#steven -> smells like coffee

[ask-steven-stevenson]

“O.. oh dear- are you— alright..?”

[HE gave a nod.]

“Of course. Lead the way. If that place is more comfortable for you? That’s perfect.”

WOE 🗣️🗣️ FATHER FIGURE BE UPON YE 🗣️🗣️ !! This time!! He probably rushed over to chip. Though, kept his distance.]]

“..are you alright.,.?? I know me suddenly appearing may seem strange- just. Are you alright..? Are you hurt.? Do you need anything..??”

[he sounds.. so fucking worried.]

“If it helps! I can offer you something.? I gave one to William once. It helped xem. So, I got another one after I talked with you,- just in case.”

@ask-steven-stevenson

SORRY I SWNT IT SO FAST…

“I TOLD YOU T-”

He got defensive for a second upon hearing the voice. Sorry Steven. He turned around and softened however.

“Ah. My apologies. Thought you were Scott. I should be fine, however. Just told the guy off. Pays off having real security for a change.”

“May I ask what the thing you plan on giving me is? I know it’s useless to deny it. You’ll hand it over anyways, correct?”

He chuckled at that last bit, his tail wagging. He still remembers the good times with his dad...

[januaryembrs]

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force. 

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in. 

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

First Encounter

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

---

“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots. 

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers. 

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

 Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional. 

She let out a small hum. “Name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips. 

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag. 

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter. 

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.” 

 She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case. 

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.” 

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady. 

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.” 

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

---

a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

[pimosworld]

Blueberry Pancakes

Moon knight system x f!reader

Summary- You’re frustrated with Jake not being apart of your relationship so you take matters into your own hands.

CW-NSFW, 18+ MDNI, Depictions of DID, Smut, mentions of sex, Unprotected piv,fingering,rough sex,slight dom Jake, piv cream pie,cum,light angst, fluff.

Please let me know in the comments if I missed any warnings.

WC-3k

Not beta-read

———————————————————

You slowly blink open your eyes taking in the soft morning light of the flat you share with your boyfriend-boyfriends. You’ve been spoiled by Marc and Steven for a year now and you couldn’t be happier. The sweet smell of blueberry pancakes wafts amongst the flat and you can’t help the bittersweet feeling that consumes you.

Jake makes you blueberry pancakes.

Despite doing all the things a loving, caring boyfriend does- he refuses to front. A simple hi and bye is the most you’ve gotten out of him. It shouldn’t bother you really, you have two wonderful men that kiss the ground you walk on. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t think he deserves to be a part of this the way Marc and Steven are.

You're pulled from your thoughts as the door to the bathroom opens and you're graced with the sight of Marc stalking towards you only wrapped in a towel. His broad shoulders and chest are still dripping with water from the shower. He leans down and places a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

You smile up at him feeling slightly guilty. You secretly hope one of these mornings it’s Jake emerging from the bathroom still glistening from the shower, he climbs into bed and fucks you like his life depends on it and you both enjoy those sweet blueberry pancakes together.

“Prince Charming made you pancakes again.” He says sarcastically as he makes his way to the closet to get dressed.

It seems to be a sore subject for Marc as you think back to the first time he made them. Marc excused himself from the table as you moaned into every bite. You didn’t miss the way he glared into his reflection in the toaster while he stood in the kitchen waiting for you to finish.

“You know I love you and you make the best omelet.” You say as you make your way out of bed and wrap him in a tight hug from behind.

“Yes but you don’t sound like we’re fucking when you eat my omelet.”

You nip at his back and smack his ass on your way out of the bedroom. As much as he calls you a brat he definitely has his moments.

You make your way to the kitchen to enjoy your breakfast before you have to head to work. As you sit down to take your first bite you feel Marc’s eyes on you. You look up from your plate and see him with arms crossed and a smirk on his gorgeous face. You cock your head to the side and take a slow bite stifling a moan, because now is not the time.

“Are you going to watch me eat the whole thing?” You say playfully as you watch him make his way to the coffee maker that Jake got ready for Marc-because you prefer tea.

He doesn’t respond right away so you think this is as good a time as any to bring up what’s been bothering you.

“Why won’t he spend time with me?”

Marc groans and rubs a hand over his face. “I’ve already told you, please just leave it alone.”

“Is he listening now?”

“No sweetheart.” Yes cariño

“Well if you could tell him, I really really love pancakes.”

“Sure thing.” Marc says with slight annoyance.

****

You turn the key to enter your flat and as you open the door you're greeted with the sight of your boyfriend on the couch peaking at you over the bridge of his reading glasses.

“Hey love.” Steven smiles sweetly at you as he sets his book on the coffee table. “How was your day?” He always directed his full attention at you, as if you were the moon and the stars.

“It was fine.” You say rather unconvincing.

“Oh just fine,that won’t do.” He pats the seat next to him on the couch. “Come have a seat, let's talk.”

You make your way over to the couch and sit down and he grabs your legs placing them in his lap as you lean your back on the opposite arm rest. He takes your heels off one by one and begins rubbing your aching feet.

“I know you had pancakes this morning so the day started off better than fine.” He says jokingly with a smirk on his face.

“Well…that’s just it.” You say slightly embarrassed about what you're about to ask the sweet man rubbing your feet as he does most nights after a long day at work. “Could you help me with something?”

“Depends on what it is but anything for you love.”

“Could you…help me spend some time with Jake?” You say almost at a whisper.

He ceases rubbing your feet and looks at you with those deep brown pleading eyes. “You know how he is…but if it’s important to you I’ll try.”

You sit up enthusiastically and curl into Stevens' side wrapping your arms around his waist in a gripping hug.

“Okay, what does he like to eat?Does he have any favorite hobbies?What kind of shows does he watch? What’s his favorite color?…you realize your rambling like Steven does when he’s giving a tour at the museum, not even giving the poor man a chance to answer.

“Slow down love, one thing at a time.” He furrows his brow deep in thought. “Oh bollocks, I’m afraid I’m no help. I don’t know what he likes to eat, I’m pretty sure his favorite hobby is murder, he barely watches television and…well.” He chuckles to himself.

“What’s so funny.” You say slightly defeated

“Oh it’s nothing, it's just that I’m pretty sure his favorite color is red since he’s practically always covered in it.”

Steven looks at his reflection in the t.v. and suddenly drops his smile. “Right…well that’s about all I can help you with sorry love.” He stammers out quickly.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” He says as he hangs his head. Your sweet Steven has no idea how helpful he truly is.

You slide your hand to his cheek and tilt his head down at you placing a soft kiss on his lips. You sit up to straddle his lap and you can feel him getting hard for you already. As you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to whisper in his ear, you can tell his breath is ragged.

“I’d like to show you how helpful you are, if you’ll let me?” You bite down on his earlobe and hear his breath catch in his throat.

“I’d like that very much love.”

****

It’s Friday night, it’s been three days since Steven helped you-and you helped Steven. You’ve been planning and hoping that what you have in store will draw Jake out of hiding. If not you’ll just have to live with his silent affections.

Steven is relaxing on the couch as you stand in front of your full length mirror putting on the final touches to your look. It didn’t take much convincing to have him spend the night with you if things don’t go according to plan.

You got your hair done that morning, something you rarely treat yourself too. As you stare at yourself in the mirror you can’t help but feel slightly turned on- this has to work.

You adjust the straps on your silk red dress and smooth your hands down the front. You slide in your strappy red heels that you hope you won’t have to walk very far tonight. You lean into the mirror to apply your crimson red lipstick to match the red you applied to your nails earlier that day.

As you grab your purse and make your way towards the door you can feel Stevens' eyes on you. You don’t dare glance over at him suddenly feeling like a predator's prey.

“Bye love, I’m going out with some friends, don't wait up for me.”

You reach for the door but an unfamiliar voice stops you in your tracks.

“Bebita I don’t think your boyfriends would be too happy about this.” You turn around to see Jake with his eyes narrowed as if he’s studying your movements.

“My boyfriends don’t care if I go out.” Your voice cracks a little and you're suddenly aware of how dry your throat is.

“I didn’t mean if you go out cariño.” He stands from the couch and you suddenly feel very small. “I mean dressed like this.” He gestures his fingers up and down your body.

“Maaarrrc…Steeeeven?” You mockingly call about the flat. “I guess they aren’t here so I’ll be going.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror next to the door feigning confidence.

“You’ll be staying.” He says in a commanding tone that makes your pussy clench in anticipation.

You grab the door handle and look over your shoulder with the most sultry look you can muster (that you absolutely have not been practicing in the mirror). “Make me.”

He crosses the distance from the couch to you in two steps and pins you against the door with his chest pressed to your back. You can tell you’ve had an affect on him by the way his hard bulge is pressed against your ass. He grips both your wrists with one of his large calloused hands. He leans in close to your ear and breathes in deep.

