

“I know, Y/N. It’s all forgiven, I promise you.” San reassured softly, responding well to your light touches, nuzzling your hand when it came back to his cheek, his fingers sliding underneath your sweater to squeeze into your sides, sending a light shiver up your spine. “But, you know what, baby?”

“What, Sannie?” Your body temperature started to increase as San brought himself up higher so that you were face to face, body to body, his palms settling onto your bare back.

“There’s meaning behind this,” he whispered, bringing his hands up to cup your face, before gently pressing his lips onto yours. You shared a few firm, passionate kisses, your lips moving against one another’s, hearing San whisper something else that sent a wave straight into your core. “Can you feel it, baby? My love?”

“Yeah, show me more, Sannie,” you murmured against his lips, his mouth slotting back onto yours, almost making you forget to breathe when his tongue began to explore the inside of your mouth.

San sucked lightly on your tongue, before moving down to kiss on your neck, his hands moving further up to unclasp your bra from underneath your sweater. “Can I please touch you, baby?” he asked with a desperation that made his deep voice go up an octave higher.

“Yes, please, touch me,” you responded with just as much desperation, arching your back into his touch when he slipped his hands up the front of your sweater, moving your tits in slow, gentle circles, his lips and teeth attacking your neck and collarbone.

“You feel so good in my hands, baby, fuck, I missed you so much,” San exhaled into your neck, squeezing the roundness of your tits in between his fingers, squishing them together, and lifting them up, only to drop them back down into his palms, groaning all the while. He pulled back slightly, rolling the hem of your sweater up a bit, his hooded, dilated eyes focused solely on yours. “Can I take this off?”

A quick nod was all it took for him to lift your sweater up over your head, your bra falling to the floor. Not wanting you to be alone, he reached behind his head and pulled his own sweater off, his sculpted, muscular upper body bathed in glowing, orange light from the fire blazing away behind him. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N…” he sighed, admiring your body like he did the very first time he saw you bare in front of him.

“So are you,” you replied, slowly running your hands up along his abdomen and back down, his muscles flexing slightly underneath your touch, his eyes following your fingers as they unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants down to reveal his cute custom briefs. “My Sannie, so precious.”

San blushed, his goofy smile slowly disappearing as he unbuttoned your pants, biting hard into his bottom lip once he got them off of you. “Baby…” Unable to just sit there and admire you, he reached forward to cup your tits, running his thumbs back and forth over your stiff nipples, lust clearly running rampant in his head and body by the way he was looking at you with such clear hunger in his eyes, his cock hard and stiff against your core. “Can I taste you?”

“Baby, you don’t have to ask, okay? You can have me, in any way–” you started breathily, feeling San’s cock beginning to pulse against you. “–Every way, Sannie. Please, take care of me.”

San suddenly clutched your hips, slowly grinding his clothed cock into your heat, while his mouth closed around one of your nipples to suck on it, his hooded eyes looking up into yours, his tongue darting out to lap at your tit.

“Feels so good, your mouth on me,” you breathed out, running your fingers through his hair, clutching it tight when he swapped your tit for the other, his jaw lowering so that he could fit more of your squishy globe into his mouth, sucking on it desperately. “Sannie…please…”

Knowing what you wanted, San pulled back to spit onto your tits, watching it drip down, before leaning back in to lick it up, his tongue cascading up and down your now slick skin, still guiding your hips against him, your legs already hooked around his slim waist. Your whiny moans were like music to his ears, taking a break from sucking and licking you to say, “You like it messy, don’t you, baby girl? Makes you so wet for me, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, now come here,” you could barely get out, before you grabbed his face and slammed your lips against his, your mouths and tongues working in tandem, strands of spit dripping down your chins, San’s hands squeezing tightly into your hips, grinding against you so quick, so desperately, you were both about to reach your highs just from that.

“Sannie,” you sighed against his lips, caressing his jaw, his cock rubbing against your cunt in just the right way, your body pulsing with the need to be filled.

“Y/N,” he sighed back, pressing his forehead onto yours, the both of you breathing in the same air, the thick, throbbing length of his cock rubbing deliciously along your clothed slit until your lower halves began to jolt, your moans and gasps crescendoing in unison. “Cumming? Are you cumming for me, baby?”

“Y–esss, Sannie, m’ cumming for you,” you cried out, holding onto him as tightly as you could, your nails digging lightly into his back, feeling his muscles contracting. “Cum for me too, please, baby, let me see you.”

San let out a choked, whiny moan, panting heavily, losing his quick, focused thrusts, opting for sloppy, abrupt movements, barely about to get out the word, “B–abyyy…”

You both fell apart in each other’s arms, your eyes never breaking contact, your combined arousal soaking through your respective undergarments.

Once you both caught your breath, San reached down to rub your pussy with two thick fingers, able to see your slit through your shiny, see-through panties, his cum-covered cock already twitching back to life. “Fuck, baby, look at that…you’re completely soaked.”

“Just for you,” you nodded, spreading your thighs open further, pulling the hem of your panties up a bit to emphasize your puffy cunt, your clit pressing into the soft cloth material.

“Oh my god, baby, I need to taste you,” San suddenly whined, squeezing his fingers into the softness of your thighs, lowering himself down to take a deep inhale of your arousal, his head going completely fuzzy, unable to keep himself from drooling onto your cunt.

You slipped your fingers into his soft hair, bringing his face against your heat, sighing at the feeling of his nose bumping against your clit as he took another deep breath, shuddering when he began to tongue your cunt through your panties. “That’s it, Sannie, feels so good,” you moaned, your praise going straight to San’s cock, causing it to strain against his stained briefs.

“Mmmn,” San moaned against your pussy, licking one slow, long strip up your slit to your clit, filled with so much need for you that he couldn’t keep himself from tearing your panties off of you with one quick tug, making you gasp and release more slick, his mouth already on you to lap it right up, his other hand shoving his briefs down so that his cock could spring out against his abdomen, pre-cum smearing across his tan skin. “This pussy is all mine, baby…mine to eat, mine to fuck….mine to fill, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sannie, all yours, it’s all yours,” you answered, clutching his hair, desperately grinding your cunt against his tongue when he held it out, looking deep into his eyes that never left yours for a second, suddenly gasping out when San spread your hole open, sending a wad of spit inside before his agile tongue slipped inside of you.

San grabbed the undersides of your thighs and lifted your lower half up so that he could tongue fuck you as deep as humanly possible, letting out a pleased moan each time his tongue entered your soaked, pulsing hole. He kept going until you saw stars, going ‘uh-huhhh, uh-huhhh’ as soon as you began to shudder, your arousal squirting out and soaking his flushed face.

“My pretty baby came so hard for me,” San sighed, licking your wetness up from your sensitive cunt and his lips, before he brought you in for another sloppy kiss, letting you taste yourself.

The longer you kissed, the more you wanted him inside you, needed him to fuck his love into you until you couldn’t remember your own name. You needed him so badly, you didnt even realize what you were doing until you had found yourself pushing San down onto the fur carpet below and straddling him, sitting on his lap in a way that showed the both of you exactly where his long, veiny cock would reach inside of you once he filled you up. “Need you, Sannie. Need you now.”

“You can have me, baby.” San’s cock twitched against your abdomen, his hands rubbing your thighs, eventually lifting you up and down onto his cock, groaning at the feeling of your pussy swallowing his length inch by inch. “Fuck, princess, have all of me.”

Instinctively, San began to buck his hips up into you, filling you up so well, you felt a bit dizzy, encouraging you to hold onto his chest, still taking his cock deep inside your cunt like you were made for him.

San must’ve agreed too because he couldn’t keep from groaning out, “Look at you, babygirl, look at the way you’re taking me, taking my cock so deep–” He pressed one hand to your abdomen, feeling the bulge his cock made each time he fucked into you, driving the both of you crazy. “Your pretty pussy was made for me, baby. Made just for me. You’re mine, babygirl.”

“Yours.” You quickly lowered yourself down to kiss him, his hands sliding up and down along your body to feel your warm skin underneath his touch, eventually settling his hands on your cheeks, wiping a few of your tears away when you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Cum for me, Y/N…You can do it…Fall apart for me, baby, ” San encouraged in between heavy breaths, slowing the movements of his hips down, instead filling you up in a slow and meticulous manner, drawing your intense orgasm out of you. “Yes, baby, that’s it, that’s it…”

“Sannnn, oh my god, San.” The longer you fell apart, the tighter your pussy constricted around San’s cock, causing him to throw his head back, sweat dripping down along his straining neck, his veins growing more visible when he gripped your thighs tightly. “Fill me up, Sannie. Need your cum inside.”

“Cumminggg, princess, oh my god, baby girl,” San groaned heavily, lifting you up and down on his throbbing length, before fully sheathing himself inside you, coating your walls with white.

Panting, you both gazed at each other’s sweat-covered faces and bodies, knowing internally that it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

“Again?”

“Again.”

San didn’t waste any time gently pulling you off of him and climbing on top of you instead, spreading you open and filling you back up, sighing at the sight of your mixed arousal forming a ring around the base of his cock each time he pounded himself into you. “You’re so full of my cum, baby…so full of my cock, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

“So full for you, Sannie, don’t stop,” you gasped, hardly able to breathe with the way he had you folded up, your legs over his shoulders, his cock slamming so deep inside you that you swore he was hitting your womb.

“Wasn’t gonna,” San exhaled, chuckling softly, his lips curling up to give you a smile, his eyes creasing with amusement. “Need to show you my love.”

“Show me, baby,” you sighed affectionately, smiling back at him, giggling at the sight of his eyes lighting up, before you pressed a kiss to his lips.

The wet, sloppy sound of your bodies joining together over and over filled up the otherwise quiet cabin, along with your harmonious moans, the remaining pieces of firewood still crackling away beside you. Time seemed to stop completely. It was just you and him, coming undone together for what seemed like a lifetime.

You both ended up back on the couch, your limbs and bodies entangled, snuggling together underneath the cozy blanket, talking with each other about anything and everything until your eyelids grew heavy, leading you to drift off, your fingers clasped together.

Before you could fully fall asleep, you nuzzled your cheek against San’s chest, gently inhaling his comforting scent. He smelled like aftershave, warm cedar wood, and spiced cinnamon. It reminded you of your time there at the cabin, the memories you spent together, both good and bad, swirling together to form a comfortingly bittersweet concoction, one that you would consume in every lifetime.

“San,” you whispered softly into the darkness, the fire beside the both of you now ashes and smoke.

“Yes, Y/N?” he whispered back, his arms closing around you protectively.

You sighed against his skin, your body and heart melting like the snow would begin to do as well, once the sun came up. “I love you so much, San…” You lifted your head up, hovering above him so that you could look down at him, your fingers clutching his jaw, your expression so soft San thought you might cry. “I want to show you how to share some of that love with yourself one day.”

San smiled up at you, his eyes full of so much adoration for you, it threatened to spill out of him, his fingers running through your hair. “You showed me, Y/N. Through it all, behind every word, every action, I still saw it there. That’s why I put myself first and confessed to you.” He smiled softly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I’m…not nearly as put together as I seem. I just love you so much, it makes me want to be strong. For you. And…for me.”

You didn’t realize you were crying too until you saw your teardrops land on his face and slide down his cheek, wondering if your icy heart had finally melted, and that was why there were so many tears escaping from your blurry eyes. “Oh, San, my sweet San, I’ll be here to watch you grow, I promise,” you murmured, hugging onto him and laying back down to rest your head on his chest, gently rolling the ring around your finger.

San’s hand came up from underneath the blanket to rest on top of yours. He squeezed your hand and you squeezed right back. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you repeated softly, closing your eyes, your heart at peace. “As long as you promise to watch me too.”

San closed his eyes too, a few more happy tears dripping past his cheeks, squeezing you just a little tighter than before. San felt safe. Whole. “I’d love nothing more, Y/N.”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2023.

[eideticmemory]

LATE NIGHT TALKING | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

The best man and maid of honor hooking up? How cliche!!

Word Count: 8k

Warning/Includes: Ridiculous amounts of flirting. Very “omg just fuck him and get it over with” vibes. The wedding of a fictional couple that I got way too invested in! Smut! Named after this song because I was listening to it when I got the request lmao.

Shout out to Matthew for literally being in someone’s wedding while I was writing this. I love you, baby ❤️

Hattie Welsh is a city girl. She was born and raised downtown where she would walk herself to school during the week and had a route for maximum weekend shopping. An only child to two parents, a dad who stayed home when it was Not the norm, she got anything and everything she ever wanted. Her dad would meet her on the front porch with her bike after school and they'd cruise around the neighborhood. On weekends, all three of them would take the 10 minute drive to the local park where they'd bike the same 8 miles every Saturday. At the end of the trail was an ice cream shop. Birthday cake was her favorite. She'd get three scoops in a cone but her dad would always end up finishing the last scoop for her.

It was memories like these that inspired Hattie to use her business degree to open an outdoor supply company. She named it after her parents. Alan & Eva's Co-op. It started very local. But Hattie was always good with promotion. She had an excellent marketing team and connections formed around the state. A year into business and Alan & Eva had three locations.

With this sudden growth, Hattie had to seek out more intensive financial advisement and she requested the services of LF Corporation - financial consultants of companies like North Face and REI.

This is how she met Cole Briggs.

Cole was sent to meet with Alan & Eva's CEO. He knew her name, he knew her qualifications, he knew the context of their meeting. He did not know how gorgeous she was so he was immediately caught off guard. His palms were sweaty by the time they shook hands.

"Oh, wow!" he remarked as he saw the bike mounted on her wall. "A Schwinn? I had the same one as a kid but in green!"

"Oh my gosh, yes! That's actually my childhood bike!" she beamed. She leaned over her desk with a bright smile. "I've kinda outgrown it."

He laughed, "I grew up in Pullen Park neighborhood so my friends and I would ride the trail at-"

"Warren park?" she gasped. "My parents and I used to go every weekend, still do!"

"No way! Where-where are your parents?"

"Downtown, near the natural science museum."

"Ah, yeah, yeah. We didn't get downtown often but we would occasionally have family dinner nights at Kaleidoscope."

"Oh, we love kaleidoscope. The lobster-"

'Mac and cheese! Are you kidding? I can inhale it in one bite. Sometimes my dad would pick it up for me on the way home.”

She cackled. She looked at him lovesick. "How have we never met?"

"What high school did you go to?"

"Hollis. You?"

"Ah, okay. I went to the Day School."

"Ooh, fancy pants."

Blush crept over his face and flustered, he set out his briefcase and took a deep breath. "So you're looking into financial assistance for all three locations?"

She stared at him for a moment, "That's right."

And that was it.

Immediately after Cole left the room, she called you. Her best friend, her confidant, her person. You had your hands busy at work so you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?"

"[y /n]! Hi, you busy?"

"Uh, a little. But I can chat. What's up?"

"I think I just met my husband."

You paused. "Okay, I'm not busy."

Cole proposed while they were on a hike. A week before, he had asked for your blessing. He said, "You'll be the first one she calls so I just didn't want you to be surprised."

Though, when she facetimed you to show you the diamond rock, you still pretended to be surprised.

A formal ask to be her maid of honor was completely unnecessary. You were born to do it. Who else would it be? Still, she made you the cutest basket, filled with perfume, a travel mug, some candles, some candy. You happily accepted.

And happily planned her engagement party and bridal shower and bachelorette party. You got the dress she wanted you to wear. And when the weekend finally arrived, you traveled nearly an hour into the country to get to the wedding venue.

10 acres of privately owned land sequestered down a dirt road. The ceremony site was a simple platform with an arbor placed in front of rows of benches. Surrounded by trees. Hiding right beside it is a wooden home designated for the newlyweds. The reception site is about a mile away, covered by a tent. There is a garden of roses and daisies. Further down the property is a large barn with rows of tents. It is absolutely everything Cole and Hattie wanted. It is so them.

You help set up for the rehearsal dinner. The parents of the bride and groom have arrived. Your friends and fellow bridesmaids are mingling with the groomsmen. Hattie would be so much more stressed without Opal. Opal is a an older woman, short but strong and a prolific wedding planner. She ushers the men around like pieces on a chess board and directs the caterers without so much as a glance.

As you chat with the happy couple, she calls, "Cole." It's not exactly friendly. She marches up and takes a firm hold of his arm.

"Yes, ma'am?" Cole shakes and Hattie glances over at you with a small smirk. You have to contain your laughter.

"Where is the best man? We are way behind schedule and losing daylight."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. He had to fly in but last I heard he was on the road from the airport."

"Okay, can I get an ETA on that?"

"I, uh...I don't... have one."

"Babe!" Hattie whines.

"Hey, I'm sorry! Look," he glances at all three of you, intimidated by your pressed faces. "T'll give him a call."

"Wonderful idea," Opal watches closely as he steps away, his phone in his hand, quickly pressed to his ear. She turns away from Hattie, mumbling,

"You update me on that, okay?"

"Yes, Opal," she nods and turns to you with a huff.

You giggle, "Are you sure this guy's real?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Okay, well," you throw your hands up in a shrug, "Can't we just start without him? It's hot and we're supposed to be eating already."

"No, we can't. It throws off the flow of the ceremony. Plus, Cole really wants him here."

"Mhm and where is this guy coming from again?"

"Matthew."

"Huh?"

"His name is Matthew."

"Okay. Where is Matthew coming from?"

"New York. I told you he's an actor."

"Yes, yes," you roll your eyes. "Surprised he could find time in his busy schedule to come to his friend's wedding."

"He loves Cole. Cole loves him. More than me, I think. They've known each other forever."

'Mhm. Quick question, does Matthew know Cole's getting married tomorrow?"

She shakes her head and laughs, beaming at Cole as he walks back over. "Hi, baby. Did you talk to him?"

"Uh...no..." he feels bad saying it. "But! I'm sure he'll be here any second."

"Cole!" it's a shriek from the distance that instantly silences the crowd. The crunching of leaves under hurried feet, rustling through the trees, "Cole! I'm here! I'm here!"

"See?" Cole says to Hattie with the brightest smile. "I told you, I told you! Matthew!" he waves.

And out of the trees comes what you can only describe as a colorful slenderman. He's tall and dressed in a sage suit, in accordance with the dress code. He nearly trips coming down the steps but he catches himself, just in time, stumbling over on the tip of his toes. The center of attention, pulling all eyes towards his entrance, which you think would annoy the bride and groom. But no, you look at them and they're just delighted. Grinning ear to ear, Cole's arms outstretched to catch Matthew in a great, big hug.

"Oh, man!" Matthew huffs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. My flight got delayed and then I couldn't get a rental and then I got lost, I'm so sorry!" he instantly releases Cole to give Hattie a kiss on the cheek and a hug, "I'm so sorry, please don't kick me out of your wedding."

Hattie cackles, “Oh, we could never!”

You watch as his expression transfers from guilt to a sweet smile. You watch him rub your best friend's back and give her one final squeeze before his eyes cut up and accidentally meet your gaze. He couldn't help but wonder where the pretty sandals and pretty dress would lead, but once he sees your face, he can't look away. He stands up tall and takes a small step around Hattie just to get to you. "Hi," he holds out his hand.

"Hi," you smile and your hand fits in his like a glove. You only take a second to memorize the features of his face, the tip of his nose, the stubble on his chin, the light in his eyes. But it feels like an eternity.

Behind him, Hattie and Cole watch the spark catch flame. She nudges his arm and they look at each other with knowing smiles. Cole nods, "Uh, Matthew, this is Hattie's best friend and maid of honor, [y/n]. [y/n], this is my best friend and best man, Matthew."

"ly/n]." Matthew says breathlessly. "Hi."

"Matthew. Hello, nice to meet you."

"Now," he slyly puts his hand over yours to keep it in place. "That is maid of honor, right? Not matron?"

You giggle, "Yes. I'm completely and totally unwed."

"Good, good. Excellent. Love to hear it."

You giggle, again, and it's the most ridiculous sound. Cole and Hattie could not enjoy the show any more. "You two will actually be walking down the aisle together," Hattie says.

"Oh, wow," Matthew exclaims. "Had I known that, I would've been here way sooner."

"So not funny, dude," Cole shakes his head but you think it's hilarious.

"You're laughing?" Opal's voice cuts the laughter short. "The sun is setting, the food is getting cold and you're laughing?"

"Sorry, Opal," Cole frowns. "This is Matthew, the-"

"Matthew, [y/n], I need you two right here," she interrupts and with a hand on Matthew's shoulder, she gently pushes him to the side. She pushes him directly into you and it's almost instinct for his hands to take hold of your waist. Just as much so for your palms to fall on his chest.

"Oh no," he whispers. "This is... terrible."

You laugh and take a step back but he holds onto to your wrist, places your hand around his bicep as he faces forward.

"You feel at home being directed all over the place?" you ask, anxiously straightening out your dress.

"Um, actually I prefer to do the directing."

"Oh, have you considered wedding planning?"

"I offered to plan for these guys but they turned me down. I mean, what the fuck?"

"Well, I think that would've required you to be on time. Early even."

"Oh, then I'm out."

You cackle, a lot louder than you mean to, and once again here's Opal. "You two need to switch sides."

"Hm?"

"Switch."

"Oh."

You feel Matthew's hand linger on your back as you step around him, your hand instantly latching onto his opposite arm.

"We're so good at this," you shrug.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, right? Right? You'd think she'd cut us some slack."

Despite all the fuss leading up to it, the ceremony rehearsal itself is only 10 minutes at most. You and Matthew are the last to make your entrance and it is an odd feeling to separate. He stands on the opposite side of the arbor and as the flower girl practices her walk, he catches your eyes and mouths: miss you.

"Wonderful!" Opal cheers. It's the first time you've seen her smile all night. Once Cole and Hattie have finally taken their places right in the center. "Absolutely wonderful. Now, if everyone will head over to the reception hall for dinner. There is a lukewarm meal awaiting you all," and she cuts her eyes at Matthew.

"Again, Opal, so sorry about that," he shakes his head. You seem to be the only one who finds it funny.

Hattie gives Cole one big kiss and turns to you, "How weird was that? Me walking down the aisle? Did I look stupid?"

You take her hands in yours, shaking your head, "You looked beautiful. It's gonna be beautiful."

She shrieks, a long "eeeek!" of excitement that ripples amongst you and your friends. The group steps down from the platform, followed closely by the groom and his party. Matthew takes the opportunity to grab Cole's arm and whisper, "How long have you known [y/n]?”

"Uh, pretty much as long as I've known my fiancée." he laughs.

"And you were... what? Just hiding her from me? Not cool."

"You were hardly in the proper condition for someone like [y/n]. She's, uh, how do I say? Very grown up. Very focused, like her best friend.”

"And now? What condition am I in now?"

"The kind of condition where...I literally had no choice but to let you meet her?"

"Fuck off," Matthew shoves him and Cole stumbles with a cocky laugh.

"Sooooo," Hattie says as she interlocks your arms. She notices you looking back and she knows exactly who you're looking for. "Little lady?"

"Yes, little miss?"

"What do you think of Matthew?"

Your stomach flips at the sound of his name. "What do you mean?"

"Don't do that."

"What? What are you talking about?"

“This was you the whole rehearsal.." she sticks her finger between her teeth and mocks your giggle, "Tee-hee. Oh, tee-hee-hee-hee.”

"I was not!"

"Oh, but you were. You're quite smitten."

"I am not!"

"He's smitten with you, too."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. But after a brief pause, you ask, "You think so?"

Clink-clink-clink.

You watch as Hattie rises from her seat, her doting fiancé standing beside her, to give a toast. You look up at her and it's not until this moment that you realize she's getting married. Not when she tried on her dress, not when she did a practice run down the aisle. Here. Now. With Cole's arm around her waist.

"Thank you all so much for being here. We're so grateful to have all our closest friends and family by our sides through this crazy weekend. I know some of you traveled very far and some of you are probably wondering when this whole thing will just be over but," she laughs along with the crowd. "Soon. Very soon. Thank you all for being readers in our little fairytale. Particularly these people sitting up here beside us, I know my friends have gotten an earful about Cole over the years."

"What did she say?" Cole interrupts, jokingly cutting his head towards all of you which earns him a burst of laughter.

"Seriously. Thank you all. Tomorrow wouldn't be possible without you and we can't imagine any other way. So…" she raises her glass glass and, because she's the bride and everyone must obey, everyone raises theirs as well. She looks Cole right in the eye and gives him that same lovesick smile she gave them the day they met. You glance away for only a moment and Matthew is looking at you the same way.

You tilt your head at him, furrow your eyebrows.

"To you," Hattie says. "To me. To us. Cheers."

"Cheers!" you toast, looking directly at Matthew who raises his glass to you, you alone, before taking a sip.

At the end of the night, the bride and groom are meant to retire to their respective areas. Cole and his groomsmen have a cabin on the other side of the property. Hattie and the girls have reign of the barn and an array of tents just in case they're feeling particularly outdoorsy. Yet, when the time comes, you and your friends sit on the barn's porch and watch Hattie and Cole embrace each other for a long time.

"I change my mind," she tells him. "We should just spend the night together. Let's go to our tree house."

He giggles and gives her a gentle kiss, "Ah, you just wanna get in my pants."

"So?"

A cackle now, "Goodnight, future wife. I love you."

"Noooo!"

"I love you!"

"I love you!"

Hattie waits until he's out of sight, and even then, she stands there and wishes for him to come back.

"H! Come on, honey," your friend calls to her. "It's late. Big day tomorrow!"

So she reluctantly walks up the stairs and begins the process of unwinding. It's not easy. Every second something pops into her mind and she hops up, ready to spring into action. It's a group effort to reel her in. Eventually, it's just you and her, lying in a cozy bed and she can barely keep her eyes open. She's trying though.

"Okay," you sigh. "I should probably get going. You gonna be alright?"

She nods, "I'm getting married..."

You grin, "Yes, ma'am. You are. So you need to get some rest," you kiss her forehead and rise out of bed, groaning as you straighten yourself up. "You need anything?”

"Mm-mm," she shakes her head. "I'm okay. See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning."

You're one of the few who chose to rough it in a tent for the night. There's a small heater and a platform bed. It's not a whole lot but the bedding is comfortable. You snuggle in and despite all your exhaustion, you spend the next chunk of time scrolling on your phone. When you hear a faint knock on the scaffolding of your tent, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you're in the middle of the woods. Alone. Quite a distance between you and the next tent. You sit up slowly, unsure if your mind is playing tricks on you. You take timid steps towards the opening and flinch as a shadow passes by.

You hesitantly pull down the zipper and when you see Matthew wondering around, you breathe a sigh of relief. “Fuck, dude. You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm so sorry," he instantly returns and lowers himself down to your level. "I didn't mean to."

"Um..you do know this is the bridal side of the property, right?"

"Mhm. I was looking for you."

"Me?"

"Mhm. Wanna go for a walk?"

"A walk?"

"Yeah, with me?"

"With you?"

"Okay, just assume I mean everything I say from now on."

You giggle, "I just met you a few hours ago...you want me to walk some random trail with you in the middle of the night?"

"All true, yes."

You tilt your head at him, "Fine. Okay."

"Don't sound too excited."

You turn around briefly to grab a hoodie. You throw it on and step out of the opening, taking Matthew's hand as you step off the platform. He takes your hand and he doesn't let go. He'd hate to lose you in the dark.

“So,” he says as you start down the trail. Your face is gently illuminated by the lights along the pathway and he can’t stop staring. “How do you know Hattie?”

“Technically high school, but I think we were separated at birth.”

He chuckles, “Best friends, huh?”

“Oh, best friends. Went to college together, too. Lived together for a while, didn’t kill each other.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know. I don’t see her nearly as often as I’d like but that’s my girl. How do you know Cole?”

“Drama camp.”

You stop in your tracks, stop both of you in your tracks. Still, Matthew doesn’t let go of your hand. “Drama camp?”

“Yes? You didn’t know Cole was a theater kid?”

You continue walking but your face is absolutely flabbergasted. “Cole? Finance bro Cole? A theatre kid? You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I am not. He was quite good actually,” he laughs. “He could’ve been a star.”

“Wow…” you shake your head. “Wow. You think you know someone.”

“And then you find out he was in a summer production of Fiddler on the Roof.”

You stop again. You feel like you could fall to your knees. “Matthew. Please. Please tell me there are pictures.”

“My mom recorded the whole thing, there’s a cassette tape somewhere.”

“Oh my god!” you cackle. “You’ll have to show me.”

“Fly out to Vegas with me at the end of the weekend. I’ll show you all the good stuff.”

“Oh. You’re planning on taking me to your hometown already? To meet your mom and everything?”

“You can meet my mom, you can meet my dad, you can meet my stepparents, you can meet my sister, my brother, her husband, his wife, my nephews.”

“Woah!”

“Oh, they’d love you.”

“I just wanna see Fiddler on the Roof!”

You’re not sure how long you stay out with him. The trail lights make it seem like no time has passed at all. You fill the air with so much chatter that it’s a shock when you loop around to the barn. As you near your tent, Matthew’s steps grow smaller. Slower, following close behind you with your hand still tight in his.

“Well,” he sighs. “Thank you for accompanying me. I was scared to walk alone.”

“Oh, is that why you invited me?”

“I just thought I’d get lost by myself. Needed backup.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “You do seem quite helpless.”

“You have no idea.”

You giggle and as you step up to your tent, you’re not ready to go inside just yet. So you turn to him and he is dangerously close to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Well, I had a nice time,” you smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to happen. You raise yourself on your toes. He takes a firm hold of your forearms. His nose touches yours. Then you hear the sharp sound of a zipper slashing open. You both flinch and look over to see your friend, poking her head of wild hair out the opening of her tent.

You bashfully step away from Matthew, crossing your arms. “Hi, Gina.”

Gina squints, yawning, “[y/n]?” She rubs her tired eyes and looks at you. Then at Matthew. Then you. Then Matthew. “Uh…what the hell are you two doing?” she smirks.

“Nothing,” you tell her. “Go back to sleep.”

She looks at you. Then Matthew. Then you. You. And she ducks her head back in.

You chuckle shyly and shake your head. Moment’s gone but he still looks pretty under the moonlight.

“It’s late,” you whisper. “I need my beauty sleep.”

He scoffs, “To get even more beautiful?” he shakes his head jokingly as he backs away. “[y/n], that’s just greedy.”

You laugh, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes. You will,” he waves as he walks away. Blowing you a kiss, “Goodnight, [y/n].”

You wait until he's out of sight, and even then, you stand there and wish for him to come back.

“Ahhhh!” Hattie screams once you rise in the morning. You step into the barn, groggy and sluggish, but when you see her rushing towards you, you can’t help but smile. “Hi! Good morning!”

“Good morning, beautiful bride!” you give her a tight hug.

“We’re having a little breakfast. Here’s your mimosa.”

You glance down at the glass, taking it from her hesitantly, “It’s eight in the morning?”

“Hey, everyone has to do what I say today!”

“Okay, okay,” you take a quick sip and she beams, sitting down beside you at the table.

You fill your plate with food and seamlessly fall in conversation. None of it about the wedding, ironically. You have the rest of the day for that. Right now, in this moment, it’s gossip. It’s silly. It’s so relaxing that you don’t even realized you’ve finished your mimosa.

“I thought it was pretty cozy,” Gina shrugs. “Not sure what [y/n] thinks but then again she was out with Matthew all night.”

There is an immediate halt. Forks hitting the plate, a stunned silence falling over the room and all eyes on you.

“You were?” Hattie gasps.

You stutter, “It…wasn’t…all night. We-we just went for a walk.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” a friend chimes in.

“We went for an actual walk!” you exclaim. “It was nothing.”

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Gina laughs. “It sure looked like nothing when I caught you two making out.”

Instant gasps.

“We did not make out!” you insist. “We didn’t even kiss!”

“H, how do u feel about making this wedding a joint thing?”

You look down, picking at your food as your face burns red and Hattie is just grinning at you.

Across the way, Cole receives a text from his bride, saying: Ask your friend wtf he was doing last night

Cole raises his eyebrows and spots Matthew shaving in the bathroom mirror. He slyly walks in and crosses his arms. He tries his best to be nonchalant, leaning back against the wall, eyeing Matthew in the mirror, “So. You have a good night?”

Matthew furrows his brows at him, “Yeah? Bed was comfortable.”

“Mhm. And…you didn’t…didn’t sneak off anywhere?”

Matthew completely turns his body around, “You and the wife talking about me?”

“My wife and her wife are talking about you, I think.”

He can’t help but smile to himself, “Well…cool…”

Cole laughs, “What’s the plan here, dude?”

“The plan is…to see [y/n] again as soon as humanly possible.”

Cole shakes his head, breaking a smile, “You do know that this is my wedding, right?”

Matthew laughs as he pats his face clean, “Yeah but…I don’t know, I was kinda thinking we could make it a joint thing?”

Once everyone’s hair and makeup is done, it’s silly to you that you have to pretend to do it all for photos. The makeup artist holds her brush to your full glam face just so the photographer can take a shot and it takes everything in you not to laugh. But it’s what the bride wants. You and the girls get into your dresses. You twirl and giggle like a game of dress up. Until Opal announces Hattie’s entrance. Then suddenly it’s very real.

Hattie walks downstairs in her gown, a ballgown specifically. Poofy, but not too big, a corset holding up her breasts, a diamond necklace on her chest to match her earrings. Her hair is put up and curled. Her makeup is done to perfection.

Oh. She is just perfect.

It moves everyone to a fit of squeals but you clasp your hands over your mouth and just stare at her. You go to wipe the tears from your eyes but remember your makeup so you fan your face. She laughs as she walks directly to you and takes you a tight hug. The photographer captures your sobbing face in all it’s glory. Hattie will frame that one for sure.

When Hattie’s dad comes around to escort her to the ceremony site, you take her hands in yours.

“It’s not too late,” you tell her. “We can still run.”

She laughs. “You know…I thought I might for a second there but…nah, I don’t wanna. I wanna marry him.”

You have to shake your head to keep from crying, “Okay. Okay, then let’s get you fucking hitched.”

Guest have arrived. Each chair is full and the forest around them is positively buzzing with excitement. The florals accentuate the atmosphere beautifully and now all that’s missing is the blushing bride.

You walk down the pathway with your friends, each of you holding up your dresses to protect them from the dirt. Your dress is by far the shiniest. Though all of yours are a variation of green patterns, yours is solid and laced with golden glitter tulle. The maid of honor must stand out. Matthew catches sight of you immediately but not just because you’re the maid of honor, not just because you’re shiny. But because it’s you.

And you look amazing.

It’s like everyone and everything around you fades away. Like he’s watching you walk towards him in slow motion. Your hair flowing in the wind, your lips stretching out into a smile just for him. When you step up to him, he has to take a moment because you just smell so good.

“Wowww,” he breathes out. “Look at you.”

You blush, “Look at me? Look at you!” you don’t even think about it, you just touch his clean shaven face. Run your knuckles over the smooth skin and he revels in it, closing his eyes for just a second. “You clean up nice.”

“Thank you. I only do it when absolutely necessary.”

You laugh and lean into him a bit, totally fixated until you notice the other bridesmaids watching you both from the sidelines. You cut your eyes at them and take a step back. You’re grateful when Opal comes in with her iron fist, arranging you all in order and demanding you stay there.

The music starts, you take a deep breath. You gave Matthew’s arm a squeeze, “You remember anything from rehearsal?”

“Nope, not at all. Just winging it.”

There is not much to say about the ceremony itself except that everyone - everyone - is in tears by the end. It is only thirty minutes but after it all, Cole and Hattie are married and nothing has ever felt so right.

Matthew links your arms as you make your exit behind the newlyweds and you can help but laugh at the tears staining his cheeks. You grin as you wipe them away with your thumb.

Pictures.

So many fucking pictures. So many poses. So many arrangements. So many beautiful backdrops to stand in front of and smile and live in awe of the bride and groom. Eventually, Cole and Hattie go off to take their own portraits and unsurprisingly, you wind up eating a plate of hors d'oeuvres with Matthew.

“You know her?” he asks you, nodding his head towards a guest who stays seated, fanning herself with her wedding program.

“Yeah, that’s Mia. We went to college with her.”

“It’s, like, not that hot out here, right? Am I crazy?”

“Asshole,” you swat his arm. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh…oh. Oh, she is?”

“Yes!” you giggle. “You just can’t tell because she chose the poofiest dress to wear today.”

“Oopsie,” he cringes. “Hey, is that something you might consider?”

“Hm?”

“Getting pregnant?”

You nearly choke on your bite of food but promptly clear your throat, “What the fuck? Is that a threat?”

“No. No, it’s an offer,” he grins.

You shake your head at him, ducking your hesd down so he can’t see your heated face. Your smile. “You have your speech prepared?" you ask him.

"Speech?"

"Uh, yeah. Your best man speech?"

"I was supposed to write a speech?" he exclaims.

Your jaw drops in shock and horror and you're dangerously close to scolding him until you see a smirk form on his face.

'That's not funny!"

"Of course I have a speech. You think I'm nuts?"

"Yes!"

"I have a speech prepared that is going to bring absolutely everyone in attendance to tears. They might as well go ahead and pass out the tissues now."

"Oh, real confident there, huh?"

"My speech is gonna kick your speech's ass."

You cackle, "It's not a contest, you freak. We're declaring our love for our best friends and their new spouse!"

"Sounds like you're nervous. Sounds like you can't take the heat."

"What heat? You know what? I'm not doing this with you. I'm gonna deliver my speech and as long as Hattie loves it, I'm content."

He nods, “…bawk-bawk-bawk-bawk."

"Stop it!"

"[y/n]!” you hear from behind you and you whip your head around. Hattie is running up to you, dress lifted, feet fast. "[y/n]!"

You run right to her, catching her in your arms as you collide, "What? What is it? What's wrong? What are you doing? You're supposed to be getting ready for your grand entrance!"

She huffs, catching her breath, "I know. I will. I am, whew..." she catches her breath. "I just had to tell you," she pants. "I just got fucked in my wedding dress!"

"Oh!" you cover your mouth to conceal your burst of laughter. "Oh my god! I thought this was a classy party!"

"Well, we wrote it into the schedule. We even finished with three minutes to spare. Both of us!"

"Oh my god!" you repeat, hunching over in laughter as she runs off.

You and Matthew hadn’t prepared anything especially elaborate for your reception entrance. But the DJ makes the best man and maid of honor sound like such a big deal that you have to do something. Anything. And utimately, he just ends up twirling you around in front of him. Your dress flows through the air, this wide smile on your face and he so casually wraps his arms around you to prevent you from tripping in your heels.

Seriously. Could you two make it any more obvious?

Cole and Hattie are greeted with an uproar of applause and cheers, the photographer right in their faces, an outpour of love coming from all around them. You clap your hands incessantly and right in your ear is Matthew cheering, his hands on your waist, your back against his chest like it’s no big deal.

You sit down to eat with your friends and it’s one big round table of alcohol, gushing, yelling and laughter. Matthew’s called up to give his speech and he makes sure to walk by you on his way up. “Watch and learn,” he whispers.

You shake your head, roll your eyes, but you’re watching him. You’re watching the way he instantly takes control of the room and radiates this light under the night sky. You’ve got to give it to him. It’s a good speech. From beginning to end, it’s captivating. The emotional cadence in his voice ripples across the room and there is actually, literally a box of tissues being passed around.

He’s applauded by every guest and he immediately runs up to Cole and Hattie to give them a tight hug. He walks over to you and holds the microphone out for you, “Beat that.”

You eye him as he walks off and the giddy smile on your face quickly disappears when you make eye contact with Gina. She pinches her fingers and knocks her hands together, puckering her lips and making kissing sounds.

“Stop it,” you whisper.

You’re not as used to the spotlight as Matthew so when you stand up in front of everyone, you freeze for a moment. You struggle to get the words out. It’s not a contest, but you’re already losing. So you look at Hattie, the one person you are doing all of this for. It makes it a lot easier to just, speak your truth, “Hi. I’m [y/n] and Hattie is my very best friend.”

Hattie’s a mess instantly.

That’s the fun part about being the bride’s best friend. You know all the best parts of her relationship. You also know all the worst parts but those don’t need to be spoken today. You know how it’s made her happier, stronger, glow in a way she never thought possible. You know better than anyone that this is where she’s meant to be and who she’s meant to be here with.

She can hardly wait one second after you finish to run up to you and give you a big hug. She squeezes you so tightly that you think she’ll never, ever let you go. You escort her back to the sweethearts table and throw a smug look towards Matthew’s way. He puts his hands up in surrender. You win.

After a while, when the grandparents and kids have left and the hour for the fun adults has arrived, you’re just buzzed enough to dance. And you do. You let Hattie shake her ass on you a bit and for a while, you’re just girls again. No one’s wife, no one’s employee. Just girls. It wears you. You take a seat just to down the rest of your wine and catch your breath.

“You all danced out?” Matthew asks as he approaches you. He holds out his hand, “Or you got one more left in you?”

You tilt your head, drunkenly smirking at him, “I think I can squeeze you in.”

“Yeah?” he pulls you to your feet and into his arms. “Squeeze me into where?”

You giggle. You shamelessly fall into his chest, “Take me to the dancefloor.”

He does, he lead you right to the center. He puts his hands on the small of your back and cradles your hand against his chest. He breathes in the scent of your hair and sighs.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do once I have to part from you tomorrow.”

“Just put me in your pocket,” you whisper. “Take me to the big city.”

He chuckles, pulls you closer, putting your bodies flush together. “I will, in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”

You grin. You stare into those beautiful eyes of his and inhale the center of his chest and exhale with a soft hum, “The word.”

He smiles. You smile. You take a look around and then you two make your exit.

Off to the side, the bride and groom are slow dancing. The rest of the world has faded away. Though their feet are a bit uncoordinated, everything feels properly in place.

“Sooo,” Hattie puts her nose to his. “You’re thinking the same thing I am, right?”

“Thaaaat we have three more minutes of fun time? You wanna go now?”

She cackles, “No! About Matthew and [y/n].”

“Ohhh, right. Them. You were right. I owe you five bucks.”

“Mhm. For the rest of your life.”

He smiles softly, rubbing her back. He looks around the area and furrows his eyebrows, “Where…are Matthew and [y/n]?”

Hattie giggles, singing, “I know where they are.”

“No…” Cole gasps. “No…you think?”

She shakes her head at him. Sweet, dumb Cole. “Oh you are just so cute!” she kisses his nose.

In the solitude of your tent, Matthew stands behind you and slowly unzips your dress. He plants soft kisses on each spot of your skin as it’s revealed and you hum under your breath at the gentle contact. His hands latch onto the thin straps and pull them over your shoulders. He kisses your neck and runs his hands over your chest as he pushes the dress down your body. All that’s left of you is a strapless bra and seamless panties that he sticks his hands in. You step out of them and turn to face him.

You touch his face and look at him with these hooded eyes, smiling softly as you push his jacket off of his shoulders. You undo the buttons on his shirt and touch all over his exposed chest. He nuzzles his nose into yours as you take off his pants and he falls back on the tiny bed, letting you pull them off his legs.

He stretches out his legs but his feet hang off the edge so he bends his knees, “I don’t think I fit,” he chuckles.

You grin as you casually straddle his lap, running your hands over his arms. “We’ll just have to make you fit,” you whisper.

He gives you the faintest little whimper, leaning in to you with his mouth open. And just like you had meant to last night, finally, you kiss him. You kiss him. You touch his tongue to yours and place your hand on his throat, engulfing his entire mouth in yours. Both of you release these deep, guttural moans and Matthew gasps as you roll your hips on him.

He grips onto your waist, readjusts to get the right angle and you can feel him getting hard between your legs. It's almost juvenile, the way you both get so hot from dry humping. The way your mouths are so hungry that there's no coordination.

There's moments where you go in for his lips and catch his cheek instead and he pushes his face into yours so quickly that he only catches your bottom lip. He goes to grab your hair to keep you in place but he doesn't want to mess it up so he holds the back of your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, take a tight grip of his hair and lean your entire body on his. There, the friction is perfect and you moan directly into his mouth.

Matthew shifts his focus to your jaw, gently nibbling on the skin from your ear to your neck as he unhooks your bra. You whine quietly, rocking your hips against him and leaning your head back to expose your throat. He wants to fucking bite you. He has the quickest impulse to sink his teeth into you but he doesn’t want to leave a mark so his hands land harshly on your ass as he groans in your ear. You gasp, your back arching and you think: fuck this.

You put your hand on his chest and push him back on the bed. He lets you but he whimpers. He wants to be kissing you. Needs to be kissing you. He looks up at you with wide eyes, his jaw dropping when you free his cock from his briefs. He licks his lips, nodding, begging, “Mm…mhm, mhm, mhm, mhm.”

You giggle at him, but that giggle is cut quickly by the ease in which his cock slides into you. You both gasp and he catches you as you fall into his arms. You feel just as good as he thought you would. Better. Even better. You watch his eyes roll to the back of his head and you try to kiss but your mouth are wide open. It’s mainly just heaving breathing and teeth on teeth.

He takes full advantage of the angle in his knees, keeps his hands on your ass to spread you open and push all the way into you. He likes the sound you make so he does it again. Again. Pulling all the way, pushing all the way in. Again, a little deeper. Again, a little harder. Harder and harder until you’re squeaking against each other’s lips uncontrollably, the one thing that’s louder than the sound of his skin slapping into yours.

He looks into your hooded eyes and begs, “Kiss me.”

So you do. You kiss him with a sloppy mouth and once again, there’s no coordination. You’re rocking around the tiny bed so carelessly that it might break. But even then, you wouldn’t stop. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to think. You just push yourself back on his cock, meeting him at just the right time that you’re entire body twitches violently.

“N-not…fuck…” you stutter against his lips. “Not…gonna…last…long…like this…mm, fuck.”

And he grins, delighted at the thought of getting you off. So quickly, so easily. Still, he pleads, “Oh…” he bucks his hips up into you. “Can’t we just…m-make it last forever? P-please…please, please, please…”

You shut him up with another kiss. You grab onto his hair and grind on him eagerly, chasing your high for what feels exactly like forever. The way the tension builds first in your thighs and then your belly and radiates throughout your entire body, you can hardly comprehend it. You tighten your grip on his hair and breathe out, “Matthew.”

“[y/n],” he breathes out and it sounds so helpless that you can only reply with a whimper. You increase your speed, your rhythm becomes sloppy but Matthew is rock solid. He cups your face in his hands and repeats, “[y/n].”

“O-oh, fuck. Oh…god…” you latch onto his wrists. You can’t take it anymore, “Mm…” and you come on his cock with a loud and visceral moan straight from the back of your throat. The way your pussy tightens around him has him matching your volume and the kiss you give him is so dirty that he will taste it for weeks.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it until your body is all but convulsing. He only stops to prevent himself from coming inside of you, instead raising your hips to shoot his load all over his stomach. His knees tense up and tighten against you as the weakest groans escape his lips. You hum softly to yourself and you lower yourself down the mattress, licking the mess off his stomach as you make your way back to his lips. He’s stunned but rewards you with a kiss. He wishes the kiss could last forever. He tries his best to make it so.

But you crash on his chest, panting loudly and allowing your body to finally relax. Your head rises and falls with every heavy breath he takes.

“Let’s get married,” he huffs and you laugh, sitting up to look at him. “No?”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head.

“Ugh…worth a shot.”

It’s so peaceful. A calm after a storm - a hurricane. Until your phone illuminates the dark space and you reach over his body to check the text. It’s from Hattie -

As soon as youre both done, my husband and i would like to make our outro! :)

“Oh, shit!” you exclaim and that’s all Matthew needs to hear.

You both hop up at lightening speed. You somehow get dressed even quicker. You rush out of the tent, nearly tripping over your feet, hand in hand.

“Wait,” Matthew says and when you pause to look at him, he fixes the clip in your hair and then he gives you a kiss. You look back at him with a smile as you run back to the reception.

You catch Hattie and Cole just in time. They are already lined up and ready to go when you two reappear. Matthew grabs Cole’s shoulder and laments, “Sorry about that, dude. I-I got caught up. Sorry.”

“Oh yeah,” Cole smirks as he keeps walking. “I can tell. Your jacket’s on inside out.”

After Matthew remedies that, you two casually clap and cheer as the newlyweds walk through the crowd of excitement. They promptly load themselves up on a golf cart and you watch them disappear into the night.

Matthew sighs, turning to you, “So…I guess our jobs are done for the night.”

You sigh in return, shrugging, “I guess so.”

“You gonna be lonely in that tent tonight?”

“God...” you shake your head. “I hope not.”

And that night, you are far, far from lonely in that tent.

You wake up together. Matthew made himself fit in that bed once again. You get dressed together. You both clean up the tent and step out together. And once again, there’s Gina, catching you in the act. She doesn’t say anything. But when she walks past you two, the tiny smile on her face says it all.

Back at the reception site, Hattie and Cole serve a light breakfast and deliver a toast that is short and sweet. Blah blah blah, thank you all for coming. Blah blah blah, we love you so much. Blah blah blah, we have a plane to Cabo to catch. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!

They go around to say their goodbyes and while Cole is distracted, Hattie intentionally saves you for last. She gives you a long hug, “Missed you last night.”

“Yeah, uh…” you blush. “I am so sorry about that.”

“Oh no, don’t be,” she gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “It all went according to plan.”

“To-“ you stutter. “Hattie Jane Welsh…”

“Aht-aht!” she grins as she walks away from you to join her husband. She flashes her rings, “Hattie Jane Briggs. I already changed it on instagram and facebook!”

You jaw is dropped in absolute shock and you can’t pick it up. In fact, your mouth is still wide open when Matthew approaches you.

“So, pretty lady, what are you doing after this?” he asks.

“Got a train to catch back home.”

“Oh, a train? How far is the drive?”

“About an hour.”

“I have an hour…” he says. “And a rental car.”

A sweet smile spreads across your face. He mirrors it right back to you. You take hold of your suitcase, step over to him, stand straight up and wrap your hand around his bicep. You’ve had a lot of practice.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

[sweet3nerrr]

relax

giving stressed billie head to relieve her tension

kinda sub billie? litch have to write this cause omg these pics?? fuck me shes sososodjdjdjdjd ahhhhh

———-

"right here?", you asked massaging your girlfriends neck. "mhm, fuck yeah right there", she groaned, dropping her head. billie worked non stop, to say she was stressed was an understatement.

"you need to take a break babe", you said feeling the knots in her shoulders. a quiet laugh left her mouth, she knew you were right but she was never going to listen. overworking herself was becoming normal. you stood behind her for a while working into her body before she reached for your hands, pulling you around her.

"thanks sweetheart", she said kissing you softly, rubbing your arms. "that really helped". she wasnt lying but, you could tell she still had alot of frustration? tension? pressure? built up. it was obvious. the way she craned her neck 24/7, the way shed grunt quietly sometimes when she moved, the way she looked physically drained.

"are you sure youre fine?, do you need me to carry on?", your voice soft as you scanned over her face. she flashed you a weak smile trying to reassure you she was okay but she wasnt. something about the way she looked, so tired and dishevelled sparked something in you. I mean, why would you not want to fuck your girlfriend's stress away? especially when she looked this good.

"sit on the edge for me", you whispered getting up from the bed. billie looked confused, shifting her weight over the side. "what are you?-", "shh, just sit come on", you interrupted. she moved, leaning back on her arms as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of her. undoing her belt, you pulled her jeans off her, spreading her legs. "I want you to give it all to me, okay?".

before she could respond, you mouth had latched onto her pussy, slowly licking patterns on her clit as you gripped her thighs. "holy fuck", she moaned fisting the sheets. her chest rose as her breathing got heavier, rolling her head to your touch. "shit, faster please", she whined shutting her eyes. you increased your pace, not going too fast as you wanted to make her feel as good as you possibly could. her thighs began closing around your head as her hips cocked slightly at every lick. you smiled, loving how she reacted when you ate her out.

as you started to suck, the prettiest moans shook out your girlfriend, catching slightly in her throat. "oh my g-god right there fuck, fuck", she cried lacing her hand in your hair, pushing your head down. you were impossibly deep in her pussy, sucking and moaning sweet whimpers into her as you felt your own orgasm build inside you.

"are you close?", you murmer. she didnt respond but as you looked up, you saw the most unholy sight before you. her hair a mess, lips parted beautifully, body quivering. it wasnt long before youd break too. "im gonna cum", she slurred throwing her weight onto her elbows behind her, head thrown back. "good, let it all out bils".

within a few seconds, shed completely unravelled in your mouth as you swallowed her cum. god she tasted so good. her body bucked against you as deep moans echoed out of her, her neck outlining each and every sound. she stayed like that, releasing into you for a moment before her chest dropped with one final aching breath.

"you dont know how bad I needed that".

[s1m0nth3swag]

How would Francis from that's not my neighbor come home from work tired and his partner says "hey, what about my milk?" in a playful way?

I actually love that scenario omg

Thanks so much for the ask ♡

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Established Relationship, GN!Reader, only slightly suggestive since I wanted to keep this one a lil more tame, pretty short sorry

You had waited for Francis all day, distracted yourself with housework and cooking, but you couldn't help but be annoyed at the work hours of your boyfriend. Somehow, his work hours seemed to get longer and longer.

You lounged on the couch as you heard his key turn in the door. "Mm.. I'm home." He called out, and you could hear him close the door again. Then you heard the rustling of clothes, Francis stumbling slightly - he was probably taking off his shoes and had lost his balance. You couldn't help but snicker at that. He seriously was too tired to even stand up straight.

You sighed as you rolled off the couch, walking towards the door and your boyfriend. "Welcome home." You hum, wrapping your arms around him lazily, his coming to lay around you as well. You snuggled your face against his neck, relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours - he had always been somewhat of a human heater. Francis sighs as he practically melts against you, and you giggle softly. "Missed you." He answers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Work's been a cunt." He adds, and you huff out a laugh. "You always say that." You mumble, pulling away slightly to press a kiss against his cheek. "Cuz it's true." He retorts, leaning in to properly kiss you. "You wanna go sleep? You look like you're about to pass out." You giggle, running a hand through his hair - it's surprisingly soft. Francis only nods yet pulls you back against him to rest his head on your shoulder, letting out a deep breath. You grin, rolling your eyes slightly at your boyfriends antics, but you let him. He is always clingy when coming from work, honestly, so this isn't too unusual.

The two of you stand like that for a few more minutes. You swear Francis probably dozed off on your shoulder. But he pulled away after a while, mumbling something about grabbing something to eat. He lets go of you, walking towards the kitchen while you decide to get back to your spot on the couch.

"Oh, by the way, Francis," you then call out, turning to look back at your boyfriend, who's already halfway in the kitchen yet turns to look at you. You can't help it. You grin, and he already knows something stupid will follow suit. "I forgot to ask; Where's my milk, mister Milkman?" You chuckled, and he rolls his eyes at you. "If you weren't this cute." He sighs, swiftly walking over to you - he seemingly had gotten some new energy from your shenanigans - and picked you up. You yelped softly. "Should've asked if you wanted some milk, love." He hums, smiling as you wrap your legs around him. The nickname slips from his lips so easily. He presses a kiss against your lips, slightly demanding, and you can't help but flush. "Let me eat something, and then I'll take care of you, yeah?" Francis speaks, trailing kisses over your neck, softly nipping at the spot where it meets your shoulder.

You were definitely in for a night, huh?

Listen its really short but I could make a part two with smut if wanted I just wanted some posts about Francis that aren't downright horny (I know most of yall (me included) are just horny for him but let me write something sweet every once in a while okay)

[mercyk1ll3r]

whiny!stephen glass x fem reader

warnings; sexual content, needy stephen, no clear sub/dom dynamics, nipple play, creampie, size!kink if u squint, hickeys, slightly subby stephen, teasing, overstimulation,

”hey y/n? if i invited you over and all we did was okay monopoly would you come?” he spoke in your doorway right after getting up to leave your office, he was just asking you to check up on his work before he submitted it. “oh, um i would really like that stephen.” you flashed him a shy smile before quickly looking back at your papers scattered across your desk, trying not to make eye contact for too long, you were scared he would notice how hard you were trying to keep your voice steady. stephen was always such a sweet guy. he made you very a little nervous, the way you could ever so slightly feel his warm breath against your neck when he peered over at your computer, or the way he was constantly complimenting you and praising you for your ‘captivating’ writing, or the way he stared a little too hard at you during meetings.

“well.. are you free tonight?” he spoke staring at his notepad, unintentionally mirroring you. you wondered for a short second if you made him nervous too.. “oh yeah, i am actually.” “great wanna come over maybe around 6? oh that’s around dinner time isn’t it.. i could make dinner for us as well?” he spoke in an shy tone, like he had thought out every word down to the syllable. “oh yeah that would be great steve!” “i was thinking i’d maybe make creamy pesto pasta, or um if you don’t like pasta i could make something else! anything you want..” oh god he’d really fucked up this time he knows it! you probably hate pasta that was such a stu-“no no, i would love pasta.” your sweet tone melted away his worried instantly, leaving a warm feeling behind in his chest.

i could hardly wait for work to end today, although i felt i could probably keel over and die from how nervous i was. i felt like a teenager again waiting for my first date with a cute boy i had a crush on. i spent all the couple hours i had before going to stephens taking my time getting ready, showering, reapplying my makeup, straightening my hair, picking out an outfit. usually i pass out as soon as i get home from work, getting some much needed rest but i was wide awake with anticipation today.

i walked up the steps to stephens door, taking a deep breath to attempt to calm myself down, it worked, kind of.. i wrang the doorbell and stephen answered very quickly, i smiled at the thought of him waiting like a puppy by the window waiting for my car to pull in.

“hey y/n! come on in!” he said stepping out of the way for you to come inside, the smell hit you as soon as he opened the door, an amazing smell, enough to make you starved instantly. “stephen that smells amazing.” “oh yeah the foods nearly ready, i really hope you like it it’s my moms recipe.” he spoke leading you into the kitchen.

your nervousness had melted away after dinner with stephen. he was just so perfect, he was so intently listening to every word you said, it felt like you had an endless amount of things to talk about when you were with stephen, endless laughs. you just loved seeing his wide smile and the way his eyes scrunched up while he looked you at you, just a simple smile was enough to make you squirm. he was just so gorgeous.

he led you into his well furnished living room. family photos, candles, his endless amount of books, his home had such a safe aura that really reminded you of your childhood home. he pulled out monopoly from under his coffee table, you shuddered a bit as his hand brush led against your thigh as he sat up. you really felt embarrassed at the warm feeling something so small and unnoticed gave you. “i wanna be the little shoe!” you yelled as soon as you saw it, picking it up immediately. “geez, okay.” he laughed at your reaction. god you were so beautiful he couldn’t help thinking as he stared a little too long at your face, your shiny hair that just smelled so good, your gorgeous eyes and lips, and he could see the tinniest but of clevage in your shirt but trust me it was enough to make him feel something.

you noticed his staring after a second and it instantly embarrassed you, had you done something stupid? did you have food on ur face??

he leaned in before you could even process it, lifting your chin up with his thumb and index finger before planting a soft kiss against your lips. you thought your head might actually explode, barely processing what had happened before he pulled away. “i’m really sorry i just did that without thinking oh god you can leave if you want i didn’t-“ before he could finish you pulled him back in for another kiss, instantly silencing him, warmth spread through your whole body making you feel a light headed. he snaked his hand around to the back of your neck, lightly slipped his tongue into your mouth begging to taste you as he pulled you flush against his chest, he could feel your tits pressed up against him and he groaned ever so slightly into your mouth at the feeling of his dick throbbing in his pants begging to feel you around him.

your kisses became more intense and passionate gripping his soft hair in your manicured fingers. he started to lean back onto you trapping you between his body and the couch, gently reaching his hand up to rest on your waist. heat pulsed from your core all the way through your body as you felt his bulge press against your stomach, you broke the kiss for only a moment when you started to lift up your shirt discarding it on the ground, leaving you in only your skirt and bra. he reconnected the kiss before starting to run his hand over your stomach and up up up until he reached your boob, gently pulling the fabric down just enough for your breast to pop out.

he broke the kiss again as he started peppering kisses down your neck before he finally reached you exposed breast, gently sucking and kissing at your nipple before tugging the other side of your bra down. “fuck stephen.” you whimper gasping as he nips at your other nipple. “oh i’m sorry i’m sorry did i hurt you?!” he spoke instantly pulling his mouth away from your chest with a guilty look in his face. “no baby.. it felt good” you smiled at his reaction, he sighed in relief before attaching himself back onto your chest, instead focusing on peppering your tits and collarbone with hickeys. he loved seeing you all marked up.. something about it made his dick throb, just knowing he was the one to leave them on your perfect skin.

“could i please touch you? please?” he nearly begged (as if you would ever refuse him) as he started to run his hand down your stomach nearing the waistband of your skirt, toying with the little bow right below your belly button. “of course stephen..” you smiled at the dazed look in his eyes. he kissed you again as he gently slipped his hand into your skirt.. then into your panties. you whimper into his mouth as he brushes a finger against your clit, barely touching it. heat pulsed through your whole body as your felt your tummy flutter, dizzy and fucked out as you started to beg into his mouth for more clawing at his clothed back with one hand and gripping his hair with the other. stephen thought he could actually be dreaming at this point, you were just so so perfect, absolutely made for him in every way. he could cum in his pants just by hearing your small whimpers and the way you beg for him to touch you and the way you writhe underneath his broad body.

“please stephen stop teasing me.. just touch me” he replayed your words in his head as he gave in, slipping a finger down to feel just how wet you are. fucking soaked. slipping his finger into his mouth as he stood up and ripped your panties off, discarding them on the floor just as he had done for the rest of your clothes. he was tired of waiting, he needed to taste you right. now.

as he sat between your legs before he spoke, “can i taste you princess? please” “yeah.. i need it stephen” you said mindlessly, you weren’t lying either, you thought you might cry if he didn’t touch you already. he gently began kissing and sucking marks all over your thighs before wrapping his arms around you thighs to keep you still. he licked a stripe up your pussy, before planting a kiss right on your clit. “fuck stephen!” you moaned out as he started to lick and suck your sensitive clit, rubbing his finger against your tight entrance. he started to rub against the couch trying to seek any relief, he was so hard it hurt. he moaned into your pussy as he continued his assault on your clit gently pushing a finger into your hole. “stephen please stop teasing me i need you.. please.” you begged as you dug your nails into his scalp, pushing his head deeper into your cunt. he didn’t mean to tease you he just loved hearing you beg.. he knows you needed it so he gave it to you, even if he would like to hear you beg all night.

he pushed his finger all the way into your cunt, continuing to suck and kiss your clit. god they were just so much bigger then your own fingers, curling his finger upwards to his that spot that makes you cry out, and oh it did. you couldn’t keep yourself quiet as he added another finger, as soon as he did that you knew you wouldn’t last long, the hand in his hair had become a death grip, unable to hold back your loud moans you felt that familiar feeling come back to you quickly. “stephen.. i’m gonna come” you said in a pained voice as tears welled in your eyes. “oh fuck oh fuck!” your body began to writhe as he continued to pump his fingers in and out quickly, making sure you ride out your orgasm. or at least you thought.. but even as you stilled and the overwhelming pleasure went away it was quickly replaced with pain as he continued even as you had finished your orgasm, “stephen stop it hurts.” you whimpered out, but no. he wouldn’t. he needed you to cum again. “please just one more.. you can do that for me can’t you?” he spoke into your pussy quickly before returning the same pace as before, holding you down as you writhe.

but the pain was slowly dissolved as the pleasure returned, your moans had turned into whimpers and cries as you felt yourself getting close again, fucking music to his ears. ”i’m gonna cum again stephen” you said in a quiet tone just above a whisper, barely able to make any noise other then a whimper. “cmon sweetheart you can do it” he mumbled into your pussy as your second orgasm took over your whole body, all you could think about was the pleasure in between your legs and him.

he licked up your release from his fingers, savouring the taste of *you* on his tongue. he returned above you, placing a deep kiss on your lips as you still recover from your intense orgasm panting and shaking trying to catch your breath. “please stephen i want you inside me” you begged as he smiled against your lips, his painful erection still evident in his pants. “are you sure sweetheart? you still seem like you need some time to recover” he asked in a genuine voice, you can’t get over how sweet this man was in front of you, where has he been all your life? you had never had a man eat you out so well, give you such a mind numbing orgasm. but stephen was a ladies man, always so focused on your happiness, and pleasure.

“please stephen.. i need it” you said as you began unbuttoning his shirt working your was down down down, revealing his skinny and broad frame, and his cute little happy trail that went down to his.. there’s no need to imagine it anymore, you finally get to see it, touch it, feel it, have it. you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, planting kisses on his collarbone and chest, running your tongue over his nipple lightly, stephen sucked in a harsh breath at this a dazed expression on his gorgeous face. their sensitive i’ll remember that. you thought to yourself before making you way down, you undid his belt, then the button on his pants. bulge so evident in his loose pants, the size surprised you just from looking at it through his clothes, he stopped you and pulled his pants down leaving him in just his boxers before sitting back between your legs, you could hardly breath from anticipation.

he rested both your legs to rest against his shoulder, giving him access to finally remove your small pleated skirt. he soaked in the beautiful sight of your fully naked body, from the expression on his face you would’ve thought he was looking at a beautiful piece of art in a museum, you felt slightly embarrassed by his staring but you resisted your urge to cover up. “your so so beautiful. every part of you if just perfect.” he said shyly, you can’t believe he would still avoid eye contact even after giving you the best head of your life but he couldn’t help it.. you made him nervous and he was always so unsure of himself, scared of saying the wrong thing and making you hate him forever.

he started to pull his boxers down feeling bad that he wasn’t fully naked yet, you heart dropped as you saw it.. you’d never ever guess a shy guy like stephen to be so big, it was maybe 7.5 inches? and so so thick. he bashfully stroked it once before returning above you to plant more kisses on your lips and neck, your head was spinning feeling it press against your thigh. it twitched slightly as it touched your leg, he whimpered like a girl feeling his dick pulse. “could i please?” he said this in such a whiny voice, how could you refuse him?

“of course baby go ahead.” you said reaching your hands to touch his stomach as he eased the tip in. a look of pain covered his face, his eyebrows knitting together and his mouth slightly agape. he slides in inch by inch, groaning as he works his way in. the sting sets in immediately, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex, and you’ve never had anyone as big as him.. “fuck your so big stephen” you cry as you claw at his arms that are rested comfortably on the curve of your waist. “i’m so sorry baby i know it hurts, do you want me to stop?” he strokes your hair as he stills inside you waiting for your response. “no no please i just.. take it slow okay?” he nods as he continues to ease in. the look of pain returns to his face as he tried to keep going slow, resisting the urge to push ur legs up to ur ears and fuck you senseless.

he looked so gorgeous like this, his adams apple bobbing slightly and he swallowed. “your so beautiful steve.” you think aloud and a look of surprise then a boyish smile covered his face looking down at where your bodies meet, he’s beautiful? there’s no way you really though that.. no, you were the beautiful one.

“really?” stephen said a bit above a whisper, hardly heard over small pants as he continued to work his way in and out of you. “of course sweet boy.” he whimpered at this small comment his head falling down to the crook of your neck, hands finding a spot to rest along the curves of your body. he continues to thrust into you, taking his time to feel you.

“fuck..-princess” he groaned out speeding up slightly, unable to hold back any longer. digging his fingernails into the dip in your waist, forcefully holding you still. planting open mouth kisses all over your neck, sucking hickeys and leaving gentle bites all over your chest. he rested his hand right down on top of your stomach pushing down slightly. “do you fucking feel that? can you feel me in your stomach?” his dirty talk stung your ears, such an unfamiliar sound coming from stephens mouth.

but oh fuck. yeah you could. whimpers and words of encouragement keep spilling from your mouth, you can’t help but clench around him every single time he moves inside you. “your such a good boy for me, aren’t you steve?” your are babbling at this point, slurring your words, do fucked out you can barely think. but that’s okay, because when your with stephen you don’t have to think. he’ll take care of you.

“yeah-fuck.. y/n” he almost sounds like he’s crying when he says this, fingers finding your clit as he starts going faster, pushing your legs over his shoulders as he pounds you. your legs begin to shake as you hold onto him desperately, that warm ache returning back to your stomach. “steve.-fuck im gonna cum” you cried out into his ear. “can i please please cum inside you princess? please you’ll let me right?” he perks right up as soon as he hears you say this, looking you right in the eyes while he begs.

“i..yeah steve yeah go ahead..” his whimpers turn into cries at this point, his thrusts become sloppy and random, but that feeling in your stomach only becomes stronger, gradually building to your climax.

you can’t help but shake and hold onto steve desperately, legs and arms desperately wrapping around him, needing him as humanly close as possible. you wished you could just merge into one being right now. stephen continues to whimper and cry into your neck as he finally came, a warm feeling floods your inside. feeling so full and content.

a/n: kinda hate this wow.. i haven’t written anything in a long time so i’m sorry if this is bad LOLLL but i hope you enjoyed regardless. lemme know what else you would like to see for stephen glass or any other of hayden christensens characters!

[xoluvx]

lunch; b.eilish .˚₊✩ part two ✩₊˚.

i could eat that girl for lunch 

part one

"Are you nervous?" you asked closing the door to her room. This was happening. Like actually happening. You were in her room. The door was closed. All things that had happened before, but now...you'd agreed to help her feel what it's like to be with a girl and goddamn were you nervous.

"Not one bit. I've watched porn," she smiled big and you scoffed rolling your eyes. Yeah, she was trying to lighten the mood but you were far too deep in your head to laugh.

"Oh honey, you're going to find that's not realistic," you placed your hands on your hips and Billie bit her lip sitting up in bed.

"So show me realistic," she teased scooting to the edge of the bed.

"Before we go any further, sign this" you reached for your tote pulling out a piece of paper. You'd typed it out the night before. A contract of sorts.

"I will not fall in love with you. I will not ruin the friendship. I will not use my new found skills for bad, only good..." Billie did that thing where she laughs but it's only a loud noise, then she ran a thumb over the corner of her mouth, and nodded. She signed the paper sloppily before handing it back to you.

"Thank you," you grabbed it putting it back in your bag.

“Okay so now we fuck or what?” There was a hint of teasing in her voice but you knew deep down she was asking a genuine question. There was no guide book for what the two of you were doing. Maybe because you weren't suppose to be doing it.

You chuckled and shook your head.

“Not yet. I just-“ you grabbed her arms looking down at her seriously now. “-I just want to make sure this is really what you want.” You stared at her waiting for that reassurance. You didn't want to be the reason you had a fall out. You couldn't lose her.

Billie’s face softened and she smiled nodding.

"Okay, so why now? Why experiment now?" You were curious. She'd displayed gay tendencies. Hell, her outfits alone wouldn't have made you second guess her sexuality. She had girls drooling over her every where she went.

"I guess I've always been curious. I've just never done anything about it," she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why not? You're Billie motherfucking Eilish. Do you know how many girls would be lined up right now to give you all the experience?" You chuckled slightly when you saw her blush. She looked down wiping the corner of mouth not knowing how to respond because yeah she could probably have any girl she wanted.

But something made her want you.

"Can I show you something?" she asked reaching for her phone.

Your brows furrowed as you waited patiently taking a seat next to her.

"I was watching a video," she cleared her throat. You side-eyed her knowing what she meant by video. Porn. She'd been watching porn. Just like she'd said earlier.

The melody filled the room and you nodded to the beat. Then it stopped. She played a voice recording. Her voice echoed through the room.

She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, "Bring that over here" You need a seat? I'll volunteer

Your chest tightened as you listened to the words, but then a smirk formed on your lips.

"Oh my god, you're so gay" you beamed in a totally not offensive 'that's gay' way, but in a 'damn you're actually gay how did you not know' way.

Billie blushed chucking her phone somewhere. She didn't look at you. She played with her hands as you spoke again.

"When did you write that?"

"A while ago, but I’ve been working on it," she admitted finally looking at you. Her eyes were sincere and her lips were forming a small frown. You felt her pain in your heart.

"And you didn't tell me? I'm your best friend, why didn't you tell me you were having these feelings?" you scooted closer trying to provide some sort of comfort. Instinctively, your fingers brushed against her cheek.

"You're so open about your sexuality, I didn't want you to think I was just hopping on a trend or something. Especially after Lost Cause," her voice trailed off on that last part and you nodded understandingly recalling the backlash.

"Well, your experience is your experience. Everyone else can suck it," you pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and your breath caught in your throat when she looked up at you with her full blue eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked sheepishly. You balled your hand in your lap, fingers picking at your skin nervously because it was happening. It was happening.

"Yeah," you whispered, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Every fiber of your body felt chills.

Billie leaned in to kiss you. Your noses brushed for a brief second before your lips touched. It was a soft and short kiss. When she pulled away she smiled. You cupped her face and she dove in for another kiss. Your fingers gripped the back of her head as she rested her weight on your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

"How do I touch you?" she whispered against your lips and you froze. Right. Right, how could she touch you? That was your job. You had to teach her.

Oh dear god, it was happening you were going to fuck your best friend. This was not a drill.

"Take off my shirt," you whispered trying to keep your composure. Billie nodded reaching for your shirt. When the tips of her fingers touched your skin, you bit your lip. She pulled the shirt over your head staring at your breasts.

"Did they get...bigger?" She goofed squeezing the air furrowing her brows in an 'I'm totally helpless' way.

You laughed pulling her in for another kiss. This time, she pressed her body on yours feeling your naked skin on her fingertips. Her hands ran up your arms and under your bra straps. She pulled away to search your face for approval.

"You can touch them," you assured.

She let the straps fall down your arms, fingers pulling on the fabric covering your breasts until they were free. She marveled at the scene. The way they moved each time you breathed. The way she could physically see your nipples growing harder just from the cool breeze.

She traced the curve of your breast with her index finger and could see the goosebumps forming on your skin. You followed the movements of her hands now squeezing them softly like she didn't want to break you.

"Lay down," she whispered breaking the silence. Following her instructions, your head hit the pillows, arms reaching under trying to grip on to something. Anything, because her lips were hovering over your breasts and oh my god she was licking your nipple.

You looked down at her, mouth open. She was looking at you. She'd been looking at you the entire time. She watched the way your brows furrowed as she licked, then sucked. She watched the way you gasped when her mouth left your nipple and found the other one. The cool air brushing over the areas where her tongue once teased.

Holding your breasts, she kissed down your torso. Her lips barely touching your skin, but burning every point she encountered.

"Can I-" she started talking, tugging at your shorts.

"Yes," you gasped and cleared your throat. "Yeah, you can take them off," you confirmed trying to collect yourself.

The air struck your thighs when she pulled off your shorts. She stared at your covered pussy before looking up at you. You weren't sure if going all the way was the right move today. Especially since she was looking at you like a deer in headlights.

"We can stop," you spoke propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of her.

"No," she shook her head staring into your soul.

"Are you sure?" you didn't want her to feel pressured to rush into anything.

"I've never been more sure of something," she tried to chuckle at the corny remark, but was unsuccessful. She wasn't joking.

She felt an adrenalin rush when she first heard you moan. It was the hottest thing that filled her ears and she was the reason for it. She'd inserted a finger tentatively and watched the way your head tossed back at the gesture.

“Right there, Billie,” you moaned as she worked her finger into your pussy again watching your face for signs. She watched and waited for every time you moaned or arched your back. You were looking at her now. She watched the way your lips parted when she pushed in another finger.

"Is this okay? How many fingers?" she asked and you shrugged still filled with pleasure.

"It depends," you informed. It really did depend. Two was fine for now.

"Is this good?" she asked again as she sped up a little. You nodded biting your lip, groaning when she curled them upward. Something she'd read about the night you told her you'd teach her.

"Are you going to cum?" her eyes were big as she looked up at you waiting for any signs of a possible orgasm. You just chuckled and shook your head.

"No. Not yet. You'd know," you reached down to push her hair back so you could continue seeing her face. She looked so cute and lost, but determined. She furrowed her brows still pumping her fingers. Should she put another in?

"How?" she asked resting her head on your thigh. The whole moment felt pure somehow. You hoped she felt as safe as you did right now.

"I'd feel tight," you touched her cheek now resting your head on your arm serving as an additional pillow. "Have you had an orgasm?" you asked and she instantly blushed looking away, biting her lip.

"Only when I've touched myself and I bust in a few seconds," she confessed as you held her jaw forcing her to look at you.

"Sometimes I want to cum right away, but it feels good to hold it," she looked at you questioningly. "The orgasm is so much stronger," you hum. She nodded storing that information for later.

"So what do you think about when you touch yourself?" you asked never breaking eye contact as she continued fingering you.

"Lots of things. Porn. Sometimes," she shrugged a little.

"You," her voice small now.

"Me?" you laughed a little and leaned back to look at the ceiling.

"Yeah, sometimes. You're hot," she chuckled and you nodded your head approvingly. That was quite a confession she'd made. It made your heart soar and your pussy flutter.

Billie kissed your thigh and you shut your eyes. Her fingers slowed as her thumb tried searching for your clit. When you gasped and tugged on her hair, she smiled triumphantly. Her thumb rubbing circles on your sensitive bud.

"You're learning," your voice playful and high pitched, head still tossed back on the pillows as she pushed her fingers deeper.

She hovered over you, eyes searching yours before kissing you. It was a feverish kiss that mixed with the pleasurable heat between your legs making you see stars. You moaned into her mouth and she trailed kisses down your jaw and on your neck.

The moment felt a lot more intimate now.

This couldn't be good.

You pushed the uneasy feeling aside finding her lips, fingers tangled in her hair.

It'd be okay. Totally totally okay. You'd signed the contract.

part three

.˚₊✩ masterlist ✩₊˚.

[pomefioredove]

okay after reading all the goth hc, I gotta ask. how do you think the guys would react (any of them but preferred Floyd and Idia ) to playing them goth music/show them a trad goth outfit/makeup look (suprise them maybe? For example: I hc Leona to just have the least slay music taste to mankind (beastmankind?) so you play him- idk let’s say Lebanon Hanover, and he’s like “wtf is this herbivore?” But then he kinda gets into it. no pressure to write for it btw!

-✨♥️✨

ANON I was literally thinking about making a post like this a few days before this ask... you have my heart. I'm doing a full post

summary: nrc boys and goth type of post: headcanons characters: nrc students additional info: platonic or romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, half-headcanons half-x reader author's note: I'm assuming that goth as a subculture and a music scene already exists in this world. this post is also mostly about the music scene

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Riddle is essentially a baby bat

he's like, two bad life choices away from going full victorian goth at any given moment

he flat out refuses to listen to anything "vulgar" but secretly adores the dark, poetic side to goth

he's also morbidly obsessed with death, being a sad victorian boy and the child of two doctors. it works

as much as I hate to say it, Ace starts out as the kind of guy to say he wants a "goth gf" on multiple occasions

he proudly announces it to everyone at an unbirthday party once and Riddle almost kills him for being annoying for interrupting

thinks the music is too sad

...but he mellows out eventually (your influence)

both Deuce and Trey are not particularly interested

(Deuce leaned into punk music as a preteen but has since "given it up" because it's too unruly for an aspiring honors student, in his opinion)

Cater inexplicably already knows a lot about goth

won't talk about it unless you bring it up first but if you play him something semi-popular

he'll be like "oh yeah I know that one"

he has a few songs on his playlist he listens to when he's alone

is a goth magnet himself. pulls many hot goths. no one knows how

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jack is also not really into it. not his thing

however I can see him secretly being into emo

make of that what you will

and Ruggie will never pass you the aux again. he calls it "halloween music"

Leona acts thoroughly uninterested for a long time

like, he'll listen to the music you give him, but doesn't really say whether he likes it or not

says he doesn't care about the scene (thinks it's too pretentious)

and pretends to be annoyed when you give him more song recs

but he gets into it. he starts listening on his own

he has a definite preference for gothic rock

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jade is already goth (to me at least)

and very eager to talk about his favorite bands

loves giving recommendations

apparently the coral sea has its own goth subgenres and bands, which sound... much different from land ones

Floyd will listen (has listened, thanks to his brother) but he doesn't particularly care

he much prefers the aesthetic, it reminds him of home

...being that he's from the deep sea, where it's dark and cold

the flowy, dark, elegant looks are just enchanting to him. he can't keep his eyes off it

Azul couldn't be bothered

he's willing to learn, but isn't a huge fan of the general... strangeness

(he doesn't really understand why anyone would want to be perceived as strange in the first place)

and the music is so unmelodic to him

"that was just a man moaning and a gate creaking for seven minutes" and then he bans you from his office

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim literally listens to goth already

I don't know how to explain it but I know he does

it's so funny because he never ever dresses goth or acts stereotypically goth but every once in a while he'll be like "who wants to hear my new favorite song? :D" and it's like, alien sex fiend. and no one can say anything about it

Jamil is an appreciator

depending on what you show him, he could really get into the lyricism and general mood

...if only because he finds goth dancing absolutely mesmerizing

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook is goth

he only dresses the part sometimes, but he's always been very passionate about the poetic elements of the music

...really into french coldwave

in terms of fashion he leans romantic goth

it just makes sense to me. he could find beauty in absolutely anything, and the dark and macabre are no exception

will talk your ear off about his favorite bands if you give him the chance

Vil is really more into the style than the music

he's dabbled in a little bit of everything; trad goth, romantic goth, medieval goth. he pulls all of it off

honestly, if anything, the gothic style compliments his features and tastes more than anything

he has such a respect for the subculture and the dedication that goes into the visual elements

Epel doesn't get it. sorry 😔

he will listen to the music you recommend because he cares about you, but he just doesn't like it

he's in the same boat as Azul. "was that a slide whistle?"

absolutely baffled, but he likes you and it's a small price to pay for your happiness

(and he thinks the fashion is too androgynous for his tastes)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I feel like Idia also used to think he wanted a goth until he saw the e-girl vs goth discourse, freaked out, then spent two weeks reading about different subcultures

...still wants a goth partner

but now he actually knows what that means

will listen to any music you give him out of respect (fear) and won't say anything about whatever weird taxidermy-related hobby you have

he's surrounded by death all the time anyway who cares

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you could get Silver to listen to the cure's entire discography and he'd come out of it really enjoying just like heaven and nothing else

it's just... not for him

(plus the slower songs put him to sleep)

Malleus somehow hasn't even heard of goth as a genre when you approach him

he is. a little disappointed it's not music about the architecture style

but he still warms up to it, especially as someone who enjoys finding the beauty in the dark and misunderstood

you can fix him. you can goth him.

Sebek joins only after everyone in Diasomnia gets in on it with you (he doesn't like being left out)

he loves it because silver doesn't and malleus does

peepaw Lilia is an old goth

he was around when the music scene started, and he also remembers the literature movement it was named after, and the popular architecture style that was named after, and...

...you get it

still, he's always pleased to learn about new bands and subgenres and styles and the like

could and will talk about it for hours and hours with you

he dresses the part, too

we love him

[romanreignseater]

A Phone Call Away.

Roman Reigns x Black Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; oral (female receiving)

“Now that Roman is on a hiatus from the ring, you would think that would stop the busy nature of this man… but boy were you wrong.”

A/N: Is your girl back or WHATTTT?!??! Heyyyy y’all, I missed you guys so much and I missed writing for you guys. Thanks to all of those who checked up on me (I promise those messages didn’t go unseen). I truly appreciate all the love still shown on my stories but I am back and better than ever. School has been really tough for me and I nearly dropped out, but BITCH I pulled through. I’m moving onto my junior year this fall and I couldn’t be happier. To express my happiness, I wrote this about the ONLY Tribal Chief. Mr. Roman Reigns. Hope you enjoy 😘😘😘!!

——————————————————————————

GIF: @rashyford

Roman Reigns… or as you like to call him Joe. You’re doting husband and father to your three kids. A man with a multitude of talents, charms, and good looks. You won the lottery with this man and he feels the same about you. Joe has never had a problem making anything happen for you or your kids. Yet, he can seem oblivious to all of you.. and you know why?! It’s because of that damn phone.

Yeah, Joe’s an amazing and caring man. But that phone stays strapped to his ear while attending to you or the kids.

The kids want him to open a Caprisun, he’s on that phone. You want him to take out the trash, he’s on that phone. You want him to change the baby’s diaper, you guessed it… he’s on that phone.

Although these tasks do get done, he never makes eye contact with any of you and seemingly gets annoyed anytime one of you walk up to him. So you weren’t surprised seeing your 5 year old daughter come up to you with an attitude as you were breast feeding.

“Baby girl what happened?!” You questioned as she crossed her little arms and huffed out a deep breath making the strands of her hair on her forehead rise into the air fall back down.

“Papa’s till on the phone.” My god did that little girl look like a spitting image of Joe whenever he caught an attitude. Your baby is one hundred and ten percent a daddy’s girl so to see him not give her the attention she wants made you upset.

“Listen baby okay, mommy’s gonna put your baby brother to sleep and I’ll deal with papa for you. Go upstairs and play with your big sister.” She gave you a sweet little smile and nodded her head in agreement. You watched as she ran up the stairs eager to play dolls with her big sister.

Once your baby boy wasn’t latched on anymore, you went upstairs to place him on the bed you shared with Joe. You placed a pillow fort around him to keep him safe and turned on the baby monitor. You checked on the girls quickly and made your way back downstairs.

You find Joe in the living room with the dogs surrounding him as he watched the NBA Draft. You could overhear him talking about WWE can further the Bloodline story even more before his return. Now assuming he’s talking to Hunter, you placed your hands on his shoulders and began slowing massaging before he turned around to face you as he gave a small smile.

You make your way around the couch and sat next to him. His eyes still glued to the TV as he placed one of his hands on your thigh, caressing it ever so gently. “Joe… you think you c—.”

“Shush.”

Joe lifts up the hand that was on your thigh and placed in on your mouth in order to motion him telling you to be quiet. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you couldn’t believe he just shushed you.

After you could his meals, massage his back after a match, wash his laundry, and pushed out his big headed kids.. he had the audacity to shush you.

Two can play at that game.

Knowing how much Joe can’t resist you, you can’t believe you didn’t think of this earlier to get this man off the phone. As Joe moves his finger away from your lips and places it on his own thigh now, you lean back into the headrest of the couch and spread open your legs.

Joe doesn’t take much notice until he hears you fumbling with your pants. He turns his head slightly as witnesses you bare from the waist down and your perfect pink magic spread before his eyes.

You giggled as Joe completely disregarded the draft completely and stared in awe. You lifted up slightly to take the hand that was once on your thigh and placed his hand near your dripping cunt.

On command, Joe automatically makes his thumb prominent and places it on your beating clit, rubbing in a circular motion. You drop your head back and moan as he continues to play with your pussy with his thumb. Dragging your essence up and down your slit. He soon seems to be losing memory of his call and he begins spitting out “yeah’s” and “mhmmm’s” to Hunter giving the most vague answers to his suggestions and questions.

Joe bites his lip as he looks you in your eyes, giving him the cheesiest grin knowing you’ve basically won the battle. “Yeah, I totally understand.” He says into his phone once more before he puts it on speaker and then mute and places his phone on your stomach.

The heat of his phone makes you hiss slightly and then you begin to hiss more as his tongue comes into contact with your drooling heat. He begins eating you out like a true champ. He nuzzled his face deep into your wet heat and flicked your clit with his thumb. Your back began arching off the sofa as you were beginning to reach your climax.

But a loud voice parades inside your mind as you try to enjoy yourself. “Roman, Joe. You there?!” Joe looked up at you and it was almost like his eyes were telling you something. You watched as his hand that was holding your thigh open, comes near his phone as he presses the mute button once more.

You quickly shut your mouth as Joe removes his mouth from you but keeps the assault on your little clit going. “Yeah I’m here. Umm… what’s gonna happen with my wiseman??!” You watched intently as he pressed the mute button again and goes back to town. He takes his tongue deep into you as Hunter is on the phone blabbing about what’s gonna happen with Paul.

Just as he was wrapping his summary of the wiseman’s future, your legs began to shake and sputter as you finally reached your climax. Your legs clamp around his head and breathing heavy. You let out one deep breath as Joe removes your thighs from around his head and looks as you with a devilish smile as you essence coated his entire beard.

He picks his phone up again and removes it from mute. “Yeah, that was a great convo. We got a lot done, but listen boss man duty calls I gotta get into daddy mode. Mama’s had enough for today.”

You shook her head in agreement as Hunter expressed his understanding. They bid each other farewell and Joe threw his phone behind him. You laid with her legs still spread open, pussy on display for his viewing pleasure staring a hole into his eyes. He lifted his brow at you as if to question what the next move was.

“Ummm if you want more of this sir, you’re gonna have to get myself off your face and go play with your baby girl cause you really upset her today baby.” He hung his head low as he understood the damage he’s caused by focusing on his phone too much.

“Alright I will baby.” He playfully closed your legs for you and you giggled as he placed a blanket over you. He stood up and as he went to walk away, he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Just know when you want that part two, I’m a phone call away.” He reached for his phone and waved in your face as he chuckled on his way up the stairs.

That man crazy as hell..

——————————————————————————

THE END.

Not gonna yieeee… I’m happy to be writing again 😂. Shout out to @thesamoanqueen @mzv11 & @msbigredmachine your stories really motivated me to get back into writing and it helped me realize writing isn’t dead 🫶🏾🫶🏾!! (Jey fic next, cause that’s my baby, YEETTTT!!!)

Hope you all enjoyed 💕💕💕!!

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld @alyyaanna @southerngirl41 @christinabae @pitlissa22 @thealliasylum @fame-ass-ers @iluvthebloodline @jeyusos-girl @ah-fin3sse @solosikoasgf @msbigredmachine @rollinsland @angelicflower2020 @theogsamoanqueen @saintsvenust

*If you want to be added to my tag list, don’t be afraid to let me know!!

[jaysng]

🫐 - jake! maybe about reader having some hardships during her pregnancy but baby daddy jake would be ready to do anything for her comfort !!

rejecting his kisses | sjy

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader

genre: fluff bro what else i write 😭😭

synopsis: reader is growing sensitive day by day to touches and snaps at jake, jake being a mature husband handles the situation well.

everything felt so much more overwhelming, jake kept a family dinner and everyone was over, his members and his family. 

“how are my babies doing?” jake said as he nuzzled his nose in your neck as you moved back in annoyance. 

oh he noticed it but shrugged it off, maybe it was just a silly reaction right?

the sound of everyone talking at the same time in their own conversation rings around in your ears making it hard for you to keep up with everything jake had his hands on you the whole day, hugging you from behind, talking to his friends and family with a hand on your bump, rubbing your nose agaisnt his, kissing your cheeks, lips and forehead. yeah sounds cute but not when you’re feeling everything a little too much. 

what is going on. 

it was so bad that you had to shut your room door so loud and settle on the bed, 

there you were, pregnant and finally on your thrid trimester with your annoying husband being extra touchy anywhere he could find you at.

rubbing your temples you sat on the bed, grabbed the water from the beside table and starting chugging it down. 

meanwhile, jake who already spotted your absensce in the living room came in “bub?” you heard his voice and your brain gave a reaction not again. 

he walks in as you don’t even dare to look at him in the eye, your eyes closed as you take deep breath. 

“did i do something” he leans over to your face while staring deep “no..”��u say as he hums in question he sits beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder “are you oka-“ you cut him off,

“no- just no- please okay? please just get your hands off of me please jake. stay away from me i am not feeling all your touches just leave me the fuck alone.” you say raising your voice. 

the next thing you see is tears in jake’s eyes as he looks away from you trying to hold them in. 

“i am sorry.” 

a moment of complete silence goes by as you rest your head on the headboard.

you notice him avoiding your looks and turning to the other side, hesitant to ask you if you need anything again.

“did i do something wrong?” he asks out of curiosity “i won’t touch you if—“

“no i dont know.. i am sorry i dont feel like getting touched i dont know.. i don’t know why i am being like this i don’t know” as you’re saying he turns around and comes closer to you.

attentively listening as he brings a hand to tug your hair strand back.

“hey no no it’s fine, its completely fine yeah, this is super normal for pregnant women to feel..” he says as tears start spilling from your eyes because of how understanding he is. 

jake has always put your perspective before his, always understanding everything you did, always finding a reason for your actions and letting you express yourself, god you think what did you do to deserve him. 

“b-but jake” you say as he holds your face in his hands and squishes your cheeks trying to calm you down.

“at this stage you’ve grown more sensitive. to touches to words to noises to everything” he says bringing his hands back to himself, “isn’t it?” 

you nod in agreement as he adds “so don’t ever blame yourself about all this okay? i love you just how it is. nothing will ever change that” 

you look at him and take his hand and place it on your belly, he makes sure to keep it exactly where you kept and not rub it because of muscle memory 

he pauses and lets out a little laugh as he feels the baby kicking where his arm is placed “just try not to be as aggressive as you were okay?” you nod once again as he kisses your cheeks wiping your tears off his lips. 

“baby doesn’t like hearing mum and dad argue does it?” he says as he feels another kick to his palm as you both laugh out of surprise. 

it makes you giggle, mood swings are crazy.