#should i just let myself daydream about it? is it wrong?

[explanationpoint]

..

[chastiefoul]

—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

-

 a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

-

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

[woniehugs]

OPERATION: FUCK SIM JAEYUN.

—✧ summary: as a student, you were a huge academic overachiever, always wanting to excel in class and get the highest grades. as a teenage girl, you wanted to get some hardcore action. academics were stressful, and you needed an outlet for that stress. besides, it’s your second to the last year in high school. what could possible go wrong if you deviated and have a little fun? you’ve had your eyes on one guy for a while now, sim jaeyun. the handsome guy, the star soccer player, good at physics. now, you now had another goal aside from finishing the school year as the top student: fuck sim jaeyun. one day, you get partnered together for a project, and one thing led to another, you end up in his bed. this might just turn your life for the better… or the worst.

—✧ pairing: jake sim x y/n

—✧ genre: highschool! au, fluff, pining (mutual? you’ll see), friends with benefits, casual relationship, smut (in later parts)

—✧ a/n: i’ve been thinking about this plot for soooo long now and i really want to write it so here i am haha. this story will be split into two parts (you’ll understand why soon) each part with a vague number of chapters for now. depends on my mood, i’ll be writing and posting the chapters whenever since i’m pretty busy. but i promise, i will finish writing this because this is the plot i’ve been both daydreaming and sleeping to at night. this’ll be my outlet for my stress from academics ;)

—✧ taglist: @youreverydayzebra @witheeseung @w3bqrl @renjuns-grillfreind (cant be tagged) @freakywonbin , @enhafika , @enhacolor, @woniebuns, @cyberstephzz, @sumzysworld, @woniefull, @aanniikkaa, @faithnsstuff, @wonnienyang, @wonlluvie, @slut4hee, @hwaluvrsblog, @jakeswifez, @jiryunie, @nikibleist , @friurt, @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate, @jakesimfromstatefarm, @lolddhfsdcvff-blog (cant be tagged), @my10monthslovesimjae, @heefever, @milanco, @khaisdrz, @cha-raena, @khaisdrz , @milanco , @bananna-12 (cant tag), @ilovejakesimsm (cant tag), @enhypenlovre, @simjaeyunswifee, @shawnyle, @hoonieluv, @niniissus, @bookloversomuch . send an ask or comment if you want to be added!

SHORT PREVIEW:

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you pull away from jake, panting, trying to catch your breath. you hear him breathing in the same pace as yours, and your brain short-circuits for a moment. you couldn’t believe what the hell just happened.

who the fuck leaned in first?

was it me? him?

and why did i enjoy it so much?

“s-shit, i…” you try to say, clearing your throat. you weren’t so sure what to say after that. wow? you’re an amazing kisser. we should do this more often! oh no you would sound insane. but then again, you were never even sane in the first place.

jake continues to stare at you, still trying to catch his breath. he looks at the unfinished project beside you, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling. you notice this, raising an eyebrow, “what are you smiling about? is this funny to you? we just—“

“yes. we just made out. in my bed.” he cuts you off, looking you in the eye once again. you wanted to look away, growing shy under his gaze, but you find yourself not doing so. “didn’t think you were capable of that. always thought you were the saving yourself after marriage type of girl.”

your eyes widen in surprise, pushing him off. “e-excuse me! you act like you just fucked me in your mattress, which you didn’t, and we won’t ever do!” partially a lie. now that he mentioned it, you couldn’t stop thinking about that scenario now after that incredible almost experience. “and besides, i am that type of girl. i have huge respect for myself.”

jake smiled even wider at your response, “right. i’m not saying you don’t. but i gotta say, i wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

did you hear that correctly? did he just say he wouldn’t mind doing that again?!

well, to be fair, you honestly wouldn’t mind either.

you shake your head, “oh, shove off! let’s pretend that never happened. keep that between us.” you point a finger towards him, “say a word to anyone else and i will cut your balls off. that isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

“oh y/n, i know better than to disobey you.” jake replied, holding your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the finger you pointed at him. you could see the mischievous glint in his eye and you wanted nothing more than to slap (kiss, no, scratch that) smirk off his face, but that would mean you were in the losing round in a game that was never played in the first place.

not yet at least. oh god, what the hell were you thinking?

you gulp quietly, nodding at him, and quickly turned to the project in front of you. “right. we’re finished with our short break, l-let’s continue working. we’re not nearly done with this.” great. distract yourselves from what happened. that’s a good idea. put it all behind you and him.

you couldn’t exactly look him in the eye when saying that, so you could probably guess all that jake heard from you was blah blah blah. fortunately for you, jake hummed beside you and continued to work, acting completely oblivious (or so you’d like to assume) to what you were feeling right now.

once you went home, you were going to spend the whole night thinking about this. not just about what happened, but what jake responded to your embarrassing outburst.

“right. i’m not saying you don’t. but i gotta say, i wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

now why on earth would he say that to you?

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chapter list! (tentative)

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

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©2024 ©woniehugs

[wriokitty]

"Is it true, my lord?" you murmur softly against his chest. It's quiet, and you're bare, the both of you. The words are forced out like they're glued to your lips, so you pry them off, ripping off the skin in the process and leaving you bleeding.

Ayato is clever. Cunningly so, you think. Something about the way his lips quirk makes you think he's well aware of what you mean. Something about the way he raises his brows makes you know he's not going to make this easy for you.

"Is what true?" he asks smoothly. Too smooth. It's like he's been waiting for this question. He glances down at you as you fight the urge to hide against his sternum.

"There is word, my lord," you say carefully. "I'm certain you are better acquainted with the rumors than myself."

"Word of what, exactly? There are many rumors across Inazuma, you know."

Ayato is also infuriating. He always has been.

You think it's the way he's so easy to disappear. He's there one second, like pelting rain. Cold. Unbearably difficult to ignore. Lingering on your skin as it rises with goosebumps and brings a shiver down your spine. And then he's gone. The harsh droplets blended with the current and carried away downstream, slipping through the cracks of your fingers like he was never meant to fit between them in the first place.

Ayato was never meant to fit against you in the first place. He does an impeccably cruel job of making you believe it's possible that he could, sometimes, though. You wonder if that's the irony of his vision—what justice is there to how he rips your heart from your chest, inspecting it closely in awe for just a moment before tossing it to your feet in indifference?

Surely, the god of Hydro does not recognize such sadism, let alone reward it. Surely, there is some form of injustice to how he toys with your feelings.

Patience is your strong suit. It has to be when loving Ayato—it has to be especially when you love him from his shadow. He faces the sun, just as any head of a clan should. You linger in the space behind, devoid of light—and, for a moment, you wonder if that's why he likes to keep you around.

Everyone who faces the light needs a shadow.

"If you wish to be coy," you say bitterly, "then allow me to be plain. There is word that the Kamisato clan seeks the betrothal of their head. Forgive me for seeking confirmation directly from the source himself."

"Ah," he drawls, so sickeningly sweet in that voice of his. You love him. You always have. You have never hated that truth more. "Yes, it is. It seems the elders believe I will be well past my prime should I wait any longer."

"And what do you believe, my lord?"

"That it is my duty to fulfill the wishes of my elders."

Your heart sinks. You already knew it would—made room for it so it wouldn't destroy any more of yourself in its path, even. You expected it to hit that place at the bottom of your guts that makes you feel nauseous and numb all at once. It was only a matter of time, of course—you're not naive enough to believe he could be yours like this forever.

You always liked to daydream, though. A day where Ayato and you faced the sun together, no longer hidden in the shadow of the moon under his sheets. No longer quiet in your affairs like they're disgustingly wrong. Maybe you are naive, though—maybe such a daydream is only proof your mind is painfully self-indulgent to the point of doom.

"Do you eye someone in particular?" you force yourself to ask. You're not sure why. Maybe masochism makes it easy to breathe when it's your heart that's bleeding and not your lungs.

"I do," he confirms. Cruel, you think—so cruel is the Yashiro Commissioner to keep you close, fighting against space itself to have your body close by night and give into its wickedness during the day. And so wicked, heartless, and brutal is space—you hate it more and more every day.

"You should not bed someone when dreaming of being betrothed, Ayato," you bite. The words are laced with venom, tasting acrid on your tongue as they flow past your bleeding lips.

"On the contrary, my dear," he hums, pulling you tighter, closer. Fighting against space just as he always does—winning so easily, you wonder if space has ever tried in the first place. "Who else should I bed if not my betrothed?"

You blanch. Something stirs in your heart—you force it down and scold yourself for having the audacity to hope. Hope is not for you. Not for someone so plain. So mundane. So outside the realm of nobility.

You swallow thickly and croak, "You should be kinder, Ayato. Such cold games are hardly befitting of a husband."

"Is that so? Then I will do my best," he murmurs. His lips find yours, pressing a delicate enough kiss against them that it feels as though the rough, raw skin mends instantly. "Rest assured your husband shall be as kind as you need, my dear."

Your eyes widen. Something in you nags in a breathlessly hopeful voice—divinity is never wrong. The god of Hydro is not mistaken. Justice is the love that seeps into your broken heart from the man who tore it in the first place, patching it together better than it ever was to begin with.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Six years have gone by since 1998. Two since the death of your first (and only) love. So when the dead come knocking at your door after your life went to hell without warning, you have a tough time welcoming him back in. In Leon's defense, his hands were tied. You? You'd put your life almost unforgivably on hold after he blindsided you.

Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to tie yours.

STRICTLY MDNI!! f / m make-up sex after a reunion gone sour. ANGST GALORE. established relationship but it's Messy, plot spans pre-re2r to re4r, character study (scar tour!!), Foreplay: The Movie, good bdsm etiquette...leon doms PLS STAY WITH ME. light bondage + blindfold, The Chair™️, munch MARATHON, emotions (read: LEON) keep edging you before an extremely self-indulgent dicking down. consensual unsafe sex, PRAISE, lil bit of mean ft. leon's possessive streak + morning after <3

a/n: anon req gone wildly wrong. welcome back to ovulation week with vivi, THE MOST UNORIGINAL BITCH ON THE PLANET 😭 i read a fic about getting tied to a chair and discovered something about myself. now i’m convinced daydreaming about bondage w/ leon is how i passed finals. oops. pray i survive second sem y'all🧍

word count: 6.3k 🤡 // read on ao3

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” - Blaise Pascal

Like any good breakup scene, it starts with rain. 

A torrential downpour. Poseidon’s wrath lashing down the panes of your living room windows. The terrific sound of it is only drowned out by the hum of your TV set, the one source of light in this dark room and you, a moth to flame, circle it, afraid of getting too close lest you burn. 

The President’s on tonight. His daughter’s back safe and sound, having been spirited away to Spain. The press release is overjoyed to report that one indomitable man brought her back in a matter of days. President Graham declares it with a triumphant fist: an American hero stands in front of us tonight, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the First Daughter’s savior, but honest to God, you couldn’t give a shit about his heroics.

Not when Leon’s right there. Suited and tied. 

Or as close to living, breathing Leon as you could hope to get.

You inch closer to the screen when the camera pans over a face you haven’t seen properly in six years.

Sandy hair two shades darker, baby fat bereft on now-chiseled cheeks. It’s easy to pick apart the pixels of the man’s profile when he’s staring at the audience. Heart knocking against your ribs, you can’t help reaching out and tracing the angle of his jaw, this uncelebrated member of the President’s security entourage on national television who’s unknowingly subbing in for your once-boyfriend. Long-term, long-distance lover, if you wanted to flatter yourself. 

It doesn’t matter now. It’s getting late and dreaming should be done in bed. You reach for the remote to turn the prerecorded program off, and the rain starts falling – no, knocking – exceptionally harder against your front door. Urgently, like it wants in. 

And then the rain calls out your name.

The floorboards creak under your feet when you go to investigate through the peephole. A powder blue eye stares back.

“Who is it?” you call out, voice shriller than you’d like.

“Open the door, please? I’ll explain inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t let strangers in, sorry. Who are you?”

The rain answers in a familiar timbre that sends shivers down your spine. “Trust me, just this once.”

The doorknob clatters in surprise at the twist of your wrist, and swings open to reveal the man from your TV set, now escaped and peering at you through dewy lashes the pixels had hidden. Your eyes flit across his features: it’s the very same jawline, black suit identical to the one on your screen. Exactly the man your brain had tried hushing your heart from recognizing.

Your hold on the doorknob trembles.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Leon offers you a ghost of a smile as the storm pelts down his shoulders. “May I come in?”

“You watch the news a lot?” he ventures after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

Once the initial shock of Leon’s appearance subsides, something acrid settles in your bones. The silence between you two stretches like taffy waiting to be pulled. It sticks in your throat without much coming out to abate it. What else can you do when the dead rejoin the world of the living?

Make light conversation. You can do that. 

“Leon, I thought you died.” Or not.

He shoots you a half-grin. “I wouldn’t die on you just like that, you know.”

“You practically did,” you retort, voice going thick. 

You find old habits hard to break. It’s nothing new. You’re perched on the armrest of your couch, a familiar penchant Leon had smiled at when he shut the front door behind him. His habit of shaking his hair dry like a puppy also hadn’t gone away, much to the traitorous delight of your heart. You’d almost giggled when he accidentally sprayed you with rainwater doing it. 

Now, you’re watching him fold his suit jacket over one of your kitchen chairs with his back turned to you, an odd bulge in its left pocket threatening to send the whole thing crashing to the floor at any moment. Other secrets hang in the air like ghosts. Leon’s tie sits drying on top of your radiator. You think you should tell him to peel off his soaked dress shirt, he might catch a cold otherwise, but are you allowed to say that anymore? 

Worse still, why do you want to?

“I saw you on the news. That’s why,” you reply a beat too late. “You told me in your last letter that you were going to work for the government. Something to do with the President, and ever since then I…I turn it on when something big happens.”

Leon stops fiddling with his jacket, turning to you with wide eyes. “That was-”

“Two years ago?” You swallow. “I know.”

The letters sit burning holes in a box under your bed, all stamped and postmarked with no return address since 1998. The last day you’d seen him alive and breathing. 

Leon was the boy you’d hold hands with under desks in high school, a high school sweetheart as textbook as they come. You’d ditched prom to wish on shooting stars in the back of his first car, let him be the first to slip off your spaghetti straps when kissing grew too chaste to convey the giddiness in your chest. 

Puppy love turned into something perennial. Real. He’d carried moving boxes up the stairs of your first apartment, and you right after. You’d watched him rise through the ranks of the Academy. Cheered front row at his graduation, let him spin you in your highest heels right in front of your parents. Blushed when he’d squeeze your hand tighter walking past the jeweler’s at the mall. 

And you’d soaked Leon’s chest with tears before he rushed off to Raccoon City that September night so long ago, steely resolve in his eyes and a promise on his lips to come right back after doing his sworn duty.

Leon never returned. His letters did, though. 

Envelopes from seemingly nowhere – blacked out epistolary updates you’d read on your bathroom floor that grew briefer as weeks spiraled into months. 

What you could piece together from what wasn’t censored under an increasingly watchful eye was that Leon was under a government contract, fighting tooth and nail in some kind of training program that couldn’t have been any run-of-the-mill police kind. Something he had as little agency over as the frequency of his letters, he’d promised you. He was going to come home one day. Just one more month of training, one more mission, one last test. 

Leon was furious in his final message when he found out about the deal with the White House. The censor didn’t go through as much as it should have; you’d never been more grateful for the oversight as you tilted the page to read his scribbles in the margins.

Then came a terrifying radio silence. 

You waited each month afterwards for the postman to stop by your mailbox. Waded through a snowstorm in January to make sure the post office had your new address when you moved in 2003, practically begged the lady at the counter to check if they’d mixed up your letters with anyone else’s in the meantime. Nothing. 

“Two years, Leon,” you grit out, digging your nails into the leather of your couch. The tail end of his name takes on an ugly shape in your mouth when you rise to your feet, “I waited two years not knowing if you were alive or not.”

No one had answers to his disappearance except for the one you’d endured ever since he left: move on. 

The way he holds his tongue now, too, sets sparks alight in your throat. “And you want to know what happened to me since then?”

“Tell me,” Leon says softly.

Your voice falters. 

A dead man walking would take the breath out of you in any case, but it does even more so now that Leon looks larger than life – no longer an afterimage on TV and coming over to where you stand. Even with his shirt sleeves plastered to them from the rain, Leon’s arms look used to heavy duty; there’s a broadness in his shoulders he didn’t have out of the Academy. 

His mouth pinches when he stops a tentative foot away from you. “Tell me,” he repeats, frowning at your averted gaze. 

He’s waiting for you to speak. So close you could touch him, blood pumping through his veins just like you’d once prayed for until your breath ran out.

And it pisses you off. 

He doesn’t get to have it this easy.

“No.” 

Confusion colors his exclamation. “No?”

“No.” You smile bitterly at the ground when he backs off an inch, raising your chin to look him in the eyes as your own start to sting. “You don’t get to be the good guy. You don’t get to come barrelling back into my life, how’d you know I live here anyway…”

“I found out as soon as I could, you don’t think I’ve been worried sick about you-”

“Not after you cut me off!” 

“It’s not that simple!”

Two years. 730 days. Your throat so hoarse from crying the night before that you’d called off work some mornings. 

“You know what I think, Leon? I bet you thought I’d wait on you forever.”

He blinks fast, taken aback. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you’d have come back even if I didn’t?”

Didn’t. A flicker of something soft crosses his face. “Really?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, you cross your arms and spit out a haughty, “Of course not.”

Leon stares.

The resulting silence stretches half a minute.

It’s a tepid standoff at first, made worse by you searching his person up and down. You wrack your brain for his old tells: a jumping muscle in his jaw, a furrow of his brow. Angry, pink cheeks accompanied by a crestfallen pout. 

Nothing. He’s dead silent.

So you double down. 

“My friends told me to settle down, said it wasn’t safe living alone,” you sniff, rocking on the balls of your feet. “So unless you-mmf!”

Lips, crashing onto yours. Burning warm. Two seconds of affection before a tongue flicks brashly over the seam of your stunned mouth. Your brain in overdrive. Leon no longer a foot away but pressed so fiercely against you that your camisole starts going see-through from the water still saturating his shirt. 

Your hands feebly come up to his chest, not to push him off like you should, but to cling to his collar. Old habit.

Fuck. 

“You’ve gotten mean, sweetheart,” Leon grins razor sharp, whispering into the corner of your mouth. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I’m not…” God, he’s kissing the sense out of your head. Your lungs suck in his breaths like a failed attempt to go cold turkey.

“Sure you are, lying to me like that. Watching the news just in case I’m there.” 

Rough hands dig under your thighs. Hoist you up like you’re made of feathers.

“Only your shoes on the shoe rack. Heels I bought you.”

Your feet dangle in the air, your head’s not used to the drop in air pressure this high. You’re being lifted – where? 

“You think I’m that dense, baby?” 

The sound of wooden scraping scratches your ears as you register one of your kitchen chairs being dragged to the middle of the living room. You’re plopped unceremoniously down. 

And with your vision swimming, you notice Leon finally taking off his shirt. Unbuttoning it with fervor, throwing the fabric onto the floor so hard there’s a wet thwack!, and suddenly, he’s knelt at your feet, looking up at you with teeth chattering from the chill and a blizzard brewing in his eyes.

The raging storm outside nearly quiets for him to tell you, “We’re gonna do it this way.”

A cocktail of resentment and curiosity churns in your stomach. You stare daggers at the ceiling. Leon snatches his tie off the radiator and wraps it around his hand, checking if it’s dry by now. 

It is. Good. 

“Since you don’t want to look at me so badly,” he hisses, “you won’t need to look at me at all.” He unfurls the tie and lays it flat against his palm. “This is going over your eyes so I can actually get something inside your head. And you’re going to feel everything I say, okay?”

“I feel cold. You got my shirt wet,” you spit back.

“Then take it off,” Leon says smoothly.

How rude. Utterly uncouth. 

You’ve never flung off an article of clothing faster. You’ve got nothing to hide, you’re fucking better than to play meek to his games. Your bra barely hides how your nipples pebble in the frigid air, and Leon sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re wearing blue lace. His favorite.

His tone softens a fraction of a degree when he instructs, “You say ‘stop’ and it’s over. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

The silk wraps gentler around your eyes than you expect. The living room disappears into velvet, and your fingers twitch, itching to fly at your face and investigate the cause of this new pitch black.

“Hands down. I need them more than you do.” 

Leon’s voice ripples in the darkness. Oh God. That must be why people do this sort of thing. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, almost in awe.

Fuckfuckfuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell this early. 

“...a little.”

Your hand gets lifted into the air, your index and middle fingers separated from the rest. Leon touches their tips to the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, and right here, you feel the flutter of life. Wingbeats matching the race of your own heart. 

So is he.

There’s movement, butterfly wings brushing against your cheek when he reaches up to press a kiss there. Your fingers fall away from the base of his throat and land on a raised patch just below his right shoulder. It’s…almost star-shaped. Rough. 

“You have a scar here,” you breathe. “How’d you-”

“Bullet wound, 1998. I want you to keep going.”

You could’ve dug your nails into it. Scratched off one more reminder of the day Leon left you in the dark. His tie leaves you blind, but you don’t need sight to feel the trust Leon still has in you as he invites your fingertips to his chest. You go gentle into the good night with his voice to guide you.

“Knife scar,” he whispers. Soft, like how you trace over the mark. 

Your fingertips shake over his ribs.

“Burns from saving a little girl. She had eyes like yours.”

The trek is arduous, nonlinear. The same injuries show up again and again, scattered across his body like fireworks. You think you’re fine, using one hand for the job and clutching the other to your heart so it won’t break, and then you slip, grab onto his shoulders for support, and your palms fall over the flat of his back.

Two symmetrical gashes spread across his shoulder blades – Icarus’ wings singed off.

“I’ve tried saving a lot over the years, sweetheart,” Leon goes quiet, a new grief clogging his flow of explanation. “Thought I could have it all at first, you and this job. I wrote you less, told myself you’d already moved on, but you’re right, I…I wanted to keep you.” You discover tears sound thick when he laughs. “I’ve lost so fucking much these six years and I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to lose you too.”

“The kids in high school,” trembles your own voice, “they said I’d run away with you, but you ended up running from me.” 

“When you’re all I have left?” Leon brings your palm to his cheek. “How could I?”

“But you did!” you sob, banging weak fists against his chest.

You remember the pity, the snide judgment. Declining invites and frustrating friends when you’d flake on blind dates set up to get you out of the house. Switching excuses every time somebody back home called and inevitably asked, So when are you and Leon going to visit? Warring against logic (of course he’s fucking dead) and the arrested development of your heart as you rolled dice on his return. Four years in a stupor of when, two of what now?

Spending all that time at odds with yourself and the world turned you into a real tough kid. A callous bitch. Eventually, you forced yourself to explore your options like a grown woman should. Tried your hand at anything legal to forget the sinking feeling in your chest. Had a phase where you’d wake up in a stranger’s bed only to go home and collapse, rereading Leon’s letters in the cardboard box under your own. If it was steel that marked his back like this, yours is streaked with flint.

And that’s exactly what you tell him. 

Immediately, his shoulders straighten. “So you’ve gone on a few dates.”

If he wanted to be polite about it, yes.

“Did they fuck you as good as I did?”

You splutter. A cold zephyr breezes over your breasts when Leon exhales. There’s a rattle of metal – his belt, you register faintly – and your eyes squeeze shut behind your blindfold when he rises from his kneel, leaving the space between your thighs empty. 

“That is one hell of a greeting after six years, sweetheart.” His chuckle is dark, delightful. “Hands behind your back.” 

“You’re not fucking arresting me right now, Leon, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” you squeak when he loops leather over your wrists. Annoyingly, they fit perfectly in his palm. “Have you lost your mind? You- I still can’t see!”

Leon’s hold goes still. “Is that a stop?”

You huff indignantly. 

He shakes your wrists. “I don’t mess with that shit. Do you want me to stop?”

“…no.”

“Good. Comfortable?”

Embarrassingly enough, the back of your kitchen chair isn’t half bad to have your arms around. Giving your newly bound hands a wriggle, you answer Leon with a quick nod, and he presses his lips to the back of your head in confirmation. He circles back between your thighs, a vulture in the dark. Your knees shove open courtesy of two calloused palms. 

“Lift your hips,” is your next instruction. And then, “These are coming off.” 

Your bottoms slide off in a fleeting caress down your legs. A cushion pushes between the surprised arch of your back and the chair’s straight one, leaving your bare, trembling- oh God. 

Oh God. He’s-

“You’re going to hold perfectly still and let me say hello to my favorite girl, sweetheart. Poor thing hasn’t gotten any attention since I’ve been spoiling you with all my talking.”

A kiss falls onto your clit. Your hips jerk up – oh shit! 

Leon seizes the opportunity to lick into your entrance before further coherent thought can form in your brain. 

He must’ve planned it, counting on your brainless reflexes to push your hips further into his scorching mouth. You get points for being brave, though: swallowing screams, pretending your thighs aren’t fighting to clamp around his head, attempting an escape to your happy place when really, this is it – this painstakingly sweet suction on your nerves.

He pops off with a wet smack! magnified by your blindfold. Slurs, “Missed this pussy so fuckin’ much,” dives back to trace figure eights around your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

You pretend the icy air is curling your toes for ego’s sake. Try and stave off morbid curiosity. “You…didn’t see anyone? All this time – hah!”

“Do you have any idea,” suck, “how many times I’ve come into my hand thinking of you?”

Your heavy head falls back with a wail.

“How many times I’ve fucked my fist to your name?”

“Leon!”

He pulls away at your keening cry, deaf to any begging to come back. “You just never know what’s good for you, baby. You don’t listen to your friends, you let me tie you up like this, fuck yourself on my face…” 

There’s rustling, and your living room bursts with color as a sharp tug untwists the knot of Leon's tie behind your head. You enter the world in tears all over again. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, I was so close-”

And when the darkness subsides, you’re free to lay eyes on the perpetrator. 

Leon.

Leon with his hair mussed to high heaven, pushed to his forehead by the greedy grind of your hips. Ocean eyes surveying you over a mouth flushed red with cheeks to match. A fallen angel at your feet, working his sinful tongue inside his mouth as he breathes.

Blood thumps through your veins. Your chest heaves. The chair is sticky, uncomfortable; entirely your fault. Your hands writhe behind your back as you struggle to sit up properly against the pillow and salvage some of your pride.

Leon’s gaze fixes on the floor. “I didn’t. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat swelling with thorns, and he groans like you kicked him in the ribs.

He rises to his knees as you slump; reaches behind the chair to unbuckle your restraints, shaking his head. “Yeah, I should be. I put you through hell for six years. I came back from Spain expecting to introduce myself to your fiancé or something, you know? Should’ve brought flowers at least.”

A hot tear slides down your cheek. 

It was Leon. On the news. The President’s daughter, the rescue. 

The hero.

This is how you welcome a hero home?

Spying your arms wilted at your sides, Leon takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. This time, it’s a warming salve when he kisses into your skin, unlatching only to move an inch and repeat, sucking roses the shape of his mouth onto the softest parts of you.

He rasps into your slick flesh, “Just let me have this, and I promise I’ll go.”

And he noses his way back into your folds, quickly giving up on flowery notions to feast like a man starved. You’re lulled to sleep by the lap of his tongue before he starts working it with the prowess of a Swiss knife, soothing and scalding in turns as it digs into your now oversensitive cunt. The scrape of his 5 o’clock shadow on your inner thigh makes for a maddening mix.

It all sends you crumpling over his head with a cry. 

His hungry hand pays no mind, scrambling under the lace of your bra to knead at your tender breast, thumbing at your nipple. You pay back the favor, fisting chunks of his hair as your arousal drips down his chin, and Leon’s thanks arrive in the form of guttural whines you’d forgotten you could wrench from him. 

So goes Leon’s last meal. You’d be enjoying it too if your brain hadn’t finally caught onto what came out of his mouth before he turned it into a decoy.

I’ll go.

Good luck fighting the itch to interrupt. 

You yank hard, and he moans complaint through a mouthful of pussy. “It’s not gonna work,” he gasps when you wrench his face from between your thighs, demanding explanation. 

“So you’re just going to walk out on me again?” you snap through a haze of tears. “What about what I want?”

“You want this?” 

Leon shoves your hands deeper still, wincing when he purposely digs your nails into his scalp. 

“Pull. Make it hurt,” he swallows, voice cracking. “Tell me to get the hell out. Tell me you hate me for breaking your heart. Find someone who’s in your life enough to love you right, and let me set you free, sweetheart, please. I can’t take it.”    

By all means, you should take his offer. 

Pull out every damn strand of hair on his head. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Go on for God’s sake. What happened to drinking yourself to half to death, trying to water down the fear that Leon beat you to its doorstep?

Think about never having to wake up to the cold side of your bed again. Don’t think about how perfectly Leon’s cheek cradles into your thigh. How he lets you map the moles on his neck when you have trouble falling asleep.   

Finally having a shoulder to cry on, someone who sweeps you off your feet, inside jokes that confuse everyone but you two. Forget how Leon won your heart as a teenager doing exactly that. 

Getting called pet names that make you blush in front of your friends: baby, angel, darling, sweetheart. Don’t you dare imagine each one rolling off Leon’s tongue the first time he crowned you with them.

Do not, above all circumstances, remember that wrapped in your arms right now is the boy who, after saving the President’s daughter all by himself, ran back to you within hours of his return. Who’d waited for you in his own way.

Your hands drop to cup his cheeks. Wetness makes your thumbs slip when you brush them across — the rain had to have dried off long ago. And with eyes misting shut, you thread your fingers as tenderly as you can through Leon’s hair, and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’re really doing this?” Leon’s whisper wavers a decibel above hope.

Hotel citrus stings your nose, and you wonder how long it’ll take to replace it with the scent of your shampoo. 

You’ve missed this. Missed him. 

“The clearance I have after this mission, it’s insane,” he’s twenty-one again at the touch of your lips, gushing in disbelief over his badge coming in the mail with you at the kitchen table, “I-I couldn’t believe I got them to let me go right after the press release. Alone! I can’t be home all the time but it won’t be like before, I can actually come back, and if you want me to-”

But unfortunately, the relentless throb between your legs forces you to school your expression into anything except elated at the unfolding prospects.

“Leon.”

His grin flashes white. “Yeah?”

“If you came back just to eat me out, I’ll kick you out for real.”

It must be fun, you gripe, thinking straight without soft breaths fanning embers between your legs like a sadistic bellows for the past ten minutes; ruining your cushion beyond hope of wash or repair. 

Leon lets out a barking laugh, head thrown back, and aghast, you bat at his chest. 

“Mean really is a good look on you. You don’t want to talk details?” he teases, pulling you in for a kiss that tastes like desire – like you.

“Not when you’re- you know-” you splutter, antsy.

“Oh, come on. Say it.”

“You used to be nice to me!” 

Sadly for you, you’ve kissed him giddy, and giddy turns him cocky real fast. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you tell me, angel. Four words.” He grins, tucking a hand between your thighs to interrupt your squirming and raising the other to count, “‘Leon. Please…’”

“Fuck me already!” you cry, and it’s three, but he sweeps you up in a blur of limbs anyway.

Bra strap falling off your shoulder. His mouth sealing onto yours. Pussy sobbing for attention over the crotch of his dress slacks. Leon groaning at the feeling of you soaking through fabric covering a held-off arousal so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. His endurance training had come in handy, it seems.

There’s a blind fumbling in the dim light as he grits out a “Gladly,” and stumbles out of your living room in a mad rush, sacrificing his shoulder to several walls for the sake of kissing you breathless.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like Bambi. You sure you can make it?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t take me to bed right this second…” 

“And here I was trying to be nice. Bedroom?”

“On the right,” you pant, clawing his mouth back onto yours again. 

He follows through, no reconnaissance training needed to find the door you direct him towards with your foot. Either the heat’s better here, or it’s every cell in your body buzzing with anticipation when he flicks the nearest lamp to life. You pull him onto the bed with you, silk sheets caressing your bare skin as you scooch to make space for Leon to crawl up and over you. 

The sharp rasp of a fly zipping undone cuts through the air. He hisses in frustration, patting his pockets. “Shit, I don’t have a-” 

“Condom?”

“Yeah. You still keep them in your nightstand?”

You worry your bottom lip. “Not for a while, I haven’t, um, done anything in a bit, but I’m on the pill and I’m clean.” Please, please, don’t let this be a dealbreaker. “Is…that okay?”

“Holy shit.” Leon whooshes out a breath, grinning as he leans back on his knees. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s a go. Your stomach swoops with rollercoaster adrenaline.

He balls up his slacks, kicks off his sodden boxers (your chest puffs with pride as he tosses it to the floor), and parts your trembling legs painstakingly slow in comparison. Sharp eyes rove over the love bites littering your thighs, admiring his handiwork. You bite the inside of your cheek, devil on your shoulder itching you to tease, and let your hands skitter across over the juncture of your thighs where Leon’s focus lingers.

“Spread yourself for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You do. Let your fingers dip into your arousal, gasp at the cold air kissing your folds when you bloom for him. Roses all over your thighs when you’re his prettiest one. He leans down and kisses the bud at your center, sending the most pleasant electric tingle running up your spine. 

“You promised,” you whine, craning your neck to see his face framed between your thighs again. “Need you inside. Please.”

For once, Leon indulges you, but not without himself too. 

“Turn over for me. Oh, I know,” he coos at your pout and the upset buck of your hips, “give me a chance, angel. I’ve been dreaming of this for years. Planned out every fucking detail.”

You flip over with a huff. One broad palm lifts your pelvis into the air, easy as anything, and the other slips a pillow between your thighs, making sure the plump cotton nestles right up against your swollen clit. You give your hips a tentative grind and promptly gasp at the shot of pleasure. Friction at your command, leaving Leon free to run wild.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Good?”

“Mhm...”

You face the headboard, stomach to the sheets and blood roaring in your ears. Blind again to what he has in store for you. Slick pumps sound from behind – Leon finally planning to make good on his word – and the head of his cock nudges at your weeping entrance, teasing the now-fraying nerves lining your slit, so close to where you need him that your breath audibly catches.

He waits. Pulls your strings taut –

Hisses, “I’m gonna fuck out every memory of anyone you’ve been with while I was gone.”

– and cuts them loose.

Your scream ricochets off the walls when he plunges in.

It shouldn’t be pretty. There’s nothing pretty about the haze of green that clouded Leon’s vision for a selfish second while yours was at his mercy not long ago. Your one-night stands translated to competition in his head. He’s only a man. But there’s something undeniably pretty about the divine arch of your back that has him spellbound when your cunt swallows him to the root in a single go, suffocatingly sweet.

“Goddamn, you’re tight!” 

Leon’s fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he fights for balance. You’ve got a mattress to claw; he’s only as stable as his pride. He lets you catch your breath after the first thrust, has your addled brain waxing poetic when you swear you feel his dick throb in time with his heartbeat inside you. 

It doesn’t help that he’s got a mouth on him. “Pussy sucking me in like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he gasps when you clench.

Your fingers curl proudly into your bedsheets. 

It’s a game of push and pull from here. Leon’s hips drag back, and with all the agony of too many nights with his right hand and your name for company, he starts carving into the meat of your ass. 

You make a strangled noise, and eventually improve to, “Oh, ohmy- ohmygod!”

He can’t keep his hands off you. They span your lower back, cup your breasts in turns, explore the drenched underside of the pillow you rut against in time with his thrusts. You’re handled with just enough precision to keep you speared on his dick, all so Leon can watch, gobsmacked, how your drooling pussy opens up for him. In-out, in-out. A scene out of his wet dreams.

Your cries syncopate with the slam of his thighs against yours, an embarrassing, pornstar-worthy, “Ah-ah, ah-ah!” that you’d have more shame over if you weren’t busy getting the brains fucked out of you. 

Leon realizes the beauty of the present tense with each inch of his length you coat in your arousal over and over again. 

“Look so pretty taking me like this, my perfect girl, doing so fucking good, look at you…” 

The pressure building in your stomach rears its head. Threatens to push you over.

“I missed you so much,” you sob into the sheets, “so fucking much, I can’t, I don’t know how to- oh!” 

“Won’t leave you ever again,” Leon pants, tilting your chin so he can see your pretty face. “Never- oh my God, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Call it intuition, instinct. If you were close before, Leon’s fingers rushing to your clit cement your theory; he’s never been wrong about it, even as a rookie.

Your hands scramble to claw at the back of his neck.  

“Fuck, you are!” he exclaims.

Home stretch. Leon’s hips threaten to stutter, so he sinks his teeth in your shoulder in a desperate bid to keep them steady. 

For you, the pain of it is primal, flavored with a need for connection that has you groping blindly to lace his fingers through yours. Instinct all over again. 

For Leon, it’s how you kept him going all this time; you’ll keep him grounded now. He’s not going to last otherwise. 

You listen, face planted to the bed. Wait for the last thread to snap, for Leon’s gasp at the final flutter of your cunt around him. Your orgasm doesn’t come in a babbling, sputtering, break of the sound barrier, no – it comes as a gentle push.

A trust fall off the edge with Leon right behind.

You see bright light. Nothing of the abyss you plunged into when he left. There’s a jerk behind your navel, and pleasure starts curling upwards from your stomach like the licking of a comfortable fire. Your ears pop from the ecstasy flowing through your veins and it’s almost as if you can hear its crackling embers right here, right now as Leon fits so perfectly inside you. 

In and out. In and out. In-out, in-out. You breathe, and he breaks. 

He spills into you warmer than sunshine. Molten gold, filling your cracks like kintsugi. The air admits, “I love you”, having trouble telling apart which of you said it first.

He’s got a week on his hands. A week of wonders stretches in front of you, seven whole days to figure out how this new arrangement will work. 

“It’s as much as they’d let me call off on such short notice, but we’ll take it from there,” Leon murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

He’s back in your arms where he belongs. Morning peeks through your blinds with the sun’s face washed clean from last night’s rainstorm, and if you open your window right about now, you could say hello to all the flowers blooming in celebration. 

You can get to that later. You’ve got more pressing matters on your hands, like taking headcount of the constellation of moles dotting Leon’s chest and introducing yourself to the new ones. You have a feeling you’ll learn them by heart real soon.

“We can figure it out together,” you hum, content with your head propped against the headboard. 

An exhilaratingly real concept. 

“Together.” Leon breathes lightly. “Yeah.”

“And you know, I think that’s more than enough time to buy me real flowers.”

He chokes back a not-so-subtle cough. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“If you want to make up for how I’ll have to wear pants and turtlenecks to work for the next week, yes,” you poke into his chest, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

“But you hate flowers! You say they always die on you!”

“No girl actually hates flowers, Leon!”

“At least I didn’t show up empty-handed. Give me a sec, sweetheart, I almost forgot.”

Leon pecks your forehead, slipping out of bed to pad to the living room. He comes back, having fetched his now dry suit jacket with the curious bulge still threatening to spill out of its left pocket, and hands it to you like a cat would a dead bird at your doorstep.

You give the creased clothing an unimpressed stare.

“Look in the pocket,” he insists, climbing back under the comforter.

You pull out a half-melted pack of Ferrero Rocher.

“Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to do that and I think I left them by the radiator…”

He’s lucky they taste just as delicious melted. You’ll have to give him a lesson in gifting before the holidays roll around because he’ll be here to celebrate them for the first time in six years – a thought sweeter than the chocolate-flavored kisses you peck onto his cheek. 

And in between the shining candy wrappers and Leon’s blond hair tickling your neck when he presses you into the bed again, this time, you think everything gold might just stay. 

fun (and spicy) fact about chocolate, and psst, find more of my work here!

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated, they keep fics from dying out <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[janeyseymour]

Share Your Address

based on Ben Platt's "Share Your Address", and my rendition of the song is attached! Please enjoy!

Summary: Melissa is intoxicating. It might be too soon, but you want everything that has to do with her.

WC: 5k

You had never planned on meeting Melissa Schemmenti, much less falling for her. But just like that, she waltzed her way into your life just a month ago at the bar. As you’ve learned, she’s also someone who almost never lets her guard down. The same would go for you- always guarded and hesitant to let anybody into your life. It’s done you wrong before. For someone who always had your walls up around you, you fell hard for that redhead. You’re not quite sure you could pin any one thing that made you fall for her as hard as you did, and you’re only continuing to fall. There’s just something about her that’s so intoxicating. Maybe it’s her sweet and somehow simultaneously musty perfume, or the way that her shiny red hair always perfectly frames her face. It might be the way that she has that sparkling Hollywood smile without even trying, or the fact that she is quite literally everything that you’ve always dreamed of- hardheaded, not afraid to speak her mind- she’s always got that hint of sarcasm and fire to her. Or maybe it’s just that she’s Melissa, and she has an absolutely addictive personality. Whatever it is about the second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary, you can’t get her out of your head. 

Darling you might think it’s too soon, but I can’t get you out of my head now. Picturing myself in your room, and I wanna be with you ’til I’m dead now. 

It’s been a month, and in that month, you and Melissa have been practically inseparable. After work, you’re with her and cooking dinner or treating her to a nice night out on the town. You end up in her bed quite a few times. On Saturdays, the two of you will go out to the club and relieve what you truly believe might’ve been the highlight of your life- meeting her. On Sundays, you soak in the peace and quiet, taking every breath and mentally preparing yourselves for the next week.

And if you aren’t together, you’re texting. You tease Melissa about the fact that she should probably be teaching her students, but she dismisses your concern and promises you that they’re working on an independent project- they’ll get her attention if they need her.

The truth is, you just can’t get the redheaded second grade teacher out of your head- you’re falling for her, and you’re falling for her fast and hard. It might be too quick to judge, but there’s something special about her. Just like when you were younger and more naive, you picture yourself in her room. You daydream about the things you would do to her if you were with her at the moment. And when your imagination becomes a bit over the top, you have to leave your cubicle and take a few laps around the building to cool down those rather steamy thoughts you’re having. But then, of course, she texts you again- and once again, you feel like you’re on fire.

You want Melissa Schemmenti until you are no longer on this earth. If you spent your last few breathing moments with her, you’re fairly certain it would be worth it- a life well lived.

I want your friends to be my friends. I’ll make you breakfast in your bed. I want it all with you. And if I’m coming on too strong, it’s ‘cause I’ve waited far too long for someone just like you.

It’s only been a month, but here you are with Melissa, and you’re making breakfast that the two of you are planning to enjoy in bed. Now, usually she would never condone that- it took her long enough to begin eating on her plastic covered couch (and you’ve somehow managed to convince her to take it off… sex on a couch covered in plastic is not something you ever wish to experience again). But she’s willing to make an exception for you; you seem to be the exception to everything she ever thought she knew in life.

“You’re so sexy when you cook in my clothes,” Melissa wraps her arms around your waist and kisses the slope of your neck. Her right hand swiftly trails down your body to grab your ass. “God.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckle quietly. “I’m sure you look way hotter in it.”

You feel her rather than hear her refute that claim as she shakes her head into your back.

The two of you settle on her bed with a wonderful spread of breakfast and coffee. Somehow, she’s managed to fix your cup of coffee to perfection. Of course she knows how you prefer your coffee- it’s one of the first things she learned about you.

It’s a warm, still somewhat sleepy haze that you’re in when her phone begins to ring. She glances at the caller ID and sighs before flipping her phone over on the nightstand. You had just so happened to catch a look at it, and you know her work wife won’t be too thrilled if she doesn’t answer.

“You can answer it,” you say through a mouthful of eggs. “It’s okay, hun.”

The redhead quirks her lips to the side but relents, although she makes it quite clear to you that she’s not appreciating the fact that your little bubble has been burst. She does pick up the phone though.

“What, Barb? It’s nine in the morning.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Melissa,” the kindergarten teacher quips. “I was just calling to see if we were still good for lunch today?”

Green eyes look over to you. You nod with a smile before mouthing, ‘Hang out with Barb. It’s okay.’

“We are,” the redhead grumbles. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Oh, you were still asleep! I’m sorry; I just figured you would already be up,” Barbara apologizes.

“I’ll see you at noon,” the redhead next to you sighs out. “Bye.”

Melissa hangs up the phone before placing her phone back down. She turns to you. “I forgot about lunch with Barb,” she admits quietly, knowing that the two of you had made plans to walk around the city today.

“It’s fine, hun,” you promise her. “You deserve to go have fun with her. Although…” you trail off as you debate whether you want to voice your thoughts or not.

“What?”

“I would love to meet her, and the others in your group,” you tell her softly. “I- I know it’s soon, but I have a feeling this could be something, and I would love to be able to meet them.”

The redhead gives you a warm smile- not what you had expected from her. “I think that would be nice. How would you feel about joining me an’ Barb for lunch today?” 

“Really?” you ask softly. “You’re up for that? I was- I was nervous that I was coming on too strong.”

Melissa pulls you in for a soft, sweet kiss. “What you feel for me, I feel for you. An’ I don’t know why, but I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

“Good,” you sigh with relief. “I’m sorry if I come off as too strong, but I- I’ve waited far too long for someone like you to come into my life.”

“A hot mess?” the redhead teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone who is as beautiful and as sexy as you while having a quick and brilliant mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You do. Breakfast is forgotten until after you shut her up.

And so you join your… well, she does introduce you to her work wife as her girlfriend- you join your girlfriend for lunch. And Barbara is nothing but elegant and kind to you, just as Melissa said she would be- she ensures that you’re always a part of the conversation while Melissa fills in the missing pieces of their stories and conversation for you. 

And come a week later, on a Friday, you’re able to leave your own place of employment an hour early to meet your girlfriend at her coworkers’ favorite bar for happy hour.

The Abbott crew welcomes you with open arms, just as Melissa had told you they would.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s been two months now that you’ve been seeing Melissa. And you can only find yourself falling for her more and more. It’s not what you had expected in the slightest when you first met her at the bar. In all honesty, you were expecting a one night stand at best, not to still be here with this beautiful woman two months later and officially dating.

You spend more time in Melissa’s house than your own apartment at this point- the redhead’s house feels more like home to you than your apartment ever has. You have a drawer reserved for you, a toothbrush for the nights that you spend with her, and you’ve made a little space for yourself on the nightstand on what you think of as your side of the bed.

The second grade teacher is out and grocery shopping by the time you wake up on this lazy Saturday. You know she’s already out, because there’s an index card propped up on her pillow that tells you exactly where she is, when she expects to be back, and it’s signed with a heart.

You’re exhausted from this week. but you know that you should probably get out of bed for the day. By the time you make your way down the steps, the aroma of the coffee that your girlfriend had made has you practically running for the pot.

Once you’ve finished your coffee, you glance around the living room, and there are various articles of both of your clothes from last night’s escapades. Your cheeks flush at the mere thought of what had taken place last night, and a dopey smile washes over your face.

With a sigh, you begin to pick up both yours and Melissa’s clothes, following the trail of pants, shirts, and undergarments back into the bedroom. You can’t help but chuckle at how desperate the two of you were after you got back from the bar. You toss them into her laundry basket and bring it down the steps with you on your hip. As you’re emptying the things into the washing machine, you see a glimmer of something hiding behind the big piece of metal. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you look. It’s a club- of course it is. Leave it to your girlfriend to think about needing a weapon if she was ever doing her laundry. You roll your eyes in good nature before depositing detergent into the machine and turning it on. 

As you make your way back up into the living room, you can’t help but notice the abundance of pictures that the redhead has in her house, all in beautiful frames. There’s something about it that makes you want to be in her photographs. You’re sure you’ll get there someday, maybe when you share an address with her.

You’ve just settled onto the couch when you hear Melissa fiddling with the front door. In an instant, you’re back on your feet and letting her in before heading out and managing to juggle the last few bags from her shopping trip.

“Thank you,” your girlfriend smiles at you when you return. She’s already unpacking the various bags when something catches your eye. It’s a picture frame that she just bought.

“That’s pretty,” you comment quietly. “Whose picture is going in there?”

Melissa smiles and then pulls out an envelope. “Ours.” 

Your heart swells in your chest. “I- I know it’s a bit soon to be saying this, and I don’t expect you to say it back, but: I love you.”

You’re immediately pulled into a warm kiss. “I love you too,” she murmurs as she rests her forehead against yours.

I just wanna stare at your face, and spend quality time with your mother. We can over drink at your favorite place, and we can waste the whole next day to recover.

You meet the Schemmenti family about six weeks into dating. And Melissa’s mother is an absolute delight. It’s clear as day who your girlfriend takes after in both looks and personality. Mathilde, but she insists you call her Tillie, is a lively woman with a bright personality and a tendency to be sarcastic and fiery. And while she has that bite to her, much like your girlfriend, she has a softer and warmer side that she shows you once she sees how in love you are with her daughter- you rarely take your eyes off of that bright and happy face now that she’s in the comfort of her mother’s home. She’s- she’ stunning; there’s no other way to put it.

Melissa is in the bathroom when Tillie finally asks you, “Why my Melly?” 

“I should’ve known you would ask that,” you chuckle as you sip your wine. “She’s home. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s funny,” the older woman breathes out. “Melly said the same about you.”

From that day on, you and Tillie spend a lot of time together. From Sunday dinners with the Schemmenti family, to a nice lunch if you have a day off, you find that you and your girlfriend’s mother get along quite well. It doesn’t take long for her to quietly confide in you that Melissa is head over heels in love with you- something that she’s never seen before, even with her ex-husband. 

The act of over drinking at her favorite place takes often more than you’d really care to admit. But there’s one night where the two of you end up absolutely obliterated, and you truly have to take all of Saturday to recover from your wicked hangovers.

It all started when Jacob suggested that the Abbott crew go out for a happy hour on a Friday. And for some reason, Barbara agrees and convinces your girlfriend to tag along. Because the two of you were supposed to go out tonight together, she begs you to join the school crew for a few drinks.

A few drinks turns into a crazy night. It starts out tame enough, a beer or two. But then Ava shows up, claims that the place that you’re at is far too boring, and she escorts all of you to a skanky dive bar- the one that the two of you met in actually.

“This is our bar,” your girlfriend nudges you. “Who woulda thought that Ava would like a place like this.”

“The stickier the bar, the better,” the principal tells her, having heard the redhead’s comment.

You don’t even remember how you got back to Melissa’s house. The last thing you can somewhat string together is dancing with your girlfriend and giggling as Barbara brought over another round of shots for your group. That one did you in.

You wake with a groan. God, your head is pounding. And if you’re feeling this way, you don’t even want to guess how Melissa is feeling.

Your stomach turns, and you bolt for the bathroom. Before you know it, your girlfriend is right there with you, emptying the contents of her stomach into the trashcan beside you.

“Oh my god,” you groan out as you flush the toilet. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Melissa whines as she closes up the bag and reaches for the mouthwash. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Neither am I,” you grumble as you reach for the bottle once she’s finished with it. 

With a few grunts, you manage to pick yourself up off the floor before assisting your girlfriend up too. The two of you just barely make it back to bed before your hand dives into the nightstand on your side and you pull out the Advil. You shake a few pills into your hand before offering Melissa the bottle. She follows suit, and then you’re swallowing them with the little bit of water that still remains in your water bottle.

You spend most of the day asleep, and it takes you until approximately four in the afternoon to even slightly feel like a human. Your girlfriend drags you to the couch before she sluggishly makes her way into the kitchen. She comes back with a plate full of food.

“Lis, if I eat now, I will hurl again.”

“Just eat, she grumbles as she takes a bite of a cracker. “Soak up the booze with carbs.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you grumble as you force yourself to eat a few pieces of toast.

“Neither am I,” Melissa promises herself.

Of course, the next weekend, you’re out at the bars again. 

I wanna watch you while you sleep. I know I might sound like a creep, but I can’t help myself. And it’s so easy to forget that we’ve barely even met, but I want no one else. 

It’s one of those rare days where you wake up before Melissa on a Saturday morning. Her soft snores fill the room, her hair is splayed out underneath of her, and there’s a hint of a smile dancing on her lips as she dreams. You only hope that she’s dreaming of you.

You know it might come off as a little creepy, maybe odd, but you find yourself just studying her face as you lay there with her. She’s like an angel- your redheaded, fiery, angel. Her eyes open slowly, and she blearily blinks away the sleep. Warm, green eyes find yours.

“Good morning,” you whisper as you kiss her nose.

She giggles just slightly before pulling herself closer to you. “It is a good morning when I wake up with you.”

You just continue to hold her close to you and drink in the wonderfully delicious haze of this sleepy morning.

In that moment, you realize that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. In bed with your beautiful girlfriend- the one, you think quietly to yourself. You know that the two of you haven’t been together nearly long enough to fully know if she’s the one you want to be with for the rest of your life. They say that if a couple stays together for more than two years, they’ve hashed it all out, and that seems to be the threshold that a lot of couples seem to struggle to make it to, but there’s a gut feeling that you have about her. You have a feeling that you’ll make it to that two year mark, and then a long while after that if you’re lucky.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s a Thursday that you’re supposed to go to your girlfriend’s house for dinner when she calls you while you’re clocking out of work.

“Hey, babe,” you answer with a smile.

“Hey.” You can tell immediately that Melissa is not in a good mood. “So, I know we’re supposed to have dinner tonight at my house.”

“But?” you prompt quietly, and you can’t quite hide the sadness in your voice.

“One of my kiddos, Sharmia, her mom is gonna be late picking her up. By like… three hours- won’t get back into the city until six at the earliest, and that’s if she doesn’t hit any traffic.”

“Oh,” you sigh softly. “Hey, that’s okay. I know you want to be there for her, and she’s more important.”

“Thank you for understanding,” your girlfriend says quietly into the phone. “I knew you would.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her. “What if I stopped by the school and brought dinner for all of us? And then I can just come over with you once she’s picked up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” the redhead says, although she’s hoping you insist. Today has been rough enough as it is, and now she’s stuck in the school for longer than she’d like to be.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” you promise. “I can’t say that Wawa's will be nearly as good as what we were going to cook up tonight, but… it’s something.”

“Thank you.”

You pull up to the school just a little while later with hoagies and drinks in hand and call to let her know you’re at Abbott.

Only about thirty seconds later is your girlfriend and her student pushing open the door for you to enter.

Sharmia’s mother ends up coming to the school at 6:30, apologizing profusely for keeping the two of you at the school and waiting for so long. Melissa just waves her off, telling her she would do it if it meant Sharmia was safe.

They leave, and then you and your girlfriend are walking out of the school hand in hand. You pull up to her house in record timing.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t just let yourself in,” Melissa tells you as she unlocks the front door and pushes it open.

“Hey,” you get her attention quietly with a squeeze to her hand. “It’s no big deal. I still got to spend time with you.”

“Yeah,” Melissa sighs. “But I’m sure you would’ve rather been able to come here and relax with a glass of wine instead of sitting in Abbott with me eating Wawa.”

“You know I’m a slut for a good Wawa hoagie,” you joke. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” your girlfriend sighs as she drops to the couch. She kicks off her shoes. “Jesus, I’m exhausted.”

You hum your agreement. 

It’s an early night for the two of you, in bed and asleep by nine. Her chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, your arms keeping her against you to keep warm.

And come Saturday, the two of you are doing your rounds of shopping. She stops in front of the key making machine and inserts her key.

“What are you doing?” you furrow a brow.

Melissa smiles at you. “I’m making you a key… that way if I have another late night or you need something and I’m not there, you can just let yourself in.”

Slowly, your things make their way to Melissa’s house, and it’s fair to say that you practically live with her. You do still have your apartment though, in case something goes awry between the two of you and you need a place. 

But your clothes intermingle with hers, you picking up her clothes and tossing them into the laundry with your own. 

It warms your heart to know that there isn’t much your girlfriend hides form you at this point. You know where most of her weapons scattered around the house are- you always discover them with a chuckle. 

More pictures of the two of you begin to litter the flat surfaces in the house, and you’re included in a few family photos with the entire Schemmenti clan. There’s even a picture of the Abbott clan with you in it.

The longer that you stay with Melissa, the more you become fairly certain that you truly will end up with her in your life forever, and this house will become yours too.

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

“Do you really have to go?” you ask your girlfriend after she tells you about the upcoming PECSA conference.

“I do,” Melissa sighs softly. “But it’s only for a weekend, and I’ll be fine. Other than that one PECSA weekend, I’ve been fine.”

“What happened at this one weekend?” you ask with an amused smirk.

The redhead’s cheeks tint pink. “I may have broken my wrist after I took a tumble.”

“Melissa!”

“It was a couple years ago, and I’m fine.”

“Mel, if something like that happens again,” you take her hand gently in yours.

“You’ll be my first call,” she promises. “Well, after Barb if she ain’t with me.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Just please… try not to break another bone, especially if I’m not already with you.”

“Trust me,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes. “I’m really going to try to not break another bone. That shit hurt like a bitch.”

She pulls out her phone, and after a few taps, you’re listed as her emergency contact on her phone. “See? You’ll be the first person to be called if I can’t call myself.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you fold your arms with a loving smile.

Melissa shrugs. “Yeah, and you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.”

When PECSA weekend rolls around, you hate how alone you feel. You attempt to keep yourself busy, but it’s weird not being with your girlfriend. She’s constantly texting you about all of the fun things that she’s doing though, and it makes you happy to know she’s having a good time. Even though she told you that you were more than welcome to stay at her house over the weekend, and you do, it doesn’t feel like home the way it does when she’s with you. Home isn’t her house, you realize with a soft sigh. Home is wherever she. When she doesn’t end up calling you because she broke her wrist again, you sigh a breath of relief. And as soon as she walks through that front door and pulls you into a tight hug, you feel the energy in the room shift. You’re home again. 

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

You’re sitting at work when you get a phone call from your girlfriend. That’s odd- she should be standing outside at recess duty, not calling you.

“Hello?” you answer, voice laced with concern.

“Hun,” Melissa’s voice sounds a bit panicked. “I- I took a fall out on the recess yard.”

“Shit, are you okay?” you ask, although it’s clear from her tone alone that she isn’t.

“N-no,” she stutters out. “Barb’s gettin’ ready to take me to the ER now, but I- I wanted to let you know.”

“Shit,” you mutter as you close your laptop and begin to gather your things. “What hospital?”

“Jefferson,” she gasps out. “I- I definitely broke my ankle, hun.”

“Okay,” you sigh into the phone. “Okay, hold tight, babe. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” she whispers out.

“I love you,” you tell her before hanging up. You march yourself down to your boss’s office and let him know you’re heading out- family emergency. He just nods, and that’s all you need to sprint out of the office and out to your car.

When you get to the hospital, Barbara heads in your direction. “She broke it. They have her pretty drugged up right now, just a warning.”

You just give her a tight lipped nod before making your way into the room they have Melissa in.

“I told ya I’d call if I ever got hurt,” the redhead smirks, although her words are quite slurred.

You roll your eyes and make your way over to her, kissing her softly. “What the hell were you doing that you broke your ankle?”

“Janine challenged me to a monkey bar race,” your girlfriend tells you. “Hey, have I ever told you how beautiful you are, mi amore?”

“Idiot,” you grumble, but there’s a smile on your face. “You can be so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Melissa grins dopily. “Stupid in love with you.”

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s only a year into dating that Melissa asks you to move in with her officially.

“Really?” you ask her.

Your girlfriend gives you a look that tells you she’s being serious, and you’re ridiculous for even questioning it. “Hun, you practically live here as it is. You have a key, you’re rarely ever at your apartment anymore, all of your stuff is here. I hav nothing to hide from you, your picture is all over this house. Why don’t we just…spare you the rent and share an address?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? Too fast?” you ask her. You know that the two of you have thrown caution to the wind throughout most of this relationship, but still- moving in together officially is a big step.

She shakes her head. “If I thought we were moving too fast, do you think I would’ve asked you to move in?”

“If you’re serious, then yes. I’d love to actually move in with you.”

“Can I ask you one more question?” your girlfriend asks.

“Shoot.”

“So if we’re sharing an address, do you want to share a last name too?” Melissa drops to her knee. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[steddietogo]

So. This is my own take on Steddie meet cute at the Grammys (gets a little thirsty in the middle for a second so warning I guess??)

———

The buzzing in his veins feel too much to contain in Eddie’s body, his cheeks ache from grinning too hard. He grabs Jeff by the shoulders to shake him and Jeff takes it without complain, too busy floating in his own cloud nine to do anything about it. All four of them are.

They’re being carted off from one interview to another, it’s all hazy in his mind, all he can think of is that they won a fucking Grammy.

“We’re here backstage with Corroded Coffin with their first ever Grammy from the best rock performance category,” the interviewer is saying, then he turns to face the band, and shit. Eddie has to sling an arm over Gareth to keep himself upright. “So how are you guys feeling right now?”

“It feels very validating to get the recognition for all our hard work—” and everything else Jeff says barely registers. Eddie is staring, he’s distantly aware of it. But he should hardly be blamed. The man before him is dressed in a deep caramel suit, jacket cinching around a trim waist and bubble gum pink lips stretched in a smile as he diligently listens to what his band has to say.

“— and Eddie, he’s really put his heart and soul in this song in particular,” the mention of his name unceremoniously drags him back to the land of the living where his bandmates know him too well and are actively trying to sabotage him before the sexy interviewer. Gareth is innocently blinking up at Eddie with his I’ve-never-done-anything-wrong-in-my-life eyes, urging him to speak.

“Um,” Um? Seriously? “Mob Mentality is an especially significant song to me personally—” Eddie’s given this spiel a hundred times, not that any word of it is untrue, but the practiced response lets him zone out just the right amount to fully drown himself in the shade of hazel of the interviewer’s eyes, imagine them looking up at Eddie from between his thighs, full of tears— goddamnfuckstopit.

The man must notice, because there’s a gorgeous smattering of pink dusting his cheeks Eddie could swear wasn’t there before.

After, Eddie is pretty much bodily dragged away from there, legs refusing to carry him away. He twists even as he’s walking, desperate to keep the man within his sights for even just a second longer. To keep him looking at Eddie, which by some miracle, he still is. And like an idiot Eddie waves, wiggling his fingers at him.

The man raises his own hand in return, and then he’s turning away, leaving Eddie to mourn the loss of his attention. But then he hears it— Steve. The camera guy calls him Steve. Sexy interviewer’s name is Steve. That in itself would be enough to sustain Eddie’s daydreams for some time.

———

Predictably, its all over social media the very next day. Or more accurately there’s one particular clip circling the net like there’s no tomorrow.

Eddie Munson simping for hot guy at the Grammys.

The comments were the worst (best) part. Eddie hasn’t dated since coming out to the public. And the fact that most of the comments people have about him openly showing interest in another man is just nonchalance or excitement makes him feel much better about it.

Eddie’s heart skips as he sees the face from last night in the clip, looking even more gorgeous than in his dreams if it were even possible. And then there is also Eddie in those clips, practically undressing him with his eyes, right there in public. He looks like he wants to open him up and lick him like melted chocolate in a wrapper.

Eddie was so screwed.

———

Top comments:

user 80085: that man is stronger than me because I don’t think I’d survive Eddie Munson looking at me like that

CorrodedFC: Eddie Munson Rendered momentarily speechless? by an interviewer?? More likely that you think

you_call_me_munson: they need to date. Right this second or I’m stealing one of the hotties for myself

———

Part II

[writersblockedx]

Sparks

Pairing - Jeremiah Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - Jeremiah goes to you for everything, and when you give him a vital piece of love advice, it dawns on him that he is, in fact, in love with you. Warnings - None? Slight mention of underage drinking. Words - 2K

Masterlist

As was common, Jeremiah was at a loss for his several hookups. And, as was even more common, he went to you to debrief and to ask for advice. While he had hookups and situation-ships way more than you did (or anyone in Cousins for that matter), he struggled with how to manage them. At least he did until he started asking you for advice.

He threw himself onto your bed, forcing you to shut the book you had been deep inside. There, staring up at the ceiling, he let out a huff. "What, or should I say who, is it this time?" You raised your brow at him, watching as Jere's wide pupils stared up to the ceiling as if he were replaying some memory over and over.

"Luke." He let the name out in a sigh. "And, And!" He suddenly added as if he had almost forgotten in his daydreaming gaze, "Abi."

He finally sat up, staring at you with them puppy eyes you could never resist. "Two?" You questioned.

"Yes." He said, barely embarrassed by such fact; at this point, it was to be expected. "Reframe from any criticism please."

"I'm not gonna criticise you, Jere." You told him, a sweet smile gracing your lips. "If anything, I don't see what the problem is here."

He took a second before shrugging, "I just- I feel wrong, you know? Guilty." He explained. "Like I'm going behind their backs."

"Okay then, well you either need to tell them both the truth or pick one."

Jeremiah thought about the options for a moment and ran both scenarios through his head until making his decision. "I have to pick one." He said before looking at you, uncertain, "Right?"

"If that's what you want." You comforted him.

At that, he let himself fall once more. This time, right into your lap as he made a dramatic sigh as if this decision was a life-changing one. "What if I don't know what I want?" He questioned, gazing up at you, his sea-blue eyes catching you into his trap.

You let a sniffle of a laugh as you looked down at him, "Oh, trust me Jere, you've no idea what you want. But, that's okay too, sometimes you have to experiment with different people until you know what you want." You went on.

That seemed to spark another question for him, one of which wouldn't leave his head for the next few weeks: "How do I know? Like, how do I know that this is someone who I want a relationship with? A proper relationship, not just a hookup."

For that, you needed to think. As much as you gave Jereimah advice after advice, that was a question he had never asked. "I suppose it has to be someone you feel that spark with. But not just a sexual spark." As you were certain Jere sometimes mistook it for. "A spark that reaches to a deeper, emotional level. Where you feel safe but excited at the same time. A balance, I guess." That was what you assumed anyway. You hadn't had many successful relationships yourself.

But your words had seemed to prompt something for Jere. His eyes washed away, his mind sucking him into his thoughts. Until, after a long moment, he sat back up and with furrowed brows, asked, "How do you know all this? It's not as if you're happily married."

"No need to remind me." You giggled, slapping the side of his forearm.

Of which he chuckled at and defended himself, "I'm serious! You talk all this wise shit and can't even get yourself a date."

You could have scoffed, "I can get myself a date, thank you."

"Really? When was the last time you went on one?"

Then you did scoff, grasping the pillow from behind you and chucking it at Jeremiah's head, only erupting more laughter from the both of you. "You are so rude!"

Only once your mini pillow fight died down and Jeremiah returned home, did that question take over his whole mind. He strolled into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk as he thought over it: how did he know? The only time he felt a spark that wasn't sexual- well, he couldn't quite remember. Everything you had described, the safety but excitement, the emotional connection (and the sexual), well the only person he could ever even suggest he had felt that for was you.

"What's up with you?" His brother's voice broke him from the glare he had been giving the countertop.

His eyes widened, "Huh?"

Conrad and Belly, who had been trailing behind him, both giggled. "You're just a bit...out of it, you know?"

"Thinking."

"That's a first." Conrad laughed.

Jeremiah snapped, "Hey!"

"Go on then," Belly pushed, "What is it you're thinking about?"

The boy sighed, replaying your words once more. "A spark."

"Why's a hookup causing you an existential crisis?" Questioned Conrad, watching his brother in such a focused state that it was becoming a concern.

"It's not a hookup." Jere admitted. "It's Y/n."

Suddenly, that name peaked Belly's interest. She leaned closing, placing her elbows on the kitchen island as she watched the boy carefully, "What about her?" She prompted.

"I went to her for advice, as I always do, and now I can't get it out of my head. She was explaining how for love, you need a spark, an emotional connection, safety..." He stopped there, ever so stunned by his recent realisation.

"And?" Belly pushed on, one brow raised.

Jeremiah sucked in a breath, not making eye contact with either of them as he said, "She basically just described everything I feel for her."

He looked at his brother and his best friend. It was silent. At least for a moment as he took in their unreadable expressions; were they stunned? Embarrassed? Futile? Then, breaking the silence came Conrad's laugh. "You have a crush on Y/n, great." He shook his head. "It took you long enough."

Jere's brows instantly furrowed as he straightened his back, "What? How did you-" He couldn't get his words out.

Conrad looked to Belly, "Come on, back me up. It was obvious."

Jeremiah looked to his friend and Belly could only shrug. "It sort of was." She agreed. "But, now you know, you can ask her out!" Excitement was painted on her words. Belly had been waiting for this for almost longer than yourself.

"I can't do that. She's- She's Y/n. She's my best friend. It'd be weird." The idea was so foreign that it was unbelievable.

"She's your best friend who you're in love with!" Belly argued. "Think about it, please."

With that, she and Conrad left Jeremiah to his thoughts. Once more, you never left his mind. He had been trapped.

For weeks, it was all he could think about. He'd gaze across the other side of the pool at you. Shades covering your eyes as you bathed in the sunlight. There he was daydreaming of everything you would do as a couple. Granted, it was pretty much the same as how things were now, only littered with kisses and hugs and greater smiles than either of you had ever made before.

It came to the point where he was just bursting to tell you. But he waited. He had to wait until the right moment. He couldn't do it by the pool, with Steven and Belly watching. He would wait for the perfect moment. And when the group of you arrived at a local party, he knew maybe tonight would be the night.

A few drinks down, he caught you by yourself. You had wandered to the backyard, sitting on the stairs that led to the porch. He lingered by the patio door, watching you as you sat alone for a moment. Your curious expression was emphasised by the fairy lights which tangled over the wooden fencing, flashing pinks and purples across your cheeks.

You didn't even know Jeremiah was there until he came and sat next to you, your shoulders nudged up against the others. "Enjoying the party?" A smooth smile hung from his lips as he grasped the red solo cup in his hand.

You nodded and glanced over at him, "Yeah, yeah, just needed a break." You excused.

Jere smiled, looking back through the patio doors and the booming party he could still overhear. "That's understandable." He gazed back at you and fell, once more, into your eyes.

"What about you?" You nudged his shoulder playfully. "You're never one to miss a moment from a party. Shouldn't you be looking for Luke? Or, or Abi!" You spat out their names as they flooded back into your memory. You had lost count of all the people Jere had hooked up with.

His smile faulted at the mention of their names, "Erm, no, no. I actually ended things with both of them." He admitted.

"Oh, why?" You raised a brow. "Ended up telling them the truth?"

"No, no." He answered before he looked to the ground, licked his lips and questioned if this was the moment. Something in his mind said fuck it, and he did. "But it was actually because of something you said." Jeremiah couldn't tear his eyes away from you as that curiosity built on your expression once again. "When you were explaining it to me, everything that love made you feel, all the sparks and the connections. That you should feel safe with them but it should be exciting all the same. Well," He took a breath and ran with it. "You're the only person that makes me feel that way."

The air soon became thick with Jeremiah's words as they floated around your mind. This was Jere, your friend, your best friend. The one who had talked non-stop about her and him all while you were nothing but a bystander. Yet, here you were, sitting away from the party the boy was usually the centre of as he professed his love. And you could never deny your feelings in that it wasn't reciprocated.

This time, it was your turn to look to the ground, lick your lips and say: Fuck it. "Jere, I can't deny that you aren't utterly brilliant. I mean, you're incredibly beautiful, and you know it. You're charming and comedic, you bring a room to life. And I love being at your side for all of that, I want to be there in the future too." You took a breath, wondering if your next words were about to ruin that smile that was glued to his lips. "But, it's because I want that, that I want to be your friend. Just your friend." Like that, the smile dissipated. "I can't be some other hookup that you start complaining about because they get too attached, or too clingy. I won't let that be me."

He jumped to take your hands in his. What used to be a simple gesture between the two of you, had suddenly become complicated and you questioned if you should let go. "That's not what you are to me. I would have already tried that on you if that was what I wanted, trust me." He admitted. "This isn't me asking you to kiss me, or to have sex with me or whatever I do nowadays. I'm sat here asking you to be my girlfriend."

The word had been said. It was in the air and it was up to you what you did with it.

And so, you tightened your grip on his fingers and said, "I want you Jere and I trust that you want me to." From there, you leaned in before he could respond, securing a yes with a kiss.

[spencewalterreid]

The Red Means I Love You

Summary: Spencer came into the restaurant you work at when you were in a bad mood, but nonetheless he has to see you again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female First-person POV

Category: Fade to Black Smut (TV-14)

Warnings: dirty talk, switch!Reid!!! switch!Reader, first person pronouns no use of y/n, date nights,hair pulling, neeeerd spencer, reader works at a truck stop, fade to black smut, smooches, second base. I think that should be it?

Word count: 4.3k

Author's Note: Hello again ladies!! I'm not sure how I haven't yet come across a riff fic off of Spencer and Cat's scenes, but here it is!! Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they were a good pair, but the way their characters played off of one another was positively scrumptious. Here's an indulgence into that.

The first time it happened, I was working a 14-hour shift at a truck stop diner. I’d started my shift right out of school, and I was working until the next morning. Just an hour before he’d come in, we were slammed – every table in the store was full, and I’d only just gotten all the tables bussed. I was exhausted, my manager was hounding me, and I was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. When refilling a Dr. Pepper for the jackass at table 32 who I had to argue with over the burger that he specifically requested onions on, I glanced up at the door as the bells rang. Oh.

He is... stunning.

My attention was abruptly yanked out of my daydream about the gorgeous boy that had just walked in with a handful of other people, and I looked down at my right hand wrapped around the plastic cup, which is now cold and drenched in the sticky beverage. Goddamn it.

“Boys, are you dining in?” I asked cheerfully as I grabbed a new straw, a smile plastered across my face. Stay professional. Stay professional. Stay professional.

“Yeah, we’ve got–” he paused to turn around and count heads– “six,” said one of the three men. Not the pretty one, though he was by no means ugly. He was tall, but not the tallest of the group (that title belonged to the one that caught my eye), with broad muscles laced under dark skin. He had a great smile. 

I glance back at table 32, who was rolling his eyes at the few-second delay. “Wherever you like,” I reply, swiftly returning to this grumpy-ass trucker. “Your refill, sir! Anything else I can get for you?”

He blatantly ignores me.

“If you change your mind, just holler,” I added, and as I turned to walk away:

“You can get me a new fuckin’ burger, this one got cold while I was waiting for you to finish flirting.” He slammed the second burger I’d brought to him back down onto the tray. Fuck you, dude. I’m already getting chewed out by the kitchen, but cool! Yeah! Okay!

“Yes, sir. I apologize, I’ll be right back out.” As I walked away with his tray, shifting it between fingers so as not to scald my fucking hand, I let a subtle sigh escape from my lungs.

10 seconds at the door. 30 seconds at the table. 15 minutes for food. 1 minute to bus.

I remind myself for the umpteenth time today of what’s supposed to be the restaurant policy. That had been out the door since 4:30 that afternoon and it is now… I glanced at the clock above the window as I slid the tray back onto it… 12:57 in the morning. Sick. Can’t wait to see the reviews.

“What was wrong with it this time?” The chef snapped, yanking the tray back.

“I’m just as annoyed as you are, I promise. He said it got cold. Just…”

She cuts me off. “Leave it there for a few minutes and come back. I’m not making a whole new burger.”

I did not roll my eyes, thank you very much.

Wheeling around on the balls of my feet and carefully controlling my breath, I picked up 6 menus and a matching number of silverware on the way to the round booth the group had settled into. I flipped on a positive tone to greet them. “Howdy, howdy! How are you folks-”

“Just say the word, and I’ll see him out,” the dark man interjected. The rest stared at him in partly shock, partly reprimand. I think the silver-haired one was his superior, he was carrying the ‘don’t interrupt her, asshole’ look.

“Uhm, sorry?” I glanced around the mostly-empty store, divvying up the hardware on the table in the meantime.

“The old fuck over there. If you want him to leave, I’ll make it happen.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking me dead in the eyes. I chuckled uncomfortably.

“No, that’s okay.” I have a feeling he was not kidding. I swept my eyes along the table to make eye contact with each person as I introduced myself, but I risked a few seconds longer for the boy on the far left. “I’m gonna be your server tonight. You folks know what you’d like to drink?”

They rattled off their drink orders one by one (The dark-haired woman asked for scotch and I’m only a little sure she wasn’t being serious, and the one with the colourful clothing almost squeaked in joy when she saw strawberry lemonade on the menu), but the sweet-looking boy on the end took the longest.

“Sir?” I nudged, tilting my head down to catch his gaze under his hair.

“Yes, uh, what kind of coffee do you serve?” he inquired, pushing his menu in front of him on the table, trying to straighten the edge flush against the side of the table.

I stammered. “It’s just black coffee…” I replied uncertainly, glancing at the other members of the group.

“They don’t serve frappuccinos, Reid. Do you want the coffee or not?” the second blonde woman sighed, and I think she was probably just as far down her rope as I was. That slips from my mind, though, at the mention of his name. Reid. Cute.

“No, I just meant the roast,” he clarified, but at the uncomfortable look on my face, he conceded. “Yeah. Black coffee, please.”

If he slumped any further down, I think the booth would swallow him.

—-—-

The second time it happened, he caught me on a better day. Our breakfast rush wasn’t too bad, and I actually had a second server helping me that day. It was almost noon, and I was feeling far lighter than I was the last time. When I glanced up at the chime by the door, a smile far more genuine than last time crossed my face.

“Hello again!” I chirped, wiped my hands on my apron, and pretended not to notice his flinch. “Just you today?”

He returned my smile, albeit feeble. “Yes. It’s just me.” 

“It’s Reid, right?” Grabbing a menu and silverware, I followed him over to the same booth he’d occupied with the other five people last time.

“No, I- Well, yes. Derek uses my surname. It’s Spencer,” he replied, sinking into the fake leather and glancing around the store. “It’s busier than last time.”

Setting the menu in front of him, I followed his gaze. “Well, yeah, it was the middle of the night.”

“The coffee was Colombian roast with hazelnut,” he said. Huh? “You seemed confused when I asked what kind it was.” He nodded, like he was trying to remind himself. “That’s what it was.”

“Oh.” Did his lips look that soft last time? His sleeves are folded up his arms this time. “Your hair looks pretty,” I said before I could stop myself. Shut up, shut up, shut- “It matches your eyes.” My smile softens the compliment, but I don’t think that made him any less confused.

“T-thank you,” he replied softly, pushing it back on instinct. Change the topic.

“Do you, uhm.” I clear my throat and shift my weight. “Would you like a coffee, then?”

He shook his head with a grimace. “Absolutely not. It was awful.”

He’s funny. I guess I didn’t throw him too far off-course.

“Why did you order it, then?” I asked, not unkindly. He turned pink. Pretty.

“I didn’t want to make you more stressed than you already were.” Reid– No. Spencer adjusted the strap of his cross-body bag. 

“Did I seem stressed?” I asked, quickly chancing a look behind me to check for my manager. We’re in the clear.

“Ye- No, not like that. I’m, uh. I’m trained to read people well. You were walking at an abnormally quick pace, and you kept looking around when you were at other tables, even though there were very few, as though any second you’d be pulled away." He straightened slightly, setting his shoulders, as if he were in his element, but he still doesn't look at me, his eyes cast down. "When you were filling our drinks, you poured some out and refilled it more than once, which I assume was to achieve a perfect ratio, or at least one you perceive as such. And–” he looked up from his menu that I’m positive he wasn’t reading to look me in the eyes. “And the man at table 32 was being very curt with you. That would cause stress. Your manager behind the window wasn’t making it any better, I bet.”

I scoffed incredulously. “Good memory,” I said with a smile. “That was impressive. Yeah, I wasn’t in the best mood that night.” My voice lowered to a conspirational whisper, but I didn’t let my facial expression change. “But you helped. You have no idea how far a little bit of kindness goes. And hey, I never got the chance to tell you I was sorry for messing up your order.”

Spencer shook his head, stretching and relaxing his fingers above the table for something to do. “It was just a salad. I just took the tomatoes off, it was no problem.”

I smiled softly. He’s so sweet. “Do you know what you’d like to drink, Spencer Reid?”

He let himself genuinely laugh. “Good memory,” he repeats, an air of light-hearted sarcasm to his tone. “I’d like a sweet tea with lemon and– actually. I know I shouldn’t ask, and you absolutely do not have to answer, but uhm… when do you have a lunch break? Maybe we could-”

“Right now. I’ll be right back,” I replied, taking off my apron and walking to the back to alert my manager (thankfully, different than the overnight one.) They could manage without me for an hour. I was not passing him up a second time.

——

The third time it happened, we were on our third date. Spencer wanted to go to a museum, I wanted to do something a bit more interactive. We agreed on an aquarium.

“Actually, Parrotfish are one of my least favourite of the wrasse family, and definitely least favourite of the Labridae,” he countered when I insisted their colours were pretty.

“I didn’t say they were my favourite, Reid, I said they were pretty."

“No, I know, but I’m just saying.” He was practically vibrating, balling a fist and unballing it, and I could tell he needed to tell me number 1,001 of his facts in the last hour.

I sighed, an affectionate smile on my face as I turned around and leaned on the rocky wall. “Why are they one of your least favourites?”

Reid offered me a toothy grin. “The parrotfish has a tendency to coat itself in a bubble of its own mucus and saliva in order to protect itself from parasites and predators. It’s intended to mask their scent. Many refer to it as an underwater sleeping bag,” he explained with a grimace. Oh, that’s why. “I’m positive it only spreads bacteria, and if fish could get sick in the same way as homosapiens, they would all be sick all of the time.”

“You know, not for nothing, but I wouldn’t mind your saliva all over me.”

“Ugh! Gross!” Spencer staggered backward, glaring at me. “Don’t say things like that.”

I pout. “You’re not even a little curious what I taste like, Dr. Reid?” I stalked up to him, mocking a femme fatale in one of those cheesy black-and-white spy movies.

“Stop it.” He swallowed thickly and when I went to lay my hands on the sides of his neck, his instinctively found my hips. He glanced at my lips. I stared at his.

“Make me,” I whispered, deciding eye contact was a better choice. Good god, his face was red.

His mouth parted slightly and he squeezed my hips, then adjusted his bag. “Enough,” he asserts, and I’d be lying if that didn’t turn me on. In all honesty, I was totally doing a bit and I was just about to back off anyway, but yeesh. For the sake of my own sanity, I giggled and pushed off of him. He sighed in relief.

“Fish can get sick,” I said, changing the topic back to what he'd said about the parrotfish to ease his nerves. When he took more than a half a second to reply, I started to doubt myself. “Can’t they?”

“Well, yes, but not… not ill. They can’t have a sickness like we can. They just feel sick. Like, if they swim upside down, or have issues breathing, or if the water quality is poor.”

I pushed myself off the wall and linked a finger around the strap of his bag, dragging him along behind me. “Alright, last section. Lock and load, you’ve got…” I glanced at my phone. “13 minutes to give me as many facts as you can. Go.”

–

Spencer insisted (according to Date Etiquette 101 from Professor Derek Morgan) that on the third date, he had to take me to a romantic dinner. He still wants to stop by his apartment to get changed, so we’re on the way there now, and have 1 hour, 42 minutes and counting to get to our reservation. I brought a bag with makeup and a change of clothes so I could get done up too and not have to go all the way across town to my place.

Y'know, you wouldn't think it, but he's really a reckless driver. It isn't that he doesn't understand the rules of the road or how to follow them. It's more that he knows them well enough that he feels confident in breaking them. It's kinda sexy. He drives with his left hand only barely touching the wheel and his right hand in mine. It took him a long time of being around me to be okay with physical contact, but now that he's to that point, he's incredibly clingy. He turns a 25-minute drive into 18, and I guarantee that's only because there was a fair amount of traffic.

–

“Are you almost ready?” I hear a rustling sound on the other side of the door, then a muffled, soft scraping noise that suggests he just sat on the floor (which by the way, is clean enough you could eat off of it) against the door. I’m in his room also sitting on the floor, utilizing a full-body mirror against his wall, carefully tweaking my eyeliner. Reid didn’t want to see me before the date, said it was bad luck. It’s strange what he chooses to be superstitious about.

“Almost. 1 minute.” I lean back, raking my fingers through my hair and checking my appearance. Not to toot my own horn, but toot fucking toot, I look downright strapping. “Okay!”

Just as the word leaves my mouth, the bedroom door is flying open and he’s barrelling in, but he stops dead in his tracks as he sees me. “Wow.”

I spin in a little circle, my black, mid-thigh corset dress making a dome around me. “You like?”

Spencer approaches slowly, his eyes scanning me head to toe, right to left, and everything in between. “You… are magnificent.” His fingers twitch when he’s about a foot away from me as though he wants to touch me but chickens out. I gently take his hands and place them on my hips, emboldening him to slide his touch upward, over my waist and around to my back. I pretend not to notice his repeated glances at my breasts, as does he.

“Et toi, mon amour,” I reply, a fresh grin painted across my lips. “You look hot.”

He makes a sour face. “You ruined it.”

My jaw drops and I take a step back, feigning offence. His grip falls from my sides. “Fuck did I do? I can’t call you hot now? I’ve said that a thousand times, calm down.”

“I was being a gentleman,” he pouts. “You’re just being crude.”

“That’s not crude, Dr. Reid. If you want crude-”

“No! No, don’t do that. Save it.” He chuckles, stepping forward again and putting his hands right back where they were. I don’t stop him. “Just hush.”

I let him look at me for a few seconds, and I, him. Just a few until I started getting squeamish under the scrutiny. “Okay. Enough, we need to go,” I interject, pressing against his chest gently with my fingers splayed out. With a glance at the clock behind me, he nods.

“Après toi, ma chérie.”

–

Fancy, fancy FBI boyfriend-not-boyfriend rented out a whole room for us. Candle in the middle of a two-seater table, a window into the main room so we can see what’s going on, and a record player in the corner. The decor is upscale, but not obnoxiously proud. Lots of wood, mostly dark, but light walls. He even goes so far as to pull out my chair for me. 

We’re almost to the end of our meal and I’m taking pin-sized bites to try and draw out the time it takes to finish my lava cake. Reid has already called me out for it twice, but I have blatantly ignored him.

“Spencer,” I begin, cutting off a conversation about the history behind the Hays code and its relevance in a specific episode of Supernatural.

“Hm?” He straightens up, clearing his throat.

“I have a stupid question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was your first impression of me?” My voice is low, unsure. I have time to cross my legs, then uncross them, then look at him, then back at my lap before he begins to reply.

“I thought you were pretty. You seemed agitated,” he says, slow, haltingly, like he isn’t sure if that’s the answer I wanted. It wasn’t.

“No, after that. When we started going out. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Spencer hums, folding his hands and leaning back. The seconds tick by like minutes, and god he looks delectable.

“You’re self-assured and conduct yourself as though you think you’re the greatest person in the world. You hand out compliments like candy and you flirt like you’re dying tomorrow because you want people to find you exciting. You think you have to have major sex appeal to attract a partner, which isn’t true, it’s actually quite off-putting.”

“You think having major sex appeal is off-putting?” I interrupt.

“No, I think overdoing it to the point of-”

“I’m not overdoing it! It’s just the way I am.”

“I’m not saying-”

“It’s just that-”

“If you’d stop interrupting me, I’d answer your question.”

I shut my mouth. That was hotter than it needed to be.

“Thank you. As I was saying, it’s clear to others, or at least to me, that you do not feel that way about yourself in the slightest. For the sake of honesty and because I always answer your questions to the fullest of my abilities, I’d say you find yourself almost repulsive."

My stomach twists. Does he find me repulsive? Why would he think I feel that way? Better question: How does he know I feel that way?

"When you first began getting into relationships, you were probably up-front about that because you didn’t know any better, but quickly learned people internalize what you tell them. So, to combat that reaction, you started acting like all you wanted from people was sex so it didn’t matter whether they liked you or not, which led to a lot of meaningless flings that left you feeling worse than you did when you were single.”

If my jaw were any lower, it’d be on the floor. I swallow my arguments.

“Tell me more about my sex life, then, Dr. Reid. Since you know so much.” I’m hoping he knows me well enough to know I didn’t mean that to be as bitter as it sounded. He does.

“You project dominance because you fear loss of control, not to mention your hatred of your own body. You wouldn't ever want to be the receiver in a sexual situation, or at least you wouldn't ask for it for worry of your partner finding you less-than-satifactory."

I fight the urge to ask if he'd feel that way, even if I know his answer.

"You only lightly dabble in more aggressive sexual habits, but your enthusiasm whether or not it comes across as joking suggests there’s more truth in it than you’d like for there to be.” He pauses, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s trying to remember his next line or it’s because I distracted him when I leaned forward to lean my chin against my palm. I forgot how much of my cleavage this dress shows. He licks his lips and moves on more elegantly than I thought he would. I take advantage of his silence.

“What about you, Dr. Reid?”

He blinks. “What?”

“What about your sexual habits?”

“I, uhm-”

I stand up and walk over to him, placing my hand on his shoulder before I settle on his knee. His hand goes to my thigh nearest to him and he catches my eyes, careful not to look away.

“Well?”

His composure repairs itself like magic.

“It depends on my partner,” he says, his voice lower than it was before, and I swear his eyes are darker than they were a few minutes ago. “I tend to let my partner set the pace. I can embrace aggression if the circumstance proves it necessary.”

Holy shit.

This, my dear reader, was the third time I thought: I’d really like to see just how red I could make you.

“What about me?” I ask, my throat dry. I think I’m more nervous than he is, but I’m taking it like a champ. I look down at Spencer’s hand (his very pretty hand, his very big hand, across my entire thigh. Has it moved up?), but he’s not having it. His free hand goes up to hold my chin firmly, and with utter and total reverence, he lifts my face to look him in the eyes again.

“What about you, beautiful?" He watches me carefully, brown eyes full of intent. My self-control right now is dazzling.

And if I said a little thank-you prayer to God for not giving me a dick with which I would be cursed a boner right now, then maybe that’s nobody’s business.

“What kind of aggression would you use with me?” I bite my lip and swallow, staring at his lips. Perfect, perfect boy.

He studies me for a moment, and I think he’s trying to make me squirm on purpose. His hand hasn’t left my chin, the bastard.

“Keep talking," he prompts. Yes, sir.

I could not tell you, gun to my head, where the fuck I got my bravery from, but hallelujah holy shit.

“Would you grab me by the throat and hold me against a wall?" Woah, where did that come from? Go me. "Would you hold onto me so hard it bruised? Would you leave marks that wouldn’t go away for weeks? Would you ever hurt me, Dr. Reid?” If he notices my face getting so hot it would rival the sun, then it was sweet of him not to address it.

“Is that what you want?”

“I guess I just want to know if you could,” I reply, my left hand coming up to his face, my fingertips tracing his bottom lip, my eyes glued to the point of contact.

“You have no idea what I could do, given enough provocation,” he whispers, finally allowing his eyes to fall to my mouth, parted slightly in awe.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not, Spencer?”

Rather than responding to me, his grip on my chin loosens for favour of travelling down my jaw, then to the back of my neck, curling into my hair, pulling just hard enough for me to feel the tension. “Fix your attitude,” he asserts, and then his lips are on mine and it’s all passion and fury and the taste of chocolate. I moan into his mouth on instinct, and his grip on my hip tightens.

If there’s one thing about Spencer Reid, it’s that he exists as a multitude. And if there’s two things, it’s that he kisses like a man fucking starved. Like he’s been suffocating slowly in a room with no oxygen, and once he gets a mask, he’s not letting it go. He’s teeth in lips, he’s hands roaming, he’s furrowed brows and mouths parting.

His right hand roves over my thigh furthest from him, dipping under my skirt just barely. He stays under the fabric and moves his hand to the top of my thigh, then braving the inside. He’s squeezing once or twice everywhere he touches, like the cliche of saying pinch me. I spread my legs instinctively.

As quick as it started, it stops.

I whine, my eyes opening slow like molasses.

“This is an incredibly uncomfortable position,” he pants. I only just realized the poor thing is not exactly on a sofa made for two. I may be snug as a bug in his lap, but the arms of the chair are digging into the sides of his legs. The recollection of our being in a fucking restaurant right now hits me in the face like a fresh bucket of ice water. 

“Fuck. Sorry,” I breathe, my hands tangled in his hair, and I’m not sure when they got there, or when they managed to unbutton the top half of his shirt, or how the straps of my dress are halfway down my arms.

“Bathroom?” I propose, glancing at the adjoining one that I am thanking my lucky stars for as we speak.

“Bathroom,” he agrees.

[mysticheathenn]

Messages From Your Spirit Team

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about what messages your spirit team has for you today. Randomly spirit called me to do a pick-a-card for today on here, so whoever this is needed for I send you peace, support, and nothing but love.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

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Messages From Your Spirit Team: 6 of Cups, 9 of Wands, 9 of Cups, Justice, 3 of Swords, Death

Song: All Good Things by Nelly Furtado

This pile is separated into two parts where some of you are going through a breakup (Platonic or Romantic) and others of you are feeling heavy nostalgia for the past. I'll start with my nostalgia group first. You are so tired of the burdens that you feel on a daily basis and miss the days when either you had little to no responsibilities or when things didn't feel so heavy and you just want things to go back to where they used to be but deep down like the song All Good Things by Nelly Furtado, all good things must come to an end and you need to embrace this new beginning. Your guides want you to know that better days are coming, sometimes you have to go through the storm to get to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. My nostalgia people your message is pretty short as you just need to pick your head up and know that while it's good to think/daydream bout the past don't get too caught up there to the point you began falling backward into old patterns. Some of you I am hearing was the past filled with good times, or just a time you overlooked many things to make it work? This is beginning to turn into the ones who are dealing with some sort of grieving. This grieving could be platonic or romantic, either way, you had to cut ties with someone you thought would be your soul tribe, forever person, or family and you can't help but go through the steps of grief (Denial, anger, depression, bargaining (for some of you) to now trying to come to acceptance of everything but the thing is you don't want to come to an acceptance of everything because what you had with this person/people was everything, but what you are failing to look at when you look back on the relationship are the bad times for quite a few of you, you've had many bad times with this person. Your time with this person must come to an end love. There will be many more people etc waiting for you to experience better times with, without the baggage of what this person has put you through. Some of you want revenge, don't do what I know you are about or want to do (slash tires, put glitter all through the person's crib, etc). Be the Bigger person and let Spirit handle this person. I will repeat myself let spirit deal with this and you be the bigger person and walk away. Don't say no one didn't warn you if your actions backfire. Let's not go to jail please for someone who a) isn't worth it and b) you deep down either knew this person was no good but thought you could fix them/they wouldn't do you wrong or knew this relationship should have ended many years or months ago. Either way, whichever group in this pile you landed on it's okay to look back and smile/laugh, just don't stay there. Good Times are coming and it doesn't have any room for past baggage.

Pile ll:

Messages From Your Spirit Team: 5 of Cups, 7 of Wands, 3 of Cups, Knight of Cups, 5 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords

TW: Depression, Anxiety, Unhappiness, Toxic Relationships (Platonic or Romantic)

This pile I feel heavy depression and anxiety vibes. This pile I sense you're in a relationship and you feel you have lost yourself to the person you are with and I don't mean that in a good way. I mean this as in this pile gives me domestic violence, controlling, and I am not happy here vibes because you have given this person your all and you want to make things work because like pile l you are remembering the good times but you aren't sure if the good times you think about are enough. I want you to stop and ask yourself why are you having to go back to the past to think about good times and not right now. When was the last time this relationship (platonic or romantic) was even good or had good times. If you can't think of something within five seconds of me asking it's time to make that decision on cutting the cord. There is a saying in my head "Love don't live here anymore" and you know it's been a while since it has. This goes for loving yourself as well. Some of you may not be keeping up with your appearances, your rituals, or things that make you feel good overall because this person completely sucks you dry, insults you, gives backhanded compliments, basically this person has overall hater energy and you stopped seeing the point in getting dolled up, having hobbies, or anything that makes you happy. You are constantly shrinking yourself in order to keep the peace...but what about yours? Taraji's character Cookie from Empire meme "I gotta put me first, I gotta put me first Luscious" is playing in my head. You need to start putting yourself first. Some of you I can already hear what if this person...stop...you see what you are doing there. You are thinking of this other person before yourself and why??? They definitely aren't doing the same for you. Put yourself first, love yourself, and cut ties with this platonic or romantic person in your life that is causing you to feel so much grief and hatred for yourself. Some of you I am also hearing what if no one will love me (platonic/romantic)? Where you are at love, there is no love only hate. What difference would it be if you left? You already feel alone, so why not be alone while building yourself back up to feel good. Remember there is always someone better out there in the world, even for you. I hope you know this, I need you to know this. There is an abundance of love out there for you to find, but first, it needs to start from within.

Pile lll:

Messages From Your Spirit Team: 4 of Pentacles, 8 of Swords, 9 of Cups, 6 of Swords, Ace of Cups

Shadow Work

I'm hearing it's time for you to allow joy in. Stop holding yourself hostage to the good things in life and allow them to come in. Stop looking at everything as a test, people out to hurt you, or everything always ends up being shit. Start looking at everything from the glass half full and not empty pile lll. I am not sure what happened but I sense you have been through a lot to the point you are afraid of letting yourself be happy, explore, being vulnerable, etc and I want to tell you it's time. You are not your past nor your circumstances, yes bad things happened to you. Yes, people can suck but that doesn't mean you lock yourself up in a tower because of other people's shitty actions. trust I know what this is like because I personally have gone through this but after I made the decision to stop feeding myself through social media about how men suck, people not having a heart, etc and begin feeding my feed or just my mind in general with people don't suck just the one's I have dealt with have you begin to start healing and bringing in better people. Some of you, I know you don't want to hear this but it's time to release the victim mentality. The he, she, they hurt me, and I did nothing wrong mentality. This isn't to say they did nothing wrong, but if I asked you right now were the signs there all along and you ignored them because you didn't want to lose this person 9/10 you would say the signs were there and you ignored them (This part may not apply to everyone). Now that we have accepted this part it's time to move on to shadow work to help you heal. This whole time you are just swallowing poison hoping the other person dies when it's you that the poison is harming. Release the blame game and take back control and power over your life. It's time to stop punishing yourself and start rewarding yourself because you made it out of the wilderness to the other side. It's time to start living it.

Pile lV:

Messages From Your Spirit Team: The Devil, Page of Swords, 3 of Wands, 2 of Cups

This pile can be for Friends or Romantic Relationships but it came out more toward Romance than friendship

This might be my less traumatic pile, haha. While not the best, still less traumatic than the other three. The TikTok meme "Do you love her, would you do whatever it takes to stay with her? Naaaah (TikTok Clip) comes to mind with this pile. Pile lV you may have been called to other piles or maybe even all three for very few of you. There is a connection here that you know is not good for you but it seems as if you are coming up with every and anything to stay in this connection even though you know you should let it go. Your relationship is literally the meme of the dude wearing a Gucci backpack that has a strap that is ready to break (meme). There is no point in clinging onto dead weight, constantly thinking of everything under the sun to stay, it is time to leave. It is time, you know it's time, they know it's time, and your guides are now telling you it's time. This pile may be short because your cards are straight to the point of releasing deadweight. Stop seeing this person for the potential that they can give you but choose not to and see a spade for a spade and move on. What is holding you to this relationship that has you in a chokehold? Why are you fearing that you will miss out on this person if you decide to let them go? The saying If they wanted to, they would is coming to mind. If this person wanted to show you the best side of them they would. If they wanted to treat you better, they would. If they feared losing you they would show you and act accordingly or not place themselves in situations where they could potentially lose you. This person doesn't value you, your time, the things you do, etc. It's time to stop making excuses for the things they do and cut the cord. What I mean by making excuses for the things they do: Ex. They rarely check up on you to see if you are alive and they like to blame it on being a poor texter but they always have their phone in their hands and making plans with their friends...and not you. But you brush off this behavior as they're busy, this is just them, or you even go as far as to gaslight yourself into believing you are 'secure' enough that you don't need to have constant communication even though you desperately want it. You deserve better love, and there is better out there for you.

Wow, it's been a while. Miss you guys...even though I'm still technically here just not doing as much on here unless I feel called to.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[writingroom21]

For Give Me Father

Pairing: priest!rafe x nun!reader

Summary: During a confessional things take a turn. What was supposed to be you purging yourself for sin becomes a window to a new experience.

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, wet dreams, masturbation (m), mention of the use of a paddle, corruption kink?, the use of Father as his title in the church, (let me know if I missed any)

You pace the halls as you soothe the black fabric of your tunic and fix your veil. This is the fourth week in a row where you have woken up to impure thoughts. All of the other nuns walked around as if nothing was wrong. Leading you to believe that you are cursed. Or worse the devil has sunk his teeth into you and now you can not escape. Everynight you are plagued with the same dreams.

It starts off with a sermon from Father Cameron. He leads the church through their prayers, never taking his eyes off of you. In your dreams he always talks about temptation, reminding everyone that they have to avoid it at all costs. Which is ironic due to him pulling you into his office after the service. He forces you to recall his whole sermon and every wrong answer means a piece of clothing needs to be taken off. With your nerves, you always make mistakes leading to him stripping you down. 

As your punishment he forces you to read passages of the bible as he uses a paddle to swat your ass. When he realizes that the punishment fails and only makes you aroused he switches tactics. He’ll grab your tunic pushing the fabric until it rests on your waist. Gathering the moisture that collected between your thighs he has you suck his fingers as he pulls out his cock. Slowly he pulls your underwear to the side before sliding himself in. He’d make you keep reading, thrusting harder into you with every stutter you had. 

“Good morning Sister.” You’re snapped out of your daydream when Sister Mary greets you as she leaves her confession. “Good morning sister Mary.” She walks down the hall, her footsteps echo on the stone flooring as she leaves. Looking at the confessional you take a deep breath before entering. You smooth the fabric once again as you sit down, your hands resting on your lap. The rosary beads entangle your fingers as you try to calm your nerves. Just as you were about to get up and leave, the divider opens.

 From the corner of your eye you can see Father Cameron facing forward waiting for you to speak. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I’ve been plagued by impure thoughts and find myself yearning for temptation. I can’t seem to keep the thoughts at bay no matter how much I pray. I’m afraid that there is nothing that I can do to stop them.” From the otherside of the wooden wall you can hear him take a deep breath. Facing forward you stare at the stained wood trying to ignore the gnawing feeling building in your chest.

“It is easy for temptation to find us afterall it is a part of life. I’ve seen how devoted you are to your faith. God will guide you through as he always does, do not fret.” You glance to the left taking a peek of his features. “Father, it seems to find me at every moment. My dreams are infiltrated and when I’m awake it is all I can see or think about.” The rosary in your hand digs into your skin as you tighten them. Hoping that you will awake from this nightmare. “Sister if I may ask. What is plaguing you?”

There it is, the question you were hoping he would not ask. 

“I find myself having impure thoughts about someone I should not. My dreams are littered with the acts of intercourse. I wake up from the dreams yearning to experience what I witnessed.” Father Cameron clears his throat and moves around in his space. “Sister when you describe intercourse, is it safe to assume it is with you and another member in this church?” Looking down at your hands, you respond with a yes. Your skin feels like it is burning, the cold metal of your beads turns scolding. They fall to the ground as you drop them, feeling as if you are not worthy of their protection. 

“We have all experienced this form of temptation. We are human and it is natural to have these thoughts. It is just good to remember your vows and that our faith is stronger than the urge to do it.” Taking a deep breath you muster the courage to speak. “What if I want it to happen? As everyday goes I find myself unopposed to the idea.” There’s silence after your words. The both of you sitting there waiting for the other to say anything else. “Tell me sister, are your thoughts about me?” 

Ashamed of your answer you stay silent which tells him his thought process was correct. From the bench you sit on you can hear a ruffle of fabric. You glance back over to him but he looks composed. His blue eyes find you through the divider, a small smile threatening to peek through. “Describe them to me.” Your gasp in shock, turning your body towards where he is. “I’m sorry Father, what?” He clears his throat again with his eyes falling shut for a brief moment. “I believe that if you confess your desires you will be free from this torment.”

With a shaky breath you begin to tell him. “It starts with your sermons. I watch you as you lead everyone to be a better them. Then you warn them of temptation and how to not stray from their path.” You pause for a moment but he encourages you on with baited breath. “You stare at me as if you are ready to show them what it truly looks like. As if you would take me right there if you could.”

“If I did?” He questions. A small noise comes from his mouth. You move closer to the little window and try to see what he is doing. You can hear something but you don’t know what it is. “Father may I be honest?” He groans, his mouth gaping open. “You may.” Swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth you turn back to the door in front of you. “I would let you. But usually you pull me into your office. You always punish me for not remembering your sermon or messing up a bible verse.” 

Father Cameron lets out a loud moan. You look back at the window with a curious gaze. “Father are you alright?” His eyes gaze into yours with a hazy look in them. “I’m perfectly fine, sister. Please continue.” You lift yourself a bit to peer over to his side to be greeted with the sight of him pleasuring himself. Quickly you sit back down, crossing your legs as you picture his veiny hands wrapped around his cock. “You use the paddle on me sometimes, making me count them as you go. Other times you just take your time playing with me. It always ends with you taking me over your desk.”

There’s another moan as you finish. “Jesus CHrist.” He mutters under his breath. “How do you feel when you think about it?” Your thighs squeeze at his question. “Like I want to strip you of everything and let you have your way.” There’s a loud thud as Father Cameron’s nondominant hand slaps the wooden walls. “Oh god.” His eyes clam shut as his face contorts with pleasure. You watch him as his shoulders shake with each breath and how his mouth drops open. Against your better judgment you look down at his lap watching as ropes of his cum coat his hand. 

When your eyes move back to his face he’s already staring at you. A smile graces his face as he grabs a cloth from his pocket to clean himself up. “Sister, I think you have made great progress. Please do comes to me if you have any more of these dreams. Best we get ahead of them.” You nod standing to exit. “Sister.” You look back at him wondering what could possibly be the issue. “It is okay to fall into temptation. You should never be afraid to face it, I know you can take it.” 

His words don’t seem fitting to the man you are used to. But neither is the way he is looking at you at the moment. The only time you’ve seen this look was well in your dreams.

“Thank you Father.”

@rafedaddy01

[writing-for-marvel]

Withdrawal

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 2 | Series Masterlist | PART 4 > >

Summary: You wait for Bucky to call.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, some angst and self doubt, references to sex, references to Bucky having a traumatic past

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Will he call? Won’t he call? Let’s find out! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky stares down at his phone and sighs.

He wants to call you, genuinely, so why is dialling your number so difficult?

Perhaps it’s too soon, is what he tells himself. It hasn’t even been a full day since the end of your date, calling now probably makes him look desperate.

Should he message you? Tell you that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you all day? Ugh, no… that seems extremely forward for someone he’s only been on a single date with, regardless of if it’s the truth.

There’s never been anyone whom he’s connected with enough to warrant a second date, let alone have him promising to call. He’s completely out of his depth, drowning in a sea of anxiety and no one has taught him how to swim.

Bucky knows he’s overthinking, but you make it hard to think clearly. You have his brain short circuiting, reforming synapses so that all his thoughts are rerouted to the same thing: you.

Turning his phone off, he sets it down beside him. Just because he isn’t calling straight away, doesn’t mean he won’t at all. It’s probably better to wait and not seem super eager.

Or is that counterintuitive? If you enjoy someone’s company, should you let them know so you can see them again as soon as possible?

Fuck, why is this such a daunting task? He’s never had an issue with talking or flirting with anyone before, it seems to come naturally to him. And yet the thought that he’ll say the wrong thing, and fuck up whatever it is between the two of you is making his stomach churn with prickling nerves he’s never experienced before.

Perhaps he’ll find the courage to call tomorrow.

* * *

“You seem distracted, what’s on your mind?” The familiar voice from the driver's seat of the ambulance pulls Bucky from his daydream.

You, is what Bucky thinks. You are constantly on his mind. Him and his best friend Steve are half an hour into their shift and you have not left the forefront of his mind in that entire time.

It’s like he’s in a trance.

“There’s this girl from the hospital…” Bucky trails off, unsure how to articulate exactly how you’ve bewitched him since meeting not even a week ago.

The night before last wasn’t just another hookup. At least, not to him.

“I’m gonna need a little more information than that Buck, there’s been quite a few girls of yours, especially from the hospital.” Steve laughs, but Bucky’s chest tightens at the insinuation that you’re just another fling, even though Steve doesn’t know any better.

“Two nights ago we went on a date, it ended up back at her place.” This is probably not news to Steve - he’s heard many stories about Bucky’s one night stands which would have started exactly like this. But there is one huge difference this time around. “And then I told her I’d call.”

“You’re thinking about a second date with her? She must be something special.” Bucky chuckles under his breath. Yeah, you really are something special. So fucking special.

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, funny, witty. When she was treating that little girl from the train derailment she was so good with her, kind and patient. I don’t know how to describe it, we just click. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to feel more than physical attraction for someone but with her it just happens, I can’t stop myself.”

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but Bucky’s already addicted to you. He’s only had one fix, but he’s already showing symptoms of withdrawal. Every second apart feels like an hour, craving your company and the rapture firing in every neuron of his body when you’re in his presence.

“Look at you actually falling for someone.” Steve teases, without even knowing the full extent of how enthralled Bucky is with you. “So when are you seeing her again?”

Silence fills the front seat of the ambulance when Bucky can’t answer the question.

“Bucky, you have to see her again! Listen to how you’re talking about her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually speak about wanting to see someone again. You need to call her.” Steve stops at a red light and looks over to Bucky in the passenger seat. His best friend knows him better than perhaps he knows himself but doesn’t have the same obstacle with letting people in as Bucky does.

“That’s easier said than done.” Bucky can’t mask the dejected tone in his voice, and Steve recognises the crestfallen hang of his head, knowing exactly what he means without voicing it aloud.

“I know you've been through a lot in your life Buck, you’ve built walls up to prevent any more heartbreak…” Steve starts, but Bucky doesn’t need yet another reminder of his tragic backstory.

“Alright Mr I minored in psychology, I get your point. I’m damaged goods and don’t let people get close to me.”

“It’s just a second date, Buck, you aren’t asking for her hand in marriage. Just see where it goes.” Steve makes it sound so easy. Most people wouldn’t get so stressed about something they would consider as minor as a second date, yet Bucky feels like he’s about to expose the most intimate parts of his soul to someone for the first time.

“But I don’t want to hurt her. I know nothing about dating or being in a relationship.” Bucky pauses - the fact that he’s even considering something as substantial as a relationship with you punches him in the gut. He’s never wanted that with someone before. “And I don’t want to get hurt myself.” Because all Bucky has known is relationships breaking down. To him romantic relationships are synonymous with pain and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

“You’ll never know if you never try. I know you think letting someone in will lead to heartbreak, but what if it’s the opposite? What if by letting this person into your heart you finally find love and contentment?” Bucky has never allowed himself to imagine a life where that is a possibility - opening himself up to that prospect sounds like a recipe for more suffering. Besides, he’s been damaged goods for a long time, he’s sure there’s no one who would want to put up with him anyway.

“You really are a hopeless romantic.” Bucky comments, trying to avoid the questions Steve is raising, and divert the topic of their conversation.

“I want you to be happy, Buck. You’ve never afforded yourself that courtesy.”

Though his experience screams at him to run in the opposite direction, that this would be a horrible decision leading to further pain, Bucky finds it hard to believe someone as sweet and good-natured as yourself would ever hurt him intentionally. Even if there is only a slim chance that he doesn’t completely fuck this up, given Bucky cannot stop thinking about you, he supposes it’s worth a shot calling you.

“Well, maybe it’s finally time I do.” Bucky mutters under his breath.

* * *

You’ve been checking your phone periodically throughout the day to se if you have any new notifications from Bucky, but each time your phone lights up, a new wave of disappointment floods your chest.

You wonder if the notion of actually calling you, or simply messaging, has even crossed Bucky’s mind once since he left your place about 36 hours ago, or if he already knew it was an empty promise at the time he made it.

“Heard anything yet?” Wanda asks hopefully, but you shake your head in response. The first thing Wanda asked during your next shift together was how your date went with Bucky - between treating patients you described the picnic Bucky set up on the riverbank and (in slightly less detail) the euphoric night you shared when you made it back to your place.

“I’m stupid for actually believing he’s going to call, aren’t I?”

“…No.” Wanda offers after a brief hesitation which tells you more than the single word does. Sensing your regret in asking, she continues on. “Sweetie, only you know the connection you share, I can’t speak to that. If you feel like there’s something special there and he promised to call, then you have every right to believe him.”

Perhaps you’re being foolish, you should know better than to hang your hopes on a man who is notorious for being a fuckboy, but you really thought Bucky was being genuine when he promised to contact you. That the blissful night you shared, and the waves of ecstasy which melded into a flood of pure pleasure, meant more than just a one night stand.

Or at least it did to you.

“Just because he’s never pursued more than a first date with other people in this hospital doesn’t mean he isn’t now, or isn’t with you. Sometimes it just takes the right person, that could be you.” You take some comfort in the sincerity of her tone, but the voice in the back of your mind reminds you of what Wanda alerted you to prior to your date: no one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

“You’ve changed from giving me no hope to giving me false hope, Wan.” You joke, trying to brush off the conversation and not reveal just how heartbroken you’ll be if Bucky ghosts you, even with Wanda warning about his ways.

Internally you remind yourself that it’s only been a day and a half and to not be too mad at him, yet. Perhaps he intends to call, but hasn’t gotten around to it, though you’re pretty sure you’re only telling yourself that to stop the perpetual ache in your chest rather than truly believing it.

“He promised he would call, that’s not false hope.” Wanda advises, shooting you a look of encouragement as you both complete paperwork for your respective patients.

At that moment, the doors to the ER swing open and none other than the paramedic you were just speaking about walks in wheeling a patient.

You hate how good he looks, long chestnut hair framing his face and those dazzling blue eyes you’ve dreamed about shine from all the way across the room. He’s unfairly attractive, and he walks into a room like he knows it too.

Him and his partner consult the head nurse of the ER, who, after examining her clipboard for a moment, points towards your direction, making your stomach flip.

Steel blue eyes meet yours and for a moment your entire world stands still. The sounds of the busy ER fade away and even the presence of Wanda beside you dissolves into non-existence when his eyes find you and a smile overtakes his features. That damn cheeky smile which makes your knees weak.

He truly is infuriatingly beautiful.

“Hey.” Is all you can think to say as they approach, a lump in your throat forming which would prevent you from voicing any more words if your brain could think of any other than how strapping and handsome he looks in his uniform.

“Hi.” Bucky responds softly with a dreamy smile, eyes lingering on yours for a long beat before turning away. How could someone who looks at you with such warmth not want to see you again?

You shake the thought from your mind as your focus on the patient, a young man with scared brown eyes. You can’t afford to be distracted right now, even if you desperately want to look back at him and revel in the fondness brimming in his eyes which was so apparent during your date.

After Bucky’s equally tall, broad and handsome paramedic partner gets you up to speed on the patient's history, you get to work on taking his vitals.

“Rogers, Barnes, give us some space to work, please.” Dr Strange requests and without the chance to say another word to each other, both paramedics disappear out the corner of your periphery.

What you don’t notice is Bucky’s soft gaze on you through the glass walls of the patient room as you start your work up, believing that he had simply got back in his ambulance and out into the field.

“That’s her?” Steve asks from beside Bucky. He knows full well it must be you, he’s never seen his best friend look so enamoured with a girl, nor lost for words as when he set eyes on you, but he wants Bucky to admit it aloud.

“Yep, that’s her.” Bucky says with a pride that if Steve didn’t know any better, would suggest that her meant his girl. Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you, the corners of mouth tugging into a smile. His best friend has it bad, and he doesn’t even realise.

Steve suspects if he doesn’t remind Bucky they have a shift to get back to, he’d happily watch you work for the rest of the day.

He allows Bucky a couple more minutes of that luxury before heading back to the ambulance, knowing his best friend well enough to realise before either Bucky or yourself do, just how significant Bucky’s feelings for you are.

* * *

Bucky steps out of the shower, the warm water having rinsed the hard days work off himself.

He knows he needs to call you. Waiting any longer, especially after seeing you today, even if it were only for a brief moment, would surely only indicate disinterest. That’s so far from how he feels about you, so he decides needs to take matters into his own hands and fulfil the promise he made two nights ago.

A fresh swarm of butterflies fills his stomach. He’s actually going to do this.

He just hopes you’re after more than just another hookup. Bucky’s used to being the one only interested in sex, but if the roles are reversed this time, it’ll be his exposed heart being ripped from his chest.

No, he can’t think like that. He’s finally giving himself a chance at happiness.

Bucky reminds himself that you asked him to promise to call after your date. It’s not just him that wants this, you want him to call.

With that thought, he pulls out his phone and quickly presses on your contact, so he doesn’t chicken out, and with a shaky hand holds his phone to his ear. Bucky’s heart beats in his throat as the first ring sounds, and then skips a beat altogether when the click of you answering fills his ears.

“Bucky, you called.” He can hear the smile in your voice through the line, but what makes his heart clench is the trace of surprise he can perceive, as if you truly hadn’t expected him to call.

“I did promise to.” He reminds you, but it doesn’t entirely eliminate the bitter shame bubbling in the pit of his stomach that even though he did in fact promise, you didn’t fully believe him.

“I’m happy you did. I had a really great time the other night.”

“So did I.” Those three simple words don’t sum up just how much Bucky wholeheartedly enjoyed every second he spent with you, regardless of if that were naked in your bed or getting to know you on a picnic blanket as the sun set across the horizon, but in his anxious state he can’t find words more poetic to express it. “And I’d love to do it again if you’re up for it.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna have to think about it.” He can tell by the light tone of your voice you’re joking, but he supposes he deserves waiting for an answer considering he made you wait for his call. “Of course I’d love to go on a second date with you James.”

The combination of your words and the fact that you punctuated the sentence with his true first name sends Bucky straight to heaven. Everything about you makes him completely weak in a way he has never experienced before. All of those walls Steve seems to think Bucky has built around himself don’t appear to exist with you, instead, you’ve come into his life as easily as walking through a front door with a welcome mat out front.

“I guess I’m going to have to outdo a picnic at sunset then.” He chuckles to himself, knowing that he’s never had this problem before, but realising it’s a good problem to have.

You continue to talk well into the night, forgetting what time it is, and that you both have early shifts in the morning. None of that matters when you’re so caught up in each other.

Bucky simply enjoys the sound of your voice, and how it soothes the remaining anxiety which was swirling in his chest before calling you. He certainly isn’t hanging up first, not when talking with you has been the best part of his day.

He’s chasing happiness. And he might just find it with you.

Part 4 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv @aya-fay

[slutbee]

american teenagers

Written for the Sam and Dean Mini Event by @holyfreaks

06/25/24 Prompts: Ethel Cain/LGBTQ

Inspo from American Teenager and Western Nights

Rating: M

WC: 2.8k

Part 1/4.

Summary: Dean's been sneaking out to hook up with boys lately. Sam tries not to care, but he can't ignore the knife-twisting feeling in his chest whenever Dean comes home the next morning. But why would he care? He doesn't like boys, he can't be jealous.... right?

Every night Dad said not to wait up, Dean went outside to the parking lot. "Don't wait up" really meant "I'll be out all night, probably until the afternoon too," so Dean didn't worry about getting caught sneaking out. Sam always spied on him through the rickety aluminum blinds and knew that if Dad did catch Dean, he would have another thing coming. Because Dean wasn't just out there alone.

Tonight, a boy on a motorcycle stopped at the curb. The growl of the engine made the blinds vibrate against Sam's nose a little bit. He watched as Dean hauled himself cleanly off the post he'd been leaning on, his sleek body a neat little shadow as he went to greet the boy, who had taken off his helmet.

The boy reached for Dean's neck, but Dean caught his hand and looked back, straight into the pair of eyes watching him through the crack in the blinds, and laughed. The mystery boy followed his gaze and Sam snapped his fingers out from the blinds, hiding himself. He could still hear their laughter. Then, the roar of the motorcycle. Sam peeked through the window again just in time to see them ride off, Dean's arms wrapped tightly around the mystery boy's waist.

Sam stepped away from the window. Yes, Dad would be furious if he knew Dean was sneaking out; much less to meet up with boys. And Sam wasn't naive, he knew Dean wasn't just hanging out with them. He had seen Dean kiss one, when he had been more careful about spying on him. The twist in his chest hadn't been because the action was wrong.

The room was quiet when Sam was alone. It would be nice, if he could stop thinking about what Dean was up to. Staring at the faded carpet, he pictured Dean with that rakish grin, smiling into the mouth of a boy a million times cooler than Sam was. He pictured hands sliding up Dean's shirt, discarding his clothes, gripping his hips-

Sam shook his head. Zoned out again. He really had to stop doing that. Daydreaming about his brother... in that kind of situation.

It's natural, he told himself as he kneeled beside the motel bed to pray. I'm a teenage boy, I get horny about everything. It doesn't mean anything.

Still, the wordless prayer that went up spoke multitudes of unacknowledged guilt.

God, I don't know if you're out there, but... well, you know, of course, but I should tell you anyway... I've been having feelings... well, being attracted to people I shouldn't be attracted to. Boys. I know this is part of my curse, another challenge that I just have to get over to become a better person. I'm really trying, but... if you could help. A little bit. I don't know if I can do it by myself. I can't seem to stop sinning.

Sam grabbed the edge of the bed to stand, wincing when his muscles protested from being overworked during Dad's weekend training. He had prayed every night since the first wordless prayer, admitting a little more each time.

The motel room door swung open. His stomach dropped and Sam turned, expecting to see Dad, home before Dean for once, but it was just Dean. His hair stuck up at all angles and his t-shirt and jeans were rumpled like they had been on the floor all night. There was that twist in his chest again.

"Cutting it close there," Sam said a little bitterly, turning his back on his brother again.

"Nah, I'm always golden," Dean replied cheerfully, clapping a hand down on Sam's shoulder, making him jump. "C'mon, Sammy, I'm bored. Let's go explore the woods out back."

"Bored already, huh?" Sam side eyed his brother and shrugged the hand off his shoulder.

Dean was unfazed. He winked. "You're just jealous."

"What? No I'm not," Sam protested hurriedly, a flush creeping up his neck.

"Yeah, you are." Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, baby brother, when you get older I'll teach you how to pick up chicks. Or guys, if that's what you're into."

"Why would I be into guys? I'm not," Sam floundered desperately.

Dean's eyebrow went up. "Relax, I'm joking. Come on, I'm dying to see what's in these woods."

Sam took a deep breath and glanced around for his shoes. "Fine, let's go."

During their walk, Sam was silent, finding his ragged Converse far more interesting than the nature scenes around him. He couldn't enjoy it, not today. He watched his Converse stamp down the pine needles under his feet.

"Awful quiet there, Sam," Dean said after a while. "Penny for 'em."

"I'm not thinking about anything," Sam griped. His teenage angst was in full force since Dean had walked through the door practically parading the fact that he got laid.

Dean snorted. "Fine, be that way." They continued on in silence for a little while. Birds sang overhead, oblivious to the fact that they should shut up so Sam could wallow in peace.

He didn't know how Dean did it, going and getting laid (at all, but especially) with boys and still seemed to have a totally clear conscience. Of course, he had never had the same moral compass as Sam, but he didn't really need to, since he was a perfect child. John approved of everything he did (except the hooking up with boys thing, because he didn't know). But Sam? He couldn't do anything right in the eyes of his father. If Dad found out Dean liked boys, he probably wouldn't do anything too drastic, but if he found out that Sam liked boys? That would just be the icing on the cake.

Not that Sam liked boys. That wasn't something that he ever consciously admitted to himself, but sometimes it just came up like that. Whenever that happened, he shoved it back down to the darkest corner of his brain.

"Dean?" Sam said before he realized he had said it.

"Yeah?" Dean had stopped at the base of a pine tree and had his neck craned to watch two squirrels racing up the trunk. Sam's eyes fixed on the curve of his Adam's apple, muscles taut and rippling as he swallowed and laughed. Sam wanted to kiss his neck.

No! that was just because Dean was the only boy he ever interacted with. Not because he liked Dean. Dean was just the precedent for all boys their age.

Sam swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, directing his attention to the pair of squirrels on the tree trunk.

"How do you do it?" he asked vaguely, hoping Dean would get the idea of what he was asking.

Dean did not. "Do what?" he asked, turning to Sam with a quizzical expression that Sam only saw in his periphery.

The squirrels disappeared from view. Sam reluctantly brought his eyes down to meet his brother's. "Y'know. Hook up with guys."

Dean looked at a loss for words for a moment. They had never spoken about Dean's escapades outright. Dean found his footing, trying to brush it off. "You wanna know the mechanics? Well, Sammy, one guy has-"

"Stop it, Dean. You know what I mean."

Dean stared into the face of his little brother, somehow so earnest and desperate at the same time. He went through possible questions Sam could be trying to ask him.

How is he attracted to guys? How does he stomach it? How does he bear being intimate with someone other than Sam? The last one couldn't be it. Although Sam's slightly accusatory expression suggested otherwise.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sammy," he said slowly.

Sam huffed a little-brother sigh that was more of a scoff. "Like, don't you feel... I dunno." He pushed around some pine needles at his feet. "Dirty?"

Dean was taken aback. Where was this coming from? Sam's voice sounded rife with guilt, but Dean wasn't sure if it was because of some secret inner working of Sam's mind or if it was because of the question he'd dared to ask Dean.

Dean cleared his throat. "Um. I don't, really." He took a step towards Sam. "I did a little at first, because it was a forbidden thing, but... I dunno, I like it. That kinda outweighs the feeling of it being wrong. Plus, you know how I feel about rules," he added, winking.

"How did you know?" Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes swimming with melancholy.

"Know....?"

"That you were, uh. That you like guys." Sam rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

"Well, I realized I felt the same way about them as I do chicks. Like I wanted to get their attention in the same way." Dean searched his brother's face for any sign that meant that was the right answer. He got nothing, so he continued. "Then, y'know. I just started flirting with them too, and the ones that got it, got it."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, and Dean had a feeling he knew what it was going to be. He didn't.

"Why do you sneak around behind Dad's back? If he ever catches you...."

Dean raised his eyebrow at that. It seemed like Sam was launching into one of his little lectures, where he tried to keep Dean from doing anything fun. "Yeah, if Dad catches me, I'm gonna get the ass-whupping of a lifetime. But I gotta have fun somehow."

"Yeah, but you don't have to risk it," Sam murmured, looking down at the ground again. His fingers had made their way down from his neck to twist into his hoodie strings.

Dean was getting uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was headed. It was about to either turn into a fight or Sam was going to say something he wish he'd never said.

"I'll be fine, Sammy," Dean assured him, mustering a confident grin. Don't worry about me so much. You'll give yourself ulcers."

He directed Sam back the way they came, but this time he didn't touch him at all.

By the light coming through the blinds at the motel (different motel, blinds weren't broken, but Dean had turned them downwards so more sun would come in and wake them up), Sam fixed his eyes on the shape in the dark that was his brother.

Dean was stretched out on top of the blankets. The night was still hot and the AC in this motel room didn't work. A rotating fan lightly blew air over the two of them, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Which is why Dean was sleeping naked.

Sam knew it was wrong to look at his brother like this. But he had given up a while ago on shoving down the feelings that were growing towards Dean. His eyes followed the contour of Dean's back, admiring the toned muscles. He lingered on Dean's backside, which was facing him. Recently, Sam had been admiring Dean's trim hips. Sam himself had just had a growth spurt, and he knew his hands were now big enough to fit perfectly around his brother's hips.

That thought conjured up images of Dean underneath Sam, panting as Sam dug his fingers into Dean's pretty waist. Sam felt himself growing hard and he angled his hips downward to press his dick into the mattress.

Sorry, God, came the passing thought through his brain as his hand slid downwards to assist.

The next time Dean came home in the morning, Sam was waiting for him by the door and jumped him as soon as he opened it.

"Dean, we need to talk." Sam's eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed.

"Jeez, man, let me get two steps in first," Dean complained, lowering himself to the corner of the bed to get his shoes off. "What do we need to talk about so bad?"

"I have something I need to tell you. Or ask you. I dunno." Sam plopped down beside Dean on the bed.

"Shoot," Dean said, kicking his boots to the side.

"I want you to help me get laid. With a guy," Sam added hastily. "Which, I know I was against it before, but-"

"No," Dean cut him off, getting a bubbling feeling in his chest. "No way. I am not helping you with that."

Sam frowned. "Why not? That's not fair, you were getting laid when you were fifteen-"

"That's not the problem." Dean scowled at him. "You're just doing this because you want another reason to piss Dad off, don't you?" He didn't know why he said that.

"Why? Only you're allowed to do it?" Sam a little angry now. He was getting red in his ears, something Dean always thought was cute, which is not at all what he should be thinking about right now. Get it together.

"Yeah, because I'm an adult," Dean said, instantly feeling bad for pulling that card when it wasn't the real reason at all.

"Barely," Sam muttered.

"Well, I am. Legally. So I can do things."

"No you can't, Dean! Our family is different, you know Dad has the same rules for both of us. If anyone is taking risks to piss him off, it's you! You've been sneaking out to hook up with people for months in a row now and I don't see you until the mornings. When the door opens, I have no idea if it's Dad or you. I don't know why you wanna risk punishment going out and finding guys when-" he cut himself off and covered his mouth. Said too much.

Dean knew exactly what he was going to say. Still, he had to make him say it. "What, Sam?"

Sam had paled considerably. "Nothing."

"Sam."

The poor kid started shaking. Dean held out his arms. He needed his kid to know that he was still here to make it better.

Sam leaned into Dean's arms cautiously, like he was afraid it was a ruse for Dean to hurt him. Dean just rubbed his back for a little bit, but Sam didn't stop trembling. His anxiety hadn't been this bad in a while, so Dean just kept holding him. He wasn't going to press the issue anymore; he had to let Sam recover.

Sam shuddered with a shaky inhale, and Dean realized belatedly that he was crying. Damp spots seeped through his shirt. "Sammy, it's okay."

"No it's not, Dean," Sam said brokenly. "I'm messed up in the head. I'll never be normal, I'll never be good like you, I-"

Dean shushed Sam. "Gonna stop you right there. You're more good than I'll ever be. You actually care about the effects of your actions on the world around you. I'm not like that, I'm selfish. Too selfish to realize what I was doing to you."

"You're wrong, I want to do things that are so wrong, I'm so royally screwed-"

"Sam, knock it off." Dean lowered his tone seriously.

"Dean I- I want to kiss-" Sam tried.

"Boys, I know. How many times I gotta tell you ain't nothing wrong with that?"

"You." Sam corrected.

Dean blinked. "Huh?" He wondered if this was part of his dream still. Maybe he never woke up and he was still fast asleep in some other guy's bed.

Sam sniffed and a new deluge of tears fell. "It's you, Dean. Not just any guy."

"Then how come you wanted me to help you get laid?" Dean was really confused now. He didn't seem to be dreaming, but here was his little brother, telling him that he felt the same way about Dean that Dean had been feeling for years about Sam and beating himself up over it and trying to distract himself with as many hookups as possible.

"I wanted to get experience still," Sam admitted, sniffing again. At least he wasn't sobbing anymore.

The pieces were finally falling into place for Dean. Of course Sam was mad when he went out with other guys. Sam wanted Dean to mess around with him.

Dean sighed. "Sammy, we can't-"

"I know, Dean. I don't need you to tell me how fucked up I a m."

"Don't let Dad catch you with that kinda language," Dean chuckled. "Sammy, this- it's like I'm dreaming," he said lamely.

Sam sat bolt upright. "Wait. You mean-" he froze when Dean nodded. Why not? Why not admit to your baby brother you're in love with him?

"Then kiss me," Sam begged tearfully. There were those big eyes, so sad, so pleading. "Please, I need to feel it. Tell me you love me."

"I do love you, Sammy," Dean whispered, voice suddenly gone. "I do, I do."

Sam threw his arms around Dean's neck and buried his face in the side of Dean's head. A chill ran through Dean at the wet contact of his brother's tearstained face against his ear. Sam pressed ever-closer, until Dean was forced to pull him upright into his lap. Sly kid.

Sam pulled back, straddling Dean with his knees in the mattress. He met Dean's eyes, letting his hands slide to cup Dean's face, and sank down into his brother's lips.

thanks for reading! happy birthday, nep!

[theshiftingwitch]

heyyyy

ik you talk about discipline a lot but i wanted to clear smth up, ppl talk about control your thoughts and don’t react to the 3d “live your life, do things that take your mind off of it”

but im manifesting just shifting/being in my dr and my life rn consists of damn near nothing. i don’t have any hobbies, not a lot to do, nowhere to go and not many people to talk to, no one who even knows abt shifting or loa either. i daydream abt my dr, the life and things i want

i think abt them a lot of the time, not to a point where it’s consumed me cuz regardless i still do have some things i do for fun but when i want smth it’s like a habit of daydreaming abt scenarios of my dr, thinking of my dr, theres not a lot of ways to take my mind off it to let it breathe and “come to me” yk?

is that not the right way of doing it? im a bit neurodivergent and would like some specificity with the thoughts i should have, like if i imagine an image of me in my dr purely out of habit or without the intent of recognizing it as “that’s actually me in my dr rn” should there be a redirect?

when i wake up regardless of whether the 3d changes, i should be like “oh that’s crazy i always wake up in my dr, im in my dr, i’ve already shifted” when i see myself in the mirror, should i think “i love how i look in my dr! my skin is so clear, my hair is gorgeous and healthy” even if i see the exact opposite?

when i’m laying down, or on the computer, or doing something related to university or money, do i think “i love being in my dr, i just came back from (dr university) and now i get to relax, i might go on a shopping spree later today”

ik it’s long and this might seem obvious to most but i get kind of anxious about what exactly “discipline your thoughts” mean for daydreaming and everyday life mindsets

Who said you have to take your mind off of it and let it breathe? If you were in your desired reality right now, would you be thinking about something else? Would you be thinking about this reality? thinking about the dishes you have to do and the homework you have to get to and the budgeting you have to do?

No, you would be thinking about the reality you're in, the one you wanted to shift to for so long! You would be thinking about being with your friends and going on shopping sprees and going to University and doing your homework there... your desired reality does not need to breathe. It doesn't have a nose.

Yes, when you wake up you should automatically assume that you're in your desired reality. When you look in the mirror you should automatically assume that you're looking at the reflection of your Dr self. When you're doing homework or chatting with friends or watching a movie you should automatically assume that you're doing all of those things in your desired reality. It's called acting as if. And it is a huge part of the law of assumption. So no you're not doing anything wrong and you do not need to redirect.

The only thing I do advise you though, is to stop calling it daydreaming because it makes it feel like you're just dreaming pointlessly and wasting your time. It is not daydreaming, it is connecting with your Dr self. It has a purpose and it helps you on your shifting journey.

Happy Shifting ❤️

[666writingcafe]

Lust (Part One)

Barbatos

During MC's extended break from their duties at the House of Lamentation, I have been stopping through a couple times a week to check in and make sure the brothers haven't destroyed the place due to a lack of supervision. Ideally, I'd come more often, but my role as Diavolo's head butler necessitates most of my time being spent at the castle. After all, I don't trust the other servants to perform up to my standards on a consistent basis.

Yesterday happened to be laundry day, so I went ahead and mixed the brothers' clothes in with everyone else's. One might think that out of a group of seven, at least one individual could figure out how to operate a washer and dryer. Then again, they've been under a great deal of stress lately with The Change, so perhaps learning how to use Devildom appliances isn't high on their to-do list.

I approach the front door of the House and gently knock. No answer, which isn't overly surprising. They tend to be too preoccupied to answer right away. I give it a moment before trying again.

Still nothing.

Odd. Usually someone would have acknowledged me by now.

One more knock.

Silence.

Out of curiosity, I push on the door, causing it to squeak as it begins moving.

Something's wrong. The House is way too quiet. Furthermore, if the brothers were away, Lucifer would have made sure everything was locked before their departure.

It would be irresponsible of me to return to the castle without investigating. Diavolo wouldn't have the information necessary to make an informed decision that would help the brothers out of whatever trouble they've gotten themselves into.

And so I open the door wide enough for me to step inside. I'm barely in the foyer when it magically slams behind me, putting me more on edge. However, before I can do anything to prepare for a potential confrontation, a pungent floral scent assaults my nose, nearly knocking me off my feet as I lose my grip on the basket I was holding.

It must be Asmo's turn.

Hello, Barbatos. So glad you could join us.

His voice bounces off the walls, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"What have you done, Asmodeus?" I sternly ask, trying to keep my wits about me. He responds with cruel laughter.

Whatever do you mean?

"Where are your brothers?"

Oh, them! They're merely resting.

"Don't lie to me."

I'm not. They were running around like a bunch of madmen, and so I've made them take a nice little break from all their troubles.

"By charming them into submission."

They wouldn't listen otherwise. I just wanted them to relax.

A shudder runs through my spine. I need to get out of here before I fall under the same fate as the others.

But I can't move. No matter how much I try, my body insists on remaining still.

You look tired. You should stay here for a little while. Let me take your mind off things.

I don't remember the House being overly hot, and yet I'm beginning to burn up. It's making me feel increasingly light-headed.

Maybe I do need to lie down--

No.

That is what he wants me to do. I can't give in to him.

I knew you'd be hesitant. Perhaps this will convince you to listen.

A single step causes me to collapse to the ground as visions begin dancing around the room, my mind becoming incredibly foggy.

This is what he's done, hasn't he? Looked inside his brothers' souls and used their deepest desires against them?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. At least, that's the way I've always seen it. What's the point of doing it multiple times with someone that will never be yours? Not just because they belong to another person, but a whole other timeline?

And yet I can't help myself. There have been nights where I've allowed my mind to wander. Unlike most demons, my daydreams can become rather vivid, almost as though they're happening in real time. Lucid dreaming on steroids, you might say.

We didn't do anything overly daring that night, but what if we did? What if I was able to properly explore their body? Figure out every single way to turn them on? How would I make them unravel quickly, and how would I make them beg for it?

My control is beginning to slip. At this rate, I only have about a minute or two before I lose it completely.

As much as I hate the idea of reaching out to him for help, I don't have much of a choice. I can ensure the quickest arrival from him. At least this version of him is a lot kinder than mine.

Using the last bit of my strength, I silently will the pact to bring him to me. The mark faintly glowing is the last thing I see before I pass out completely.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Twelve

Jake x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ Smut !!! (Oral / Very suggestive language) mild anxiety, fluff, alcohol/drinking (it’s a bar, we know this) VERY brief themes with grief, silly banter, flirting, and Come On Eileen mentions.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Charlotte thinks herself into a little spiral, landing her at the bar. Josh must have made her drink strong tonight, because she definitely made a choice!

Author's Note: Oh babies, I have been vibrating with excitement to post this chapter. We’ve made it through the dry-spell!! 🫡🫦 have fun!!

Talk (Unreleased) - Harry Styles "Don't ask me to talk about, I don't wanna talk at all."

“Maybe she was right. Maybe they were both right. I should just live a little,” I mutter to myself as I pace the house. You deserve to be happy; just let it happen. 

Daydreaming about the precious long-haired boy who has my stomach in knots. The way I still can’t believe we kissed more than once. It was hard to deny how sweet he was. Always made sure I didn’t walk to my car alone at night. Asking me to text him when I make it home. Checking that it’s okay that he kissed me, even though I went for him first. 

I’ve never met someone who had me so smitten so quickly. It would be a lie to say I’m not a little nervous, but I’m trying to do right by Cassie. She told me to stop thinking myself out of happiness and so .. I’m trying not to think too hard. 

I wish I needed to be there today. 

Mindlessly tidying up to try and keep myself distracted, I look through the handful of books sitting on the coffee table. For transparency’s sake, they are all romances. Maybe it’s because I just don’t have anything non-fiction on my to-be-read list or the fact that I feel like I’ve seemingly met a man written by a woman; the world will never know. 

Flipping one of them over to read the summary on the back, in italics, reads ‘friends with benefits.’ It stops me in my tracks, metaphorically. ..That’s a bad idea.. Right? I shake my head, trying to rid the idea entirely. Tossing it back on the coffee table and staring at it like it just insulted me personally. 

I pick up my phone, seeing the time, 4:03 pm, with an unread message from him.

Jacob: someone keeps queuing up the same song on the jukebox and I cant stop laughing

Jacob: idk how many times you can listen to Come On Eileen before you lose your mind but I have to be close to it 

I laugh at the idea of him losing it while behind the bar, especially with how calm his demeanor is. I can’t picture him being distraught. What if I just went and got a drink? That wouldn’t be weird, right?  

Me: Too many ‘too loo rye ay’s for you huh?

I mean, we are basically friends at this point and we’ve made out twice.. I don’t think me going to the bar for a drink would be .. wrong?  Staring at my leggings and fuzzy socks, I get up and quickly walk into my bedroom. I stare at myself in the full-length mirror; my hair is still fairly curled from last night. 

I pull out my olive cigarette pants, toss them onto my bed, and start digging through my closet. Finding an off-white sweater hiding in the back, I think I can make this cute. Changing into those and standing in front of the mirror, I tuck the bottom of the sweater up into the band on my bra, cropping it slightly. 

“That feels better, I think,” I mumbled to myself. I slide my belt through the loops, pulling things together even more. Adjusting my necklace to sit on top of the sweater, moving the clasp back to it’s rightful place. 

I grab my phone from the bed, take a picture in the mirror, pulling up the group chat; 

The Laid-Ease 🤩

Me: [sends photo] is this cute? 

Quinn: YES YES YES

Willa: very!!

Mel: Oooooo! Yes 😍

I smile at their responses, feeling a little more confident in my impulse decision. I sit in front of my mirror with all my makeup next to me. I take my time, making sure everything looks how I want it. I typically stick with natural-looking makeup because I’ve always liked my freckles and don’t want to hide them. The least I can do is feel cute if I’m going to go sit at the bar, you know, just in case.  

Sufficiently killing enough time so that I didn’t get to the bar too early. Finding a parking spot proved to be a little more difficult tonight. But being further away, I was able to sit here for a minute before walking over. 

Is this a dumb idea? No Char- you need to just go inside and get a drink. Josh is probably bartending anyway, so he’ll probably just talk to you. 

Forcing myself out of the car, I slowly walk over to the bar, taking deeper breaths as I do, trying not to let anxiety win. I'm doing this for you, Cass.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Luckily for me, I found a seat at the bar, and Josh is an angel. Bringing me a drink quickly and chatting with me for a few minutes before checking in on other customers. 

I slide my book from my bag, making myself comfortable as I sip on my drink for a while. My thoughts get louder as the alcohol slowly hits me. Rereading the same page a few times before actually processing it. 

You know he’s here–just go say hi. Shaking my head as I swallow the last sip of my drink. It’s very unlike me to let anything like this even remotely happen. 

You’ve never caved in a work situation, it’s honestly shocking. Unprofessional if you ask me. Okay but to be fair– none of the people I've had to work with look like him. You really can’t blame me for having eyes. 

Flipping the page of my book, I try to refocus. I wonder what he’s wearing today. Does he have his button up that he hardly buttons on? Jesus, what did Josh put in this drink? 

Forcing myself to read a few more pages before moving my bookmark into its new home. 

“Is Jacob in his office?” I ask Josh as he’s lingering close to where I’m sitting.

He nods quickly, “Where else would he be?” His eyebrows raise as he looks over at me, “I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

I slide out of my barstool, adjusting my pants quickly. His office isn’t far down the hall; as I round the corner into the door frame, I take him in for a second. He’s so pretty. 

I gently knock to get his attention, watching his eyes light up as he sees me makes my stomach turn. Just go for it.

His sweet voice lingers in the room as he says, “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

I swallow my nerves and whisper, “I know.” Stepping further into the small space, pushing the door shut behind me. Everything feels like slow motion again.

Turning to him, I’m barely taller than him while he’s sitting; I grab the sides of his face as I lean in. The feeling of his lips against mine makes my heart beat harder. I have kissed my fair share of men in my life, but none compare to him. The way his lips are so soft and how he goes for my bottom lip makes me wonder if he would ever sink his teeth into it. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” he whispers through a small giggle, which makes me laugh with him. His hands gently rest on my waist. The way he looks at me, this man is going to be the death of me. 

I lean back in; this time, I can’t stop how desperate I feel. My hands find the back of his neck; my fingertips pressed into him like I’m afraid he’s going to run away. His grip on me tightens, pulling me closer. My legs bump into his knees; well, there’s only one way to solve this. 

Before I have time to think, I’m straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around me, my hands sliding up into his hair. Oh my god. My breath hitches as he lightly dances his tongue against my lip, and who would I be to deny him that? Goosebumps flood my body as he deepens the kiss, his grip on my shirt getting tighter, pulling me against him harder. I let my teeth grab his bottom lip, barely enough pressure to gently pull it back, when the sweetest little moan escapes him. 

The sound alone was enough to get a girl wet, but then he smiled. And dear god– isn’t his smile gorgeous? A little pink staining his cheeks, we quietly laughed together as I tucked my face into his neck. I breathed him in for a moment, feeling his hands slide up and down my sides. I felt him shift a bit before he pressed a kiss into the base of my neck, sending chills through my body.

He continues to litter slow kisses up my neck and under my jaw as I sit back up. He takes his time, barely lifting up when he moves so I can feel his breath as he inches his way up. Nobody had ever taken the time he had with me; it felt like he was savoring every kiss. 

My hands timidly moved from his neck down to his chest. If we weren’t here, I would be pulling this shirt off of him. Thankfully, his button-up shirts didn’t leave much to the imagination; I gently tugged on one side, revealing his collarbone that I let my fingertips graze. 

He hums against my skin before moving to press a kiss just under my ear. 

“Mmm,” he rasps quietly, “I could stay here all night.” His low voice sends shivers down my spine and makes my heart throb. I need him.

I stand up, grabbing his hands from my waist. 

“Stand up for me?” I ask quietly, and he doesn’t hesitate to follow through. He leans against his desk as I lean into him. It’s my turn to have some fun. 

I kiss down his jawline as my hands find his hips. Tracing along the top of his belt, I move my lips to his neck; his skin is so warm. Deciding to take my chance, I slide his belt over, starting to undo it. 

“Charlotte,” he whispers, “what are you doing?” 

I look up at him, stilling my hands, to ask, “Is this okay?” 

His eyes meet mine, looking back and forth for a moment like he’s trying to make sense of what I’m doing. But honestly, I’m also trying to make sense of it. 

“Of course, it’s okay. I just—“ he stumbles over his words before I cut him off with a kiss. 

I mumble against his lips, “Let’s not talk about it right now.” 

Quickly undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, my mouth is already watering. I drop down to my knees as I’m unzipping him, seeing his cock twitch as I do. He leans over me, flipping the lock on the office door. 

I can’t help but press kisses into his stomach just above his boxers, watching the goosebumps flood his skin. Gently tugging the waistband down, letting him free. Holy shit. My hand immediately ran down his length as I glanced up at him.

“All for me, baby?” Slips out, and he just moans quietly in response. What is he doing to me? His face reddening at the pet name, and my heart is pounding at the soft sounds coming from him. Letting my tongue run up to the tip before sliding him into my mouth. I can barely see him gripping his desk, the veins in his hands popping out harder, which only sends another shock through my body. 

Slowly taking more and more, I want to savor the moment. I’ve never wanted to be in this position more in my life. His little whimpers as I move closer to the base, making me throb. I pull my head back, stroking him for a second as I tease him more. 

“Don’t be shy, I wanna hear you,” I tell him. A strained moan falls from his lips. Before going back in for more, I tuck some loose hair behind my ears. Feeling his hands carefully gather all my hair as he wraps it around his fist, he watches me as I move my head quicker. The moans falling from his lips get louder as I pick up speed. 

Knowing he must be getting close, I say the one thing I know will get him going. 

“Come on, Captain.” 

His head drops back as his hand tightens its grip on my hair, he lets out a breathy, “Please.” 

“Let me have it,” I whisper, plunging my head down his length, feeling his little trail of hair barely touch my nose. I bob my head a few times before using my hand to help get him there, feeling his muscles tense before he finally spits out any sort of warning.

“Charlotte- fuck,” is all he can get out before his orgasm hits him. Hearing him moan my name makes my heart flutter. He accidentally tugs harder on my hair, not that I mind. But lettting go to brush the little hairs away from my face as I pull back and tuck him back into his boxers. 

I sat back on my feet, just admiring him in this state. His face was a little flushed, eyes still closed as a little smile crept onto his face. Finally looking down at me, he reached his hands out for me to take. Pulling me close to him as he kisses me, but I move my face back out of shock. 

“But I just-“ I start; most men I have been with would never kiss me after I did that for them.

“Who cares?” He giggles, pecking my lips a few more times. “Don’t even mind the taste since it’s on your lips.” 

“Oh,” is all I can muster. I was so severely unprepared for how secure he actually was in himself. Why is that so sexy? Have I really wasted that many times on guys who are just insecure? I truly didn’t think that something so simple would make him even more attractive, but here we are. 

“Should I sneak back out there?” I ask as he fixes his belt. 

“If you do, I’ll come out and keep you company,” he says, looking back up at me. He looks like he’s fighting a smile, which I can’t decide what option is cuter. I lean myself into him, pressing a few small kisses against his lips. 

“Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I whisper, wiping my thumb across his lip gently. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sitting back in my seat at the bar, I watch as Josh makes my drink for me. I can’t believe I did that. My mind races with what just happened, the sounds he made, the way even just the thought makes me shift in my seat. 

“Thank you,” I pipe up as Josh slides my drink over to me. He flashes me a toothy grin before hustling over to take someone’s order. I’m not even halfway through my sip when Jacob’s voice floods my ears. 

“You doin’ alright?” his English accent slips out. He sneaks behind the bar but not too far from me. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” I smirk, taking a sip of my drink. The corners of his mouth quirked. He grabbed the towel next to him before walking over to where I sat. 

“Is that so?” He asks, cocking his eyebrow up. The way he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room makes my body warm. I’ve never had someone make me feel like this before. The way he’s standing in front of me, propping himself up against the bar. How his toned arms are lightly flexed, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look past how nice* his hands are. 

“Maybe,” I squeak out, leaning into my hands to try and get a little closer to him. The grin plastered on my face was undeniable. Looking at him in front of me after what just happened makes my head feel dizzy, and I’ve only had one drink. 

“Well, I’m very sorry, honey,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’ll be damned; he’s good at it. “Rude of me to leave such a pretty girl like you waiting.” He thinks I’m pretty.  

My mouth moves faster than my brain can when I respond with, “I’ll let it slide this time.” Letting my eyes wander all over him as if nobody could see me. Noticing the way he’s biting the inside of his lip, the little twitch in his hand as my eyes drop to them. The movement of his necklace when he leans forward only fills my head with horrible thoughts. The thought of them bouncing off his chest as he– 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, subtly biting his lip. “Promise.” The look he’s giving me makes my thighs clench together. 

“Oh, I’ll be looking forward to that,” I try to hide how nervous that makes me. I haven’t done anything with someone for a while, let alone having someone … do something for me. Usually on my own for that. 

He stares at me for another second before letting his head drop back a little. He stares at the ceiling before shaking it as he looks down. A soft little smile is on his lips. What is he thinking about that has him grinning like that? 

I cave, “What’s that face for?” 

He lets out a laugh, letting his smile grow, showing off his teeth now. His eyes rake over me again, his arms folded over his chest; he really is so cute. 

“It’s nothing,” he finally spits out. 

My eyebrows pull in, “I don’t buy that one bit.” Squinting at him as tries to do the same face back but not being able to hold it.

“I can’t say it right now,” he says, moving closer to the bar. He leans down, propping himself up with his elbows.

“Why not?” I don’t know what is in the air tonight, but I can’t stop myself from poking at him more and more. 

“It’s not the right place,” he laughs, “people could hear me.” 

“Just whisper it to me,” I excitedly spit out, “we can pretend it’s a secret.” I watch as he looks around the room, moves back, and mouths ‘hold on’ to me. 

  He pours two fresh beers from the tap, walks them over to a table, and grabs their empty glasses. He then wanders around the booths for a moment, making sure everybody is happy. I steal glances at him a few times, doing my best to not stare at him, but it’s hard. He’s a deceivingly intoxicating man; you’d never expect it because he’s so quiet at first. 

How he’s gone this long without a girlfriend is beyond me. I guess it’s also something we’ve never really talked about, so maybe he just didn’t care? I can’t imagine girls not liking him. He’s so precious; how could you not develop a crush on him? Oh– I hadn’t thought that hard about that part of whatever this situation is. Do I have a crush on him? But I don’t live here, so that could make him not want to pursue anything– I don’t live that far, maybe he wouldn’t care. My thoughts race with questions of whether I’m making a mistake or not. 

I don’t want to jump into a relationship this fast. I don’t want to waste more time, but I have to do something because I just know Cassie would punch me if I didn’t do this. Suddenly remembering the book that offended me earlier today, ‘Friends with benefits’ plays in my head. Maybe he would be okay with that..? That way I can make sure this is what I want to do. That sounds reasonable, right? I’d say we’re friends and who would say no to the benefits? He already promised me something, and I need to know what that is now.  

I’m pulled from my thoughts when I feel someone gently place their hand on my back. I look over to see him setting a few glasses on the bar. He’s so close I can feel the warmth coming off of him and smell his cologne. 

“Oh, sorry, excuse me,” he giggles quietly. Turning to leave, he stops, sliding his hand up to the base of my neck and lightly giving it a squeeze. He drops his head to whisper, “Was just thinking about how I can’t wait to hear your pretty voice moaning my name.” 

My jaw falls open as he says it; looking up at him, his face is flushed like he’s embarrassed to admit it. He gives me a slow wink before sauntering off to talk to customers, leaving me to think about that. I definitely need to know what he plans on doing to make it up to me now. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Our nightly routine begins once more as we walk in comfortable silence to my car. 

I quietly break the silence, letting out, “The sky looks so pretty tonight.”

His head tilts up quickly to take it in while I watch him. His eyes scanned all the stars and the light from the moon, illuminating him with no cloud in sight. 

“She really is amazing, isn’t she?” he spoke so softly, looking over at me. 

“Who..?” 

“The moon,” he chokes back a little laugh. “She’s incredible.” He looks so happy as he looks back up at the sky. The chill of November made it so I could see his breath as we walked, but it also kept me closer to him in hopes of stealing some of his warmth. 

Our hands timidly brush against each other a few times until he glances down, sliding his hand into mine. I just know Cassie is somewhere screaming over how  I am with him. I just look at our hands intertwined, the way his thumb just runs over mine, and smile when he squeezes a little to make me look at him. 

“Your chariot, madame,” he says, gesturing his free hand to my car. 

“Oh, thank you, sir.” I try to play along, letting a small laugh slip partway through. We just stood there in comfortable silence for a second, still hand in hand. 

“So,” he mumbles, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I nod, fighting the urge to just stare at his mouth. 

“Drive home safe. Text me when you make it. You know the drill at this point,” his sweet giggle lacing the latter half. 

“Of course, mhm,” I tell him, moving a little closer to him, “I hope you have a good rest of your night, Jacob.” His eyes practically twinkling in the moonlight as I gaze at him. He leans in, his plump lips pressed into mine but backs up quickly with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Back to my full name already?” his smug little tone made me laugh. My hands grab the sides of his face, pulling him back in for another kiss. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to call you Captain in public after that,” I say against his lips; he lets out a small groan at the name. 

“I’ll let it slide this time,” he mocks me, stepping back and grabbing my hands. He pulls them up, placing little kisses across my knuckles. How is he real? He reaches past me to open my car door. 

“Now, get home before it’s too late.” 

I toss my bag into the passenger seat before sitting down and starting it. Turning to him one more time, looking up at him, I can’t stop myself from smiling. I grab his shirt and tug him towards me. His hand holding onto the doorframe, leans down, hovering over my mouth until I finally cave.

 “One more,” I mumble before closing the gap between us. He laughs into me, knowing I full well just stole his line. 

“I’ll be waiting for your text,” he says, pointing at me with his eyebrows raised as he moves back to shut my door. 

I sit there for a minute, just watching as he walks back towards the bar until he’s finally out of sight. I click on the address in my maps and set my phone in the cup holder. Looking back up at the moon, seeing how bright it is tonight. She is beautiful. 

I can’t take my eyes away from it, feeling the tears settling in, and into the quiet of my car I whisper, “I hope you’re proud of me, and god, I wish I could call you right now.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Thirteen

FDOG Master Post | Masterlist | Playlist

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