“New perfume?” He says in a low husky tone.

He licks a stripe up your neck and gently bites down on your earlobe. Drawing a small whimper out of you.

“Not so talkative now are we hermosa? His chuckles reverberate through your body as he slowly draws his fingers up your thigh. He can feel how wet you are through your panties and a low growl from him sends shivers down your spine.

“This wet for me?” A breathy “ yes” is all you can manage as he drags his fingers through your slit at an agonizing slow pace. He starts rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb and you can feel that tell tale sign that you're close to your climax as you clench down on nothing. He knows you're close and he wants to draw this out- you drew him out after all. He ceases his movements and all you can do is whimper.

“Shh it’s ok hermosa I’m going to take care of you.” You try to calm your breathing but he still has you pressed against the door with both hands behind your back.

“Answer my questions and I’ll take care of you.” He says into your ear as his breathing picks up. You give him a quick nod and his grip tightness on your wrist. “Words sweetheart.”

“Yes sir.” He nips at your shoulder with that last word. He resumes his movements dragging his fingers through your slit. “Did you buy this dress for me?”

“Yes.” You answer as he dips two fingers into your soft channel. If not for his grip on your wrists you’d be in a puddle on the floor. “What about these panties, did you buy them for me?” He’s slowly fucking you with his fingers and all you can hear in the flat is your breathy moans.

“Yes.” You say a little louder this time and he presses his fingers on those bundle of nerves inside and you think you might lose your mind.He brings his thumb to your clit as he steadily works you open. He places his knee between your thighs and slowly lifts you up. “Come for me hermosa.” You drop your head back on his shoulder and note down on your lip as you come with a silent cry.

As you come down from your high you realize you’ve never had an orgasm so intense without seeing your boyfriend's face. He slowly puts you down and draws his fingers away and you hiss at the loss.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” He says still with his back pressed to you, his obvious erection putting a strain on Stevens sweatpants.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say in almost a whine not even recognizing your own voice. He spins you around and you can see the hunger in his deep brown eyes, pupils blown wide. He looks very different from Marc and Steven, yet so similar. It takes your breath away how he looks at you like you're his world and also his victim in the same moment.

“I’m sorry about your dress.” He says sarcastically as you look down confused seeing nothing wrong with it. Before you can ask why he takes both hands and rips it down the front as if it was made of paper. “I’m sorry about your panties too.” You close your eyes and prepare yourself for what’s next as you feel a light tug on your hips and the sound of your new red lace panties ripping.

He takes in your form as you're now left in your sheer red bra and strappy heels. One of his hands comes to the back of your head and he pulls you into a bruising kiss, he kisses you like he’s been starving for you. Like if you pull away you’ll disappear. Your hands come to his arms tracing the familiar muscles you’ve come to know and love and this just feels right.

His thick bulge is pressed against your abdomen, as he grinds his hips into you pressing you further into the door. Precum now staining Stevens sweatpants (which you’ll have to hear about later). You suddenly feel very exposed and you slowly push him off you. As you both catch your breath he looks as though he’s done something wrong and your heart aches because you just want the man to be as exposed as you are.

“Clothes off.” Is all you can manage-real articulate.

Jake strips in two seconds flat and your thanking whatever Egyptian god that he didn’t rip Stevens clothes.

You’ve seen this body many times but as he stands before you with his thick cock, tip red and aching steadily leaking precum you feel as if it’s the first time. He backs you against the door again and grabs your face with both hands as he stares into your eyes.

“Tell me again.” He says in a pleading tone.

“I want you to fuck me Jake.”

You yelp in surprise as he grabs your waist and hoists you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He takes his hand and wraps it around his thick cock slowly coating it with your slick just teasing your entrance. You whimper at the feeling as he pushes in and you both moan in unison at the stretch. You drop your head to his shoulder and he’s not moving but you desperately want him too.

You dig your heels into his ass and he groans as his grip tightens on your waist.

“Just give me a moment cariño.” And you almost don’t recognize his voice. You squeeze your core around his throbbing cock and that’s all the moment he needs before he’s thrusting into you at a bruising pace.

“Oh. Fuck. Jake..” your words are punctuated with each thrust as he fucks too against the door.

“Jesus Christ, your pussy is so tight.” He’s quickly falling apart as he slams you down on his cock over and over. “I can’t believe I waited this long to do this.” Your moans in his ear as you hold on for dear life are going to send him over the edge. But not before you. His movements slow and you can feel his thick cock drag through your walls as you drop your head to the crook of his neck.

“Tell me what you want cariño.” He turns his head to see his reflection in the mirror next to the door.

“Fuck me harder Jake please.” You’re practically crying at the sensation as if it’s your first time. He smirks at his reflection and your pleas are all he needs.

“I love when you beg hermosa.” He holds you up with one arm and brings his thumb to your clit as he resumes his pace, roughly fucking you against the door. He can feel your pussy gripping his cock as your slick coats both your thighs.

“Fuck. Me. Right. There.” You're screaming now and will surely get a noise complaint, but you can’t care at this moment you’ve wanted for so long. Your vision goes white as you reach your climax and you're digging your nails into his back as you come undone. That’s all it takes for him before he comes with a choked sound as he’s shooting hot ropes of cum into your quivering channel. He groans in your ear as he slowly rocks his hips up pinning you to the door.

You don’t know how long you stay like that trying to catch your breath as you both come down from your high. It feels like you're floating and you realize he hasn’t put you down but he’s carrying towards the bed. He gently lays you down and you both wince as he pulls out of you. He places a soft kiss on your sweat soaked forehead. He takes off your heels and brings you one of Stevens shirts to sleep in.

“I’ll be right back cariño.” Your smiling to yourself as you watch him walk towards the bathroom.

Sleep is starting to claim you as he makes his way back to you with a warm washcloth, gently wiping your thighs and your swollen folds. He tosses the towel in the direction of the hamper not caring if he makes it. He lays down beside you and pulls your back into his chest wrapping you in a deep hug.

“Shouldn’t you call your friends so they aren’t worried?” He mumbles into your hair.

“Hmm?” Your blissed out brain can’t grasp what he’s talking about. He chuckles lowly to himself.

He’s not sure if you're asleep when he whispers to himself.

“I really really love pancakes too.”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One Part Two Part Three

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

Steve feels like shit. He looks like shit. He’s pretty sure something might have straight up died in his mouth when he got that forty five minutes of sleep.

Everything looks good though. The fact that everyone else sprawled around the boardroom also looks like shit makes him feel a little better about himself. Well. Everyone but Nancy, obviously, who could probably walk out of a tornado and still look put together.

Steve only knows it’s morning because Carol just brought them all coffee. Carol does not come in out of hours. Steve learned that very, very early on. It was uncharacteristically nice of Carol to turn up with the little trolley from downstairs; it had a bunch of fruit and breakfast pastries on it, plus coffee.

She then proceeded to explain to Steve at great length how he looked and smelled like he’d been shit out by a bear, so, maybe she had motive. And that motive was being a bitch.

“Happy now, Steve?”

Steve’s got like, a whole bag of sand in each eye. Coarse, if they grade that kind of thing. Coarse sand. “Do you think we got everything?”

“I am confident that the team have done their utmost to pursue every avenue.”

“Nance, stop being a politician. That’s not a yes.”

She purses her lips at him in the way that she has, “can I have a word with you?” She scans the board room, “privately?”

Steve drags himself out of the chair, balancing one croissant on top of his coffee cup and grabbing a bear claw too, and then follows Nancy out and into a nearby office.

She doesn’t pull any punches, “I need to know how you know.”

Steve takes a big bite, then speaks with his mouthful, “can’t. NDA.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “and who, exactly, did you sign an NDA for?”

“The FBI.”

Nancy brings up her phone, showing Steve the screen. More precisely the headline on the screen, and Steve is thrilled that the picture they’ve used of Hagan is, objectively, fucking awful, “so Tommy Hagan was arrested last night, for Omega trafficking. When you walked into the office yesterday, oh so confident that everything relating to Hagan was going to tank…it was nearly ten full hours before this hit the news.”

Steve shrugs again, “N...D...A.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

The door opens, Henderson’s baby face poking through. You would not in a million years think they guy was in his twenties, “Steve, morning! Sorry, I know it’s early…” Henderson seems to take in the state of Steve. Shirt rumpled, tie hanging loose, starting in on his second pastry, “but I kind of need to know why over a quarter of a million dollars was moved on Saturday, and where it went since it seemed to just...disappear?”

It takes, probably, less than a second for Nancy to leap to a conclusion like an Olympic fucking vaulter, and half a second longer for her to hit Steve with the file she’s holding.

“Er...not now, Dustin okay?” Steve manages to say, trying to shield his pastry and his coffee while Nancy gets it out of her system.

Dustin’s a smart kid, he watches Nancy slapping Steve with the papers...and just leaves.

She finally stops, pinching the bridge of her nose, and says very evenly, very quietly, “Steven Harrington, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t buy an Omega.”

“NDA?” Steve replies quietly, uncertain, and then flinching when Nancy raises the folder again, “okay okay! Yes, yes I did. But! Under the FBI’s kind of...you know, instruction? I was evidence gathering! He’s at mine but I’m figuring out where his family are and I’ll take him back! It’s fine!”

“Why is he at yours?”

“They didn’t have anywhere for him, short notice, plus his feet are kind of messed up, from them like, hurting him. He’s been there a couple of years so doesn’t have anything, so I’ve ordered him some clothes and stuff. He’s fine.”

Nancy tilts her head, like a predator working out the distance they need to strike, “he’s...fine?”

Steve knows he’s fucked up. Nancy is using that tone. It’s...a very specific tone. “Err...yes?”

“You have an injured Omega, who has been held against his will, abused enough to be, at the very least, physically injured, never mind the emotional toll this whole thing may have taken...and he’s fine?”

Oh, no. She’s raised her eyebrow in that way she has. “I mean...yeah?” Nancy glares, and Steve backtracks, “I mean. Obviously he’s not...you know, perfectly okay, I guess. He’s been through a lot. But I made sure I fed him plenty, and he’s got some clean clothes on the bed. The bed in the room...I never actually...got around to showing him to...because I got, distracted. And it’s upstairs…” Steve can feel his insides sinking, “his feet are hurt. Shit.” Well fuck. Steve's...fucked up, probably quite badly now that he actually stops for thirty seconds to think about it.

Nancy sighs aggressively out her nose in that way she has, “Steve your security system is like fort fucking Knox, did you at least…”

But Steve’s already shaking his head, because he didn’t do that, either. He’s just...locked Eddie into a new prison. Shit.

He scrambles, feeling guilty, “I’ll give him some of the money. A lot of the money. Hagan’s...stuff. He can have the ranch?”

Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, “why on earth would he want the place he’s been kept prisoner for-”

Steve shrugs, “whatever he wants. He can bun it down if he likes, I’ll help. It’ll be like, therapy?”

Oh no, she gone from pinching her nose to rubbing that spot on her forehead, but then she seems to...deflate. Grasping Steve’s arm to hold him close, she actually speaks gently to him, which is, quite frankly, a million times more terrifying, “Steve. We’ve known each other a long time, now, so I say this with love. Money, wealth...is not the most important thing in life.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but she shushes him, “I know. Alright, I know it can help, and it makes life a lot better for a lot of people...but giving people things does not...fix anything. Money is not an apology. Gifts are not an apology. And I know it’s hard for you to...see it differently, okay? Because you’ve always been very...driven, and that’s a good thing! I know how you grew up and how your father was with you and I know you feel you have...something to prove, okay, so I understand, I do. But...a lot of people put higher value on...just. I mean, maybe just go home. Say that you're sorry. Look after the Omega for a couple of days, make sure he gets home, okay? Maybe prioritize that, for a moment. You know the office will be fine...and maybe you’ll see that other things in life can have value, hmm?”

Part five

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[milkypompon]

Chapter 2 | Scrawled Nothingness

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

content: coffeeshops, fluff, flirting, angst (mentions of Marc's past)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: Thank you for all the love in the first chapter! I'm so happy summer's started, so I'll have more time to write out more chapters AND get to the fun and silly asks you sent me!! My inbox is always open for unhinged thoughts and requests. Enjoy!

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–

Marc shows up at Coffee for Two at 11:59 p.m. on the dot every Monday night.

Not a Monday morning when people showed up in slacks or pencil skirts for a shot of espresso. And certainly, not a Friday night when teenagers line up for a tooth-achingly sweet drink they found the recipe for online. 

Besides, he likes his coffee black.

The closing shift was clockwork at this point after helping your Nan for years — prop the chairs snug against the table, wipe the floors, and cheekily bag up a couple of pastries for the next day’s breakfast.

Your eyes flick over at the clock nearly striking midnight, as you lean the broom against the edge of the countertop. 

Marc should’ve been here by now, shoulders pulled back and head tilted down, ready to sweep the to-go cup and splash stick.

You remember that he typically parked a white limo… Maybe he chauffeured for a party, hence the break in the weekly conversation. If you could even call it that. It was more like an exchange of stolen glances and nods before parting again.

The logical part of you yearns to walk back to the apartment sooner than you planned and plop down face-first onto the couch. But a nagging twinge irked you to stay a little longer to see if he’d stroll in as usual.

 You could already imagine his face if he saw the sign flipped to close, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, and a crease between his brows. 

You laugh to yourself at the image of Melodramatic Marc instead of Moody Marc then ultimately deciding to give in to the latter. Maybe you’d curse yourself out when you have to wake up in a couple of hours to prepare the croissants for the next day, but you wanted to take your chances right now.

Rounding the corner of the counters, you duck your head under the cabinets and look for the roast you wanted him to try and the materials you need for a pour-over. 

You place the paper filter onto the dripper then unfurl the bag of coffee beans and toss just the right amount into the grinder. The crushing hum and toasted smell of the grounds was a welcome change after a day of listening to grating ice and spurting whipped cream. With a kettle in hand and the setup complete, you gently trickle the water into circles, watching the grounds set in and coffee drip down the other end.  

You grab a white cup, soon covered with drawings of stars and sparkles, reminiscent of the few you could see from the window. The moon outshined them all, full and on display without a cloud in sight. 

You pour the coffee into the well-dressed it (scrawled with Marc’s name in the annoyingly very pink Sharpie) and notch the lid.

Checking the time again, you realize it’s well past midnight. 

Maybe it’s time to go home, but you didn’t have the heart to toss the drink away. You take a sip, the liquid barely touches your tongue before you hiss at the bitterness. 

How does Marc drink this?

No sugar, no milk.

You drizzle in a couple of pumps and squirts of your preferred add-ons, vowing to yourself to never take it purely the way he does. Drink and purse in one hand, you turn the sign to “closed” and twist the lock with the other. 

Hermano, just check if the place for your coffee fix is open. It won’t hurt, Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc mutters, “No, we don’t need another pitstop after the shit Khonshu just dragged us through.”

Maybe they’ll still have those biscuits I like to eat with the tea! Steven's heart flutters at the thought of eating a couple of the raspberry linzer heart cookies. 

He concedes. “Fine, but the moment I see the closed sign we’re going straight home. I didn’t ask to be in charge of snack runs, ya know?”

A unison of hurrahs echoes in his headspace, he can’t help but smile. In the whirlwind of events of carrying himself in a country that reminded him of crumbled relationships and even faultier progressions of moving on, the desire to find a place where he belonged was something he hated to admit. 

Marc was good at playing the part of blending in for missions. Tugging on a disarming smirk to draw out intel from loose-lipped drunkards at the bar came naturally. As easily as turning on the charm while bargaining at the market for the first edition books Steven claimed was what he’d been searching for his whole life (Oh my days, I need those for my collection!). Or, yet another pair of leather gloves for Jake (Those are fingerless and the straps look cool).

But stripped of bells and whistles created by answering to every whim of humans and gods alike, Marc was just… him.

Steven had his apartment filled with knickknacks and collectibles. 

Jake had his car housing his armaments and gadgets.

What did he have? 

Marc frowns at the thought as he leaps across the rooftops, the moonlight catching the arc of the cape. 

A cot in the storage unit and a fuck ton of baggage that couldn’t fit in his duffel bag.

But maybe Coffee for Two could be his. 

As he leaps down behind the shop, his ceremonial suit unravels, tucking in on itself to reveal his black shirt and jeans. Surely, it’d be closed by now, but he still wanted to check.

Marc turns the corner and sees a sign written in big, loopy letters.

closed let's have "coffee for two" tomorrow

He sighs. “Told ya, who in their right mind would’ve kept open for one customer.”

A gust of wind ruffles his hair, Khonshu’s presence stronger than usual.

“Alright I get it, you damn bird! I get that we have another mission–” 

A post-it flutters onto his shoe. He bends over and holds it under the streetlamp.

If you’re Marc, keep reading.  if you’re not Marc, why are you still reading this?

I think you can keep reading.

“Jake, shut up.”

I drank your black coffee.  Don’t know how you drink this.  It tastes like battery acid.

Steven laughs out the last two words. Think this sweet ol’ message made up for you looking so miffed, mate! She’s right about it though. I oughtta steep her a good cuppa.

“Hey, it keeps us awake! Your hot leaf juice makes our piss smell like flowers and does nothing else.”

Marc carefully tucks the paper into his jacket pocket. 

–

A week after Marc’s absence, he walks in and you greet him with a tired smile as if there was no time lost in between.

“Black?”

He cocks his head up and grins. “Yes, miss.” 

That’s new, you note.

“Got any of those uh, berry cookie thingies?” He makes two “Cs” with his hands and connects them, forming a crudely shaped heart. 

Your eyebrow quirks up and the air is quiet with stillness before laughter bubbles up in your chest, pointing to what he was referring to. “Oh! The Linzer cookies!”

Marc flashes his teeth. “Mhm, a couple of those with the coffee.”

“I’m a little surprised you liked them. Did the sweetness grow on you?” 

“Not for me, actually.”

“Did you want a second drink to pair with it?” 

He replies cooly, “Nah, nothing like that. Just, for my brother.”

You give a noncommittal hum and turn your back to him, looking for a box to place the cookies in. 

Marc chuckles, the corner of his lips curling. “Woah, don’t come pouncing at me all at once.” 

“I just meant to mention that we have a promotion of buy two get the second drink half off for your partner.” You smile to yourself, the view obscured from him. “That’s why it’s called Coffee for Two after all.”

“Mm, right.”

Quietness blankets the pair as you assemble his orders. 

He couldn’t recall the last time his headspace wasn’t buzzing with chatter without gut-wrenching aid, a bandaid haphazardly stuck on. Drowning out the noise wasn’t necessarily the problem, it was finding a way to keep a constant peace of mind. At the very least, keep it at bay. The past year was saturated with blackouts and memory gaps, the swirling gold whiskey dipped him into a hazy state. It wasn’t his favorite way to keep the quiet, but it did the job.

Every twist of the cap dragged him back to what was soon to come.

Every whiff of the liquid reminded him how her hot breath, seething with disdain, warmed his cheek.

And the heat he felt after chugging it was reminiscent of how she would hit the other, turning his head to the side. 

The soft shifting of the pen on paper brought him back. 

“See? Told you I give good service.” You slide the decorated coffee cup and a box of cookies in front of him with a smile. 

Marc thumbs over his name, a little surprised you spelled it with a "c" instead of a "k", along with the twisting designs. “Nuh-uh. Think you forgot something again.”

“I worked hard on that masterpiece!” You frown, feigning annoyance. “You should be asking for my autograph.” 

“I should be asking for your number.”

You don’t reply for a beat. “Well, are you going to?”

He smirks, pausing to mimic your surprise before saying, “Can you write down your number?”

You nibble your bottom lip, failing to hide your giddiness. 

He reaches over to pluck the alarmingly pink Sharpie from the pot and hands it to you. “Think that godawful marker was made from toxic waste. Nothing in the natural world could create that color.”

You scrawl your number on it, careful not to spill the coffee. “Well that ‘godawful marker’ gave you an opportunity to claim that promo.”

“Can I use it now?”

“Not until you call me.” 

Marc chuckles and picks up his order. “Well, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“See you when I see you. Monday at midnight again?”

“Or sooner.” His eyes flit over to your hand, knuckles white from the grip on your apron.

“Uh, not sooner. I’m closing for the week. There’s a couple of things I need to sort out… for the shop.”

Marc nods, not bothering to push the matter further. “I have a funny feeling you waited for me to come before you closed.”

You smile, the tension eases from your body. 

–

Marc wakes up from the early sun rays filtering between the cracks of the curtain. He grumbles, Jake always forgets to pull it close before going to bed. He knew that if he stood up to fix it, his body would betray him and lose the cottony sleep he felt. With a groan, he flops over to his side, but before his eyes flutter close he catches an unfamiliar cup standing on his nightstand. 

He doesn’t remember buying it yesterday and god forbid anybody forces Steven to drink anything quote battery acid unquote.

He picks it up, he notices the drawings… and a set of numbers. 

So, it must be–

Marc flings the blanket off of him and stalks to the fish tank.

“Jake! I know you’re there!” 

Gus peers at him curiously and releases little bubbles.

“I’m gonna slash your tires if you don’t come out!” 

Jake stares back at him and raises his hands in surrender. Ay, you and I both know you wouldn’t do that. My driving gigs are one of the few ways we stay afloat these days.

Marc buries his fingers in his unruly curls. “It was mine!”

What was yours?

“Going to that place!”

I don’t get it–

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Marc bristles. “Couldn’t I just have this one thing without one of you weaseling your dick into my life?”

Hermano, look, I was just trying to help. We thought it was about time you make a friend... or something.

"And you didn't bother asking me first?"

“Oh and remind if I'm remembering this wrong, the last time you set up Steven was when you asked out his coworker to the steakhouse! He’s a vegetarian for god’s sake!”

Don’t get your panties in a twist.

Can we all just calm the “ef” out? Steven appears on the kettle’s reflection. Take a time-out or whatever you Americans say.

Marc fights the urge to raise his voice again in an attempt to dispel the ringing in his ears. If the pair tried to explain the situation, they’d be in for another scolding. 

He opens his mouth before they can. “We can’t do this right now.”

Don’t speak for all of us, pendejo. 

He fists the cup, it crumbles in on itself and tosses it into the bin.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

Taglist: Open (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!)

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

heya i love ur writing and i'm a whore for blue jones (mostly just oscar isaac in eyeliner)

but i love the idea of like a really soft blue. like needy but not sexually just in a 'i have a need to be around you all the time' kinda way. pining maybe? cuddles for sure and just idk i love my slimy rat man sm-

also would work for nathan bateman, his grumpiness would make that hella cute. i am surviving off crumbs at this point i will love whatever you do, your writing makes my heart feel fluffy :D

xox love ya

PYGMI I LOOOOVVEEE YOUUUUUUU! <3 <3 <3

Pout

Blue Jones x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Blue's a grumpy baby.

Warnings: Fluff, cuddles, kisses, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 549

Blue had been sitting next to you for more than an hour. Well, sitting might be the incorrect word. His chair was next to yours. He was currently doing his best to sit all over you. 

“Blue,” you mutter, “I am meant to be going over these figures… like you wanted.” 

He grumbles lightly, shifting from where his face is pressed into your stomach, his body curled over and half hanging off his chair. 

You have your left arm resting on him a little awkwardly, in an effort to actually get to your desk to read over the numbers. 

“What was that?” You prod him lightly in the side and he wriggles. 

He mumbles something intelligible and then lifts his head up to look at you, half of his short hair sticks up comedically to the side. 

“Hmm?” 

“Fuck the figures.” He repeats a little groggily. 

“Did you fall asleep?” 

He gives you a soft glare. “Maybe.” 

You can’t stop your chuckle. 

“You’re comfortable and warm and you smell nice.” 

“You have a wonderful way of making compliments sound like insults, you know that?” 

He pouts slightly, but you can tell he’s amused by how he preens a little and stretches his neck. “Come and lay down with me on the sofa.” 

“No.” 

“With blankets.”

“No.” 

“I can rest on you and we both can nap.” 

“No.” 

“Why?” He stretches the word out, his voice petulant. 

“Because,” you lean a little closer, making him think you’re going in for a kiss and then pull back quickly and he scowls. “I am checking. The. Figures.” 

He gives you a frown, lifting his hand up to smooth over his moustache before he speaks. “Where’s my kiss?” 

“Up your ass.” 

He gives you the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen and you giggle. 

“You like this? Like upsetting me?” 

“Very much.” You smile and kiss the tip of his nose. 

He grumbles nonsense and wraps his arms around you fully before snuffling into your chest. “Unfair, so unfair, how could you betray me like this?” 

You kiss the top of his head as you go back to looking over the ledger. 

It’s only a few seconds before he speaks again. “Where are my kisses?” 

“Nowhere, not with that language.” You tease.

He tuts and you can practically feel the eye roll. “May I have a kiss, please?” 

“Now you’re making good manners sounds like demands.” 

“Does nothing ever please you?” He scoffs.

“You please me.” You whisper and you feel him shiver and untense. 

“Don’t go trying to sweeten me with your words.” He shifts closer and kisses your neck softly. 

You smile. “Give me five minutes and I’ll come and lay down with you.

“Thank you,” he breathes deeply. “You do really like winding me up don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He leans back a little to see your face. 

“You poke out your bottom lip when you frown, it’s very cute.” 

He scoffs again, someone even more indigent this time. “I do not.”

“You’re doing it now.” You say, still looking at the book.

He sucks in his lips quickly and then gives you a firm stare when you smile at him. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“You love it.” 

He pauses for a moment, wriggling and then sighs. “Yes… I do.” 

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[moons-dunes]

Book Worms

For Flufftober- Prompt: Bookshop

Write-tober Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

Summary: You take Steven on a surprise date to a bookshop you just happened to find

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!reader (can be read as gender neutral)

WC: 917

This work contains: fluffy fluff, Steven and reader jokingly tease eachother a bit, minor and brief PDA but it’s in a cute way

The barista called your name and you quickly grabbed the two drinks you had ordered off the counter, thanking her before exiting the little cafe to go back into the bookshop.

The smell of coffee mixed beautifully with the smell of paper and ink, a smell you wished someone would make a candle out of. However, something was missing.

“Steven?” You called out quietly, slowly walking through the rows of tall shelves and looking down each aisle for your sweet boyfriend.

You had left him in this general area while you got some coffee, leaving him to hold the basket of books the two of you had picked out so far.

“Yeah I’ll wait here, love,” he told you while reading the back of a book he had found intriguing, but you had your doubts. When it came to any shop with books, Steven rarely stayed in one place.

You looked at the signs above the shelves carefully, scoping out each section until you landed on the one you knew Steven would be in.

It was your first time at this particular bookshop, having stumbled across it by accident on your way home one day when you took a different route than usual. All it took was a quick peek in the window for you to know you had to bring Steven there with you.

You both had the day off today, so you wanted to surprise him with an impromptu date. You hadn’t told him where you were taking him, knowing he was always beyond excited to find a hidden gem within the city.

“Okay close your eyes,” you told him with a giggle, holding his hand tightly in yours.

The street the shop was on was fairly quiet as far as London went, tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle. You wouldn't have made this little display otherwise.

“Oh god, what in the world are you up to now?” Steven asked somewhat nervously, but with a grin as he shut his eyes. He trusted you.

You couldn’t help but to laugh a little at his reaction.

“I promise you’ll like it,” you assured him, leading him carefully around a corner where the bookshop was nestled between some other buildings.

If you hadn’t seen the little sign poking out the other day, you surely wouldn’t have known this place even existed.

You stepped backwards onto the little step by the door to the shop, pushing open the door with one hand while holding Steven’s hand with the other.

The bell above the door chimed, and he looked towards the sound with his eyes still closed tightly.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked with a sweet chuckle, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Careful, there’s a little step here,” you warned him, watching intently as he slowly moved one foot to find the step, then the other.

As you led him into the building, you watched as he started smiling that beautiful smile of his.

That’s when you knew the gig was up.

“I know this smell,” he confirmed your suspicions, making you crack an equally large smile.

“Alright alright, open your eyes,” you said through little bouts of laughter, taking in the absolute look of awe that crossed his face as he did so.

“Oh wow,” his eyes lit up and he looked at the rows upon rows of tall shelves, stocked full of all sorts of books, old and new. “This is amazing! How did you find this place?”

“All it took was getting on the wrong bus,” you explained, unable to stop smiling and you watched his eyes dart around excitedly. “Figured it would make a good date. And they have coffee!”

You made it to the history section of the surprisingly large shop; it had looked smaller from the outside.

You continued looking down the aisles until you finally found Steven as he was flipping through a rather large book, completely unaware of you walking up behind him.

“Steven, coffee,” your voice pulled his focus away from the book he was holding, and he spun around to face you quickly.

A look of guilt immediately overtook his features, but he relaxed once he saw you smiling and shaking your head.

“I recall leaving you in the poetry section,” you teased as you handed him his coffee once he closed the book he was looking at, putting it carefully in the basket with the other ones.

“Yeah, I was there. Then something happened,” he matched your joking tone, taking a sip of his coffee. “It was the craziest thing. I saw someone walk by with a book about the Roman Empire, and then I was over here somehow.”

“Good thing you’re cute,” you continued to mess with him a bit, just to hear his quiet little laughs.

You bit your lip to stifle your laughter, letting out a little gasp of surprise as Steven suddenly pressed his lips to yours. Just a quick little peck.

“I love you so much,” he whispered so sweetly, warmth blossoming in your chest.

“I love you too, Steven,” you whispered back, momentarily forgetting about the world around you. “Let’s keep looking around, shall we?”

You went to pick up the basket from the floor with your free hand, finding it quite a bit heavier than you remember leaving it.

Steven grabbed it with his free hand as well to help you carry it, letting it swing between the two of you.

You’d have to come here more often.

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 4)

ExBestFriend!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Fem!Reader

Follow my new blog for future chapters & fics @cherryxhaze

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Chapter Summary: Your off-handed comment to Jason catches up to you. Before things get out of hand, someone swoops in to your defense. A heart-to-heart ensues. WC: 6.4k Warnings: MDNI. Explicit language. Fatphobia/bullying from Jason. Jason almost hits you. Brief references to toxic family relationships and abuse.

Saturday, September 21st, 1985

The ever so alluring smell of bacon and pancakes invades your senses, stirring you from your slumber. You rub your eyes as you look at the clock on the bedside table. 10:35 am. You slept in, though you can’t say you’re surprised. After the day you had, you must’ve really needed it. You roll out of Steve’s spare bed, making sure to re-make it before you venture down the stairs. 

The smell intensifies with each step down the stairs and into the kitchen, spotting the stack of pancakes and bacon waiting to be picked. Steve is pouring a cup of coffee, eyeing you as you grab a plate and start loading it up.

“Morning, sleepy head”

“Morning, haircut” you respond, taking a quick bite of bacon. Groaning softly in pleasure, “You know, Steve. If you don’t figure out what you wanna do for a career, I think you’d make a great little housewife.” You smirk to yourself as you pour syrup onto your plate. Steve scoffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Know any takers?” You laugh with him before you catch a glimpse of Robin sitting on the couch, eating her own plate. 

“Oh, hell yes.” you say excitedly when you see and hear Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? playing on the TV. You quickly scurry over to join Robin on the couch with your own plate. Steve joins soon after, all leisurely eating your brunch and watching Saturday morning cartoons. After you’ve all finished your plates and are relaxing before eventually having to get ready for your work shifts, Steve speaks up.

“So, we gonna talk about what happened yesterday?”

You look between him and Robin, confused. You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

“Uh, what happened yesterday? What do you mean?”

“I mean, something happened yesterday, didn’t it? You seemed a bit…off.”

Goddamnit. If Dustin hadn't learned it from you, you're now sure he learned his ability to read people so well from Mr. Steven Harrington too.

“Did you talk to Eddie?” Robin asks softly.

You sigh, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell us anything. But if you want to, you know we’re here. I’m also just really nosey.” Steve adds, causing a smirk to tug at your lips before you take a deep breath.

“Yeah. I talked to him. Ran into him after lunch, literally. And uh, let’s just say it did not go well. He kinda flipped out on me. But, I kinda deserved it. Aaand, I kinda slapped him. But, he kinda deserved it.” You let yourself laugh a little, taking in their surprised faces.

“So yeah, based on that I don’t think we’ll be friends again anytime soon. At least I can say I tried.” You finish with a shrug.

Robin reaches out and rubs your arm soothingly as Steve looks at you with sympathy and in thought. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N” he sighs, “Maybe just give things some time to cool down, I’m sure he’ll come back around.” He gives you a soft, crooked smile.

“Yeah, maybe. And if not, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” you say, more to yourself than to them.

You pull into your driveway an hour later. You sit there, finishing your cigarette as your eyes linger on the now familiar van across the street through your rear-view mirror. You look longer than you’d like, finally tearing your eyes away to throw out your cig. Cutting off the sounds of Black Sabbath as you turn off the ignition. 

You slowly shuffle your way to the mailbox at the end of your driveway. Flipping through the spam and advertisements when you hear a familiar sound, a skateboard. Your eyes follow the sound, a figure shaded by the sun. You know who it is. If it wasn’t for the skateboard, it’s the flaming aura around her head under the sunlight. A big smile stretches across your face, leaning against your mailbox as she rides closer into view. When she’s close enough to see your face, her eyes widen and she nearly stumbles off her skateboard, eliciting a giggle from you. She stares at you for a second as she comes to a stop, sliding her headphones down to her neck.

“Hey, you.” you say cheerfully.

In a second, she’s running to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. You feel the shakiness as she inhales a deep breath.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, the ever elusive Red.” You smile as you return the hug, briefly rubbing her back before she pulls back to look at you.

“W-How?” She looks toward your trailer, “You moved back?!”

“Yep, just this past week. I tried keeping an eye out for you at school, then Dustin told me you moved here. Knew I’d catch you eventually.”

Her smile falters ever so slightly at the mention of Dustin.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s a piece of shit but it’s a roof over our heads I guess.” You nod in agreement, pondering how to approach her. If she’s been avoiding the party, you worry one wrong move will send her running away from you too. You decide to go the easy route, knowing you might not get a truthful answer right away.

“You and mom doing okay?” 

“Yeah. She’s either working or drinking most of the time, so” she shrugs nonchalantly, a move you see right through. “But I can take care of myself just fine anyway”.

“Well, if you ever get bored entertaining yourself, just come and give a knock, okay? I gotta get going for work here soon, but maybe we can go out to the drive-in or something soon?”

A small smile tugs at her lips as she nods lightly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, and you know. If you ever need a ride, I’m already giving the knuckleheads rides home after school and since we’re neighbors, I can just stick them all in the bed and give you passenger seat privileges.” You ramble before noticing the way she begins to awkwardly sway at the suggestion. “Or ya know, I can just kick them to the curb and save myself some gas with just you.” You quickly offer. She forces a small laugh before shaking her head.

“No, that’s okay. It gives me more time to skate anyway.” 

Great, I’ve already messed this up. Just add it to the list…

“Alright, well the offer’s on the table anytime. For anything.” You insist, giving her an out to the conversation as you begin to move back toward your driveway. She only nods in response, before putting her skateboard in place to ride again.

“See you later, Red.” You wave before heading into your trailer to get ready for work.

During the slower phases of the work day, your mind drifts to worries of Max. How she’s really doing, how you should approach her, how to get her to open up to you. It���s a welcomed distraction considering the other places, or people, your mind would be wandering to otherwise. You and Max had gotten fairly close over the summer, you gave her opportunities with and outside of the party to get away from home, from her asshole step-brother. Being the only other girl and older, she often confided in you. Whether it was about her brother, her relationship with Lucas, or the struggles of girlhood, you were there for her. 

Since Billy’s sacrifice to save her from the mall fire and his resulting death, she’s closed off. Isolating from everyone close to her. That happened to be something you’re familiar with. Something that helps you to understand her, something you can use. You know you need to take it slow though. Based on her initial reaction to seeing you, you know she's missed you, and know that connection is still there. There’s just some walls you need to chisel down first.

Take it slow.

That connection is still there.

Just some walls you need to chisel down first…

Those dark curls… chocolate button eyes… cutest fucking dimples you’ve ever seen in your life.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, frustrated with your brain and your heart. Both deeply longing for him… before the shock of pain with the memory of his words hits you.

Just let it go. Move on. He’s not your Eddie anymore.

~

It was bothering Eddie more than he’d ever admit, even to himself. You. Thoughts of you swimming around his head with every emotion he could think of, was bothering him.

After your argument, he felt a bit of relief. To finally say the words he’d been carrying with him these last few years to you. To finally release the anger and pain out onto you. It felt like a weight off his shoulders in the moment. What he hadn’t been expecting was for you to match it, taking the pain and anger you felt in response, right back out and onto him. 

This whole past week you’ve been back has thrown him off. More distracted than usual. More reactive. More irritable. The other boys in Hellfire noticed, taking extra effort to not poke the bull. 

Your argument and slap left him even more distracted and off-balance. You’d thrown him off his game for Hellfire for christ’s sake. Forgetting details for the campaign that he’d otherwise would’ve had memorized, left him referencing his notes. He didn’t exude his usual dungeon master playfulness, animated voice and facial expressions coming out muted. Everyone noticed. Eddie’s own off-balanced performance reflected in his players. Nothing had ever distracted him so much to the point of interfering with Hellfire campaigns. The way Henderson eyed him suspiciously throughout the night almost set him off completely, again. He’d ended the campaign a little early, offering a brief apology and a quick lie to write off his abnormal performance on. He’d spent the rest of the night getting as drunk and high as he could in his bedroom until he passed out. 

Saturday isn’t going much differently for him. Sitting in his bed with a joint in his mouth as his fingers mindlessly strum his guitar, thinking of you. The anger he felt yesterday is now replaced with guilt. A guilt that sits and churns in his stomach, teetering on the edge of nausea. Maybe that was just the hangover, or maybe it’s from the way he can’t get the image of your tear-streaked face out of his head. Tears caused by him.

You deserved to hear how much you hurt him. Be faced with the consequences of your actions. You deserved that. But as he remembers the look in your eyes yesterday, the way you flinched, the way he caused a side of you you rarely show to come out… he knows you didn’t deserve that. He scolds himself for letting his emotions get the best of him, letting them get out of his control. You hurt him, that didn’t make it right for him to hurt you back. It didn’t even make him feel good. Maybe very briefly in the moment, just to release what he’d been holding in for so long, but it left as quickly as it came. 

He sighs as he moves the guitar off his lap, putting out his joint in the ashtray before rubbing his hands over his face, staring up at the ceiling.

He can’t hold on to this anger anymore, he knows it’s not healthy and is only hurting him more. But he can’t blame himself too much for wanting to, it’s one of the ways he’s protected himself in the past. Protected him from getting hurt. You knew that about him. The way he held onto anger at his dad, people in Hawkins, not wanting to waver and give either the chance to hurt him more. You knew almost everything about him, more about him than he’d ever willingly shared with anyone. That’s why what you did hurt him so deeply, and why he wanted to hurt you just as much. And feels like utter shit for it. 

Hey, you!

His eyes dart to his window as his brain immediately recognizes your voice. He peeks out to see you interacting with a younger girl he’d seen skateboarding around in the neighborhood and at school. His heart begins to ache watching you, watching you embrace the girl, watching the way you smile at her and ramble.

God, does he miss it. Misses the way you’d ramble and rant about something you’re passionate about, the way you’d cackle and smile when he’d do the stupidest thing he could think of just so he could see it. Misses the way your warm, plump body feels against him when you’d hug or lean your head on his shoulder. 

He sighs watching you wave goodbye to the girl and walk inside your trailer. 

Maybe he could give you another chance. Now that he’s not so overcome with anger, maybe he’d be able to hear you out. Not overpower you so much with his anger that you can actually have a real chance to explain yourself. 

Maybe.

Tuesday, September 24th, 1985

Some things have changed since your fight with Eddie on Friday. Flipped, really. Your eyes no longer sought him out. You do your best to avoid looking at him whether it was in the halls or in your shared classes. Knowing the sight of him would only bring back that sting in your chest.

Eddie on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from you whenever you’re in his sight. Watching you in regret, longing, confusion, hurt, all twisted into one. Eddie’s confident in himself most of the time, except for in a few areas. This situation with you and how to handle it moving forward is one of the latter. It’s a big fucking mess he isn’t sure how to fix. He knows with the way things went on Friday after you made the first move to talk to him, that it had to be him this time to try to make things right. 

You take your time walking down the quiet halls before the end of the lunch period, hearing the distant, muffled chatter from the lunchroom. You open your locker, putting away your books from your morning classes, switching them out with your afternoon ones. Just as you finish putting the last book in your bag, your locker slams shut in front of you, causing your head to whip toward the culprit you didn’t notice come up next to you till now.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you piggy?” Jason seethes out, hand pressed against your now closed locker door. Your smirk at him as you lean against it.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know who the hell you think you are or who you think you're talking to bu-”

“You know, I remember you from years ago. The last time I lived here.” You interrupt before looking him up and down, “Jason Carver. Back then you were just a scrawny guy, trailing behind the older jocks, carrying that ever so fragile ego in tow with theirs.” You look back up to meet his eyes, brows furrowed above them. “I see you’ve grown a few inches, even bulked up a bit. Looks like that’s about all that’s changed, though.” You watch as he processes your words, your insult.

“You fat fucking bitch” He says through gritted teeth, face turning red.

“Oh come on, Carver. Don’t you have anything fresher than that?” you say flatly, cocking an eyebrow at him. You watch as his body tenses up.

“Looks like I need to teach you and that smart mouth a lesson” He says, taking a step closer to you. You don’t move an inch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of you.

“Oh no. What are you gonna do?!” You say sarcastically. “You don’t scare me, Carver.”

You watch as a vein protrudes from his forehead, face turning a deeper red. 

It all happens so quickly. One of his arms pulls back, raising in the air in the motion to slap you, but it doesn’t come. Curly dark hair appears behind him, before Jason’s thrown flat on his ass in front of you.

Eddie had been outside smoking before lunch ended. On his way back into the school, he spots you and Jason. He slows his steps, listening in on the quickly escalating conversation. You’re teetering on the edge and you don’t care. As fragile as Jason’s ego is, so is his masculinity. Eddie wasn’t sure if Jason's above hitting a girl, but he knows that’s where this could go. He creeps closer, eyeing the way Jason’s hand begins to twitch. Waiting for the string to snap, and it does. When he spots Jason’s hand raise, Eddie swoops in. With a foot behind Jason’s, Eddie wraps his arm around Jason’s front, pulling him till he’s falling back on the floor. 

Eddie was no stranger to fights, the jocks of Hawkins having taken their frustrations out of him plenty of times. He didn’t like putting himself in the line of fire, but he has and would do it in a heartbeat for the people he cares about. Despite how he’s acted, you’re one of those people.

Your eyes widen, at the fact Jason was about to hit you in the middle of the school, and at seeing Eddie before you, swooping in out of nowhere to defend you. Your eyes lock with his and everything slows down, so many emotions and words unsaid flowing between you with just a look. For a moment your mind flashes back to 5th grade Eddie, reaching his hand out to help you off the ground, worry and sympathy filling his eyes. History repeating itself. You take a deep breath as the memory hits you, staring into Eddie’s brown eyes. In that moment, it’s only you two. No one else. No white brick halls. Just you and Eddie, conveying so much to each other through just your eyes.

Jason’s groans pull you from your trance, your eyes leaving Eddie’s to look down at him. You drop down to one knee, getting into Jason’s face. Eyes popping open wide when he senses you so close. You look at him with fire in your eyes as you point a finger in his face.

“Let me tell you something, you piece of shit. I didn’t come back here to deal with your little brat boy bullshit. If I see you try to put your hands on any of my friends, let alone me, again… I will make you regret it. And don’t think that I won’t.” You hiss, voice full of steel. Staring at him with as much intensity as he held earlier. You relish in the brief moment of fear that flashes through his eyes before his face hardens in frustration and embarrassment, chest heaving with deep, short breaths.

A silence falls before the bell rings to end the lunch period, breaking you all out of the moment. Jason quickly pulls himself to his feet before students flood the halls, not wanting anyone to see him in his embarrassing position. You rise with him. He fixes his letterman jacket, staring daggers between you and Eddie.

“Fucking freaks” he huffs before turning around, stomping down the hall quickly as it fills with students.

Both you and Eddie relax, releasing a breath before you’re just standing there awkwardly next to each other. You resecure your bag on your shoulder before chancing a look at Eddie, who's already staring at you. Reading you, assessing you, trying to tell if you’re okay.

You clear your throat before nodding your head at him.

“Thank you” you mutter softly. When he doesn’t immediately say anything back, your body takes the lead, quickly walking away toward your next class. 

Eddie considers chasing after you, but he doesn’t know what the hell he’d say if he did. He just watches you walk away before he takes slow steps to follow you to your shared class together.

In the two classes you have together, you can feel his eyes on you. You catch him a few times, eyes locking with his before one of you quickly looks away. 

You feel like you have whiplash. From the switch up of the Eddie you faced on Friday that hated your guts, to the Eddie who didn’t waste a second coming to defend you, with only a few days passing in between. You can’t wrap your head around it. You know he cares, he wouldn’t have been so angry before if he didn’t, but you assumed he was done with you, hated you. But someone that hates you wouldn’t rush into potential harms way to defend you, right?

A few more stolen glances and the muffled voices of your teachers’ as you’re lost in thought fills the remainder of your school day. When you leave your final class, stopping at your locker before walking out the front doors, you wonder if he’ll come up behind you, apologize for his behavior on Friday and give you another chance. But it doesn’t happen, making the walk to your truck uninterrupted. You want to chastise yourself for holding that hope, but what happened today can’t mean nothing. It just can’t. You don’t want it to.

You spend the remainder of your afternoon trying to do your homework. It takes everything in you to focus, almost giving up when the calculus problems push you right to the edge in frustration. You let out a huff in relief as you finish the problems and slam your notebook shut, throwing your head back as you slouch in your chair. Rubbing your hands over your face before you hear your mom unlocking the front door. When you note the time and sun setting through your window, you get up and make your way to the kitchen to start making dinner. You browse through the cupboard before your eyes land on a package of pasta. Spaghetti it is. 

As you wait for the meat to brown, your mind replays the events of the day. Landing back into the loop your thoughts had been stuck in all afternoon about Eddie. Trying to make sense of it all, of him. The moment your eyes locked this afternoon made your heart ache, and still does when you think of it now.

You aren’t sure when exactly you first fell in love with Eddie Munson.

The first day you met when he came to your rescue from bullies? That time in the woods when you were 10 when he insisted you be the trapped princess his mission was to rescue? The countless Friday nights you spent staying up late to watch The Midnight Special, eventually falling asleep on each other's shoulders? The first time he shared his mom’s records with you? The first time he really opened up to you about the loss of his mom, and the strenuous relationship with his Dad? That night your parents fighting got so bad you snuck out of your window and went to his trailer in tears, consoling you and doing anything he could to cheer you up? That time he almost went to fight your mom when he saw the red mark on your cheek? Or maybe it was the time he told you you’re beautiful the way you are, when your mom and everyone’s criticisms of your body weighed too heavily on your mind? 

You can’t pinpoint which event triggered the change from seeing Eddie as your friend, to your crush. What event marked the transition to being in love with your best friend, seeing and imagining him in ways beyond a regular friend would. You aren’t sure when, but you know you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember. An unrequited love that made your heart ache with every pet name bestowed upon you, with every flash of that devilish smile and irresistible dimples, with every use of his deep, animated voice for dramatic storytelling. An ache you’d decided for years you could stifle to keep his friendship. An ache that turned into a sharp pain hearing his voice over the phone, hundreds of miles away. A pain you’d decided you couldn’t bear anymore. Maybe if you hadn’t been in love with him, things would’ve been different. You wouldn’t have pulled away. 

So foolish. Desperately longing for things you couldn’t have. Longing so desperately you pushed away the best person in your life, the very person you longed for. A decision that didn’t take long for you to regret, but in your mind was too late to fix. Now, after today, you aren’t so confident about that.

You sit on the couch with your mom, eating Spaghetti and watching Magnum P.I. reruns as your thoughts continue. Mindless small talk about your days, vision zoning out as you stare at the tv, petting Henny who sits in your lap, and a heightened awareness of Eddie’s presence only 100 feet away. An hour later when your mom announces she’s going to bed, you ponder how to spend the rest of your night. You know you won’t be able to fall asleep yourself anytime soon, anticipating one of those nights you won’t be able to shut your mind off. 

You wander to your room, shutting your door as you reach into one of your dresser drawers for your little stash box. Sighing in frustration when you notice you only have enough left for one more smoke.

You roll a quick blunt before throwing on a flannel and slipping out the front door. You take a deep inhale of the fresh air, relishing in the cool breeze of the late September night as you begin the short walk to the little neighborhood park at the end of your street. You don’t notice the figure on the porch across the street smoking a cigarette in the dark as you walk, taking in the sound of the breeze blowing through the leaves on the trees, the quietness of the park beyond the very faint sound of some network sitcom playing on a tv.

You sit on a swing and begin to move back and forth slowly as memories flood back. This playground hasn’t changed a bit since you first moved to Forest Hills Trailer Park 9 years ago. Paint faded and chipping, old mulch littered around the playground, and rusted metal chains on the swing that creaks with each movement. Eddie and you spent countless afternoons here in the early years of your friendship. Swinging together, laughing as you’d watch Eddie do the monkey bars, spinning each other on the merry-go-round till you thought you’d get sick.

You put the blunt to your lips and light it, taking a deep inhale as you look around the abandoned playground, hoping the weed would help to calm your mind enough to get some sleep. You rest your head against the metal swing chain, feet softly kicking at the mulch and dirt beneath you. You don’t hear the soft footsteps on pavement approaching you till they’re only a couple feet away, head shooting up at the intrusion when the sound meets your ears. Eddie clears his throat, hands in his vest pockets as he stands at the edge of the playground. Your movements still at the sight of him, streetlights illuminating his figure and messy curls. When your body stiffens and you remain silent, Eddie takes a few steps closer.

“I-uh, I come in peace, promise.” He says softly, raising his hands in surrender. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, head gesturing to the empty swing next to you. You only nod in response before casting your eyes down. You take another hit as he sits down next to you, praying the calming effects you sought would kick in quicker.

You’re both silent for a while, the light wind blowing through the trees, neighborhood noises, and soft creaks from the swing set the only sounds filling the space between you. Eddie’s knee bobs anxiously before he clears his throat.

“I um, just wanted to apologize for Friday. The way I acted, some of the things I said… I let my emotions get the best of me. I didn’t really give you much room to talk, and I’m sorry for that.” Eddie says nervously, eyes turning to look at you as he finishes. You nod in response again, not looking his way.

“I understand. I don’t blame you.” Silence falls between you again before you look towards him. “Thank you again, for earlier today. You didn’t need to step in like that.” Eddie chuckles softly.

“Oh, I know you could’ve handled him just fine on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to... It’s no problem, really. Not my first run in with him anyway.” You wonder just how many times Eddie’s had to deal with Carver and the other jocks, just how bad those run-ins have possibly gotten. In a sign signaling truce, you hand your blunt to him, offering a hit. He gladly accepts with a soft smile before taking a hit.

“Since when do you smoke the devil’s lettuce?”

You giggle softly, letting a smile spread to your cheeks.

“About a year now, same with these” You say, pulling the pack of cigarettes from your pocket enough for him to see. Eddie tsk’s in response, passing the blunt back to you.

“Naughty naughty.” He teases in a deep voice, eyeing you while blowing out smoke. You tear your eyes away and back to the mulch beneath your feet, the sight enough to send a shiver up your spine. 

After a few more passes between you, the blunt is gone and you’re left to face the inevitable conversation. You rub your sweaty palms against your thighs as you work up the courage.

“I just wanted to say again, I’m sorry for how things went. For dropping contact. It’s entirely my fault and… I’m really sorry for doing that to you, Eddie. You didn’t deserve that.” Your eyes peek at him. He’s faced forward, nodding softly in response as he lights a cigarette. He moves his hips slightly, enough to turn his body more toward yours. 

“So why did you do it?” he asks quietly, dark eyes looking up from his cigarette to meet yours. A somber look on his face, a stark contrast from a few days ago. You take a shaky deep breath while turning your head to look up at the stars littering the sky.

You can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him you stopped returning his calls because you were so in love with him that the distance, the sound of his voice over the phone caused your heart to ache so deeply that you couldn’t take it anymore, that you’d recluse to your room and cry after each call.

“We were so close and it hurt so much to be torn apart. Every time I heard your voice on the phone… it just” you take another deep breath, “it was just a reminder that I wouldn’t see you again and that just hurt too much to deal with. I didn’t want to deal with it. So… I secluded. I avoided you. I know it might not make sense, that it might not be a good enough answer for you, but it’s the only one I have.” 

You didn’t exactly lie. It’s not the full truth but you were still as honest as you could let yourself be. He’s quiet for a minute as he takes in your words before letting out a deep sigh. 

“I guess I get that,” He does, he felt the pain too. The way his heart ached in longing every time he heard your voice, every time he’s thought about you since. It wasn’t enough for him to stop calling, but he still understands you shared the same pain during every call. “But you could’ve seen me again, you’ve been visiting in the summers this whole time.” he protests softly.

“Eddie, when I stopped calling I didn’t know I was going to come back to visit.” You shake your head lightly before turning your body towards him, mirroring his. “I mean, I figured I’d come back and see my Dad eventually, but uh if you remember, he wasn’t exactly in the best mental state when we left and was also locked up so, I didn’t really know anything about what would happen.” You look away from him and towards your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your flannel. “It’s not that I don’t regret it, I do. But by the time I changed my mind and found out about coming back in the summer I was just… like, paralyzed. It had only been two months after I stopped calling, but I was afraid. Afraid it was too much time that’d passed, afraid you’d moved on and replaced me, afraid you wouldn’t forgive me… so I didn’t do anything. Just let it be. The whole time I just told myself you probably didn’t care much anyway.” Eddie blinks at you, wide-eyed as you finish before scoffing lightly.

“You really think I would’ve ‘replaced’ you that easily? That quickly? You were my best friend too, Y/N. The closest I’ve ever had, even closer than Ronnie, you know that. How could you think I wouldn’t care?”

“Come on, Eddie. You’re telling me your brain never fucks with you like that?” You ask, fingers picking a cigarette out of your pack and lighting it quickly. After an inhale you continue, “I mean logically, I know that you felt the same about our friendship. Plenty of memories and moments to prove it. But I just kept thinking back to when I first told you I was leaving. Sure, you seemed disappointed but you weren’t as upset as I was, you didn’t cry. And despite knowing I've only seen you cry like, twice before in all those years, my brain still just clung onto that. Like ‘See! He doesn’t really care, not as much as you.’” You shake your head in disappointment and frustration with yourself as you take another hit. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“No,” Eddie answers quickly, squashing his own cigarette in the mulch with his Reebok sneakers. He looks at you, a sympathetic look etched across his features. “I know what that’s like.” You’re both quiet at first, letting the new information and understanding fall into place. You rock yourself back and forth on the swing slowly, gathering your words before you speak them.

“Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t know what I could do to make it up to you but, I just need to say again that I’m sorry. I would take it all back if I could. I’ve really missed you.” You finish, eyes meeting his. You hope they’re portraying your sincerity as his own search your face. He looks away from you as a small smile tugs at one side of his lips, feet kicking at the mulch below.

“Yeah well… I missed you too.” He breathes out, eyes meeting yours again. A small smile tugs at your own lips. After a few moments of silence, he finishes. “I forgive you.”

He leans towards you, pinky finger extended. You choke out a laugh at the sight, relief washing over you. You wrap your pinky around his, closing your eyes to stop them from watering as your smile deepens.

When your fingers detach, you sigh deeply and open your eyes to meet his again.

“Thank you” you say quietly, warmth spreading through your body. It feels like a massive weight has been taken off your shoulders. The optimism and hope you haven’t felt since last Sunday, before your first day back at Hawkins, creeps its way back into your mind and body. You note how much lighter your chest feels as it moves with each breath, and the knot you’ve felt in your stomach for a week begins to loosen.

You stay there for a while, lightly swinging back and forth as you and Eddie dive into discussions about new bands, albums, and movies that have come out since you moved. Concerts you’ve been to since. Eddie smiles seeing that you haven’t changed one bit since you’d left, even mentioning bands and movies he hadn’t even heard of, promising to share your tapes with him at some point. He finds himself getting lost watching you as you excitedly describe the Journey concert you went to with your cousins in 83’. Smiling when he notices the sparkle in your eyes as you rave about Steve Perry’s voice and how they played your favorite songs. Laughing as you pout in jealousy when he describes the Metallica concert he went to with Gareth earlier this year. It all feels so familiar, so comfortable.

You’re so lost in conversation you don’t notice how much time passes by until Eddie checks his watch and whistles. It’s almost 11:30pm, nearly 2 hours since you first walked down to the playground. The hesitancy you held about your ability to get a goodnight’s rest tonight was gone. You feel like you’re floating as you and Eddie walk the short distance back to your trailers, Eddie telling you about Hellfire’s current campaign. 

“You know, you’re more than welcome to join us sometime. You already know half the club.” He offers as you reach the end of your driveway. 

“I’ll definitely think about it, thanks.” You give him a small smile.

“Cool. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He returns your smile as he rocks back and forth on his heels lightly, hands shoved into his vest pockets. 

“Oh, wait! Kind of an odd question but before I forget, do you know anyone around here that sells?” You ask as the thought of your now empty stash box pops into your head. Eddie smoked with you, you figure he knew where to get some around here.

And boy, did he. 

A bright, cheeky smile stretches across his face.

“Oh yeah, I know a guy.” He says with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes before he bows dramatically, “Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer at your service, my dear.”

[ma1dita]

ready your position

part 1 of 5 - SET IT UP!

spencer reid x gn!HRT!reader

summary: [3x9: Penelope] Sometimes second chances feel like shots in the dark. You just really wanted a cup of coffee. (set between seasons 3 & 4, loosely based off of set it up on netflix--reader is nicknamed ripley)

wc: 6k

content warning: signs of substance abuse, reader gets shot, side character death, unhealthy coping mechanisms & thinking

a/n: so sorry for the delay! i had a lot of insecurities about putting this out but well, here it is! lots of plot set up but pt 2 won’t take as long haha, please please please leave feedback or i might cry lol

—

[NOVEMBER 2007]

"So what are you in for today?"

A scoff leaves your lips in the dim light of one of the HR offices in the Employee Assistance Unit on the 6th floor of Quantico on a dreary Monday evening and it's intentionally disruptive, like you want the terse breath to catch your therapist off-guard. This routine of yours has you feeling like you're being examined under a magnifying glass but after countless hours of your ass getting pins and needles on the worn leather loveseat, you're still not entirely sure what else there is for Ms. Stevens to discover. Every psychological stone is never left unturned with her, but some burdens you still hold close to your heart. They feel like boulders that you choose to carry, and no one can take them away, lest you leave yourself exposed and vulnerable in front of a woman who can read you to filth.

"Agent?"

"Come on now, we're past the formalities, Miss. S'been more than half a year of us meeting like this. Think I deserve a reward at this point," the joke chokes itself out past your chewed bottom lip. Eyes scanning the ceiling, you mentally count the tiles until you can find a plausible enough answer to the question she's positively dying to ask about the monumental blow-up that could make or break your career, and maybe if you skate by with something noncommittal she'll let you out of here early. 30 salt and pepper sprinkled ceiling tiles, just like this time last week.

"Ripley, then," Ms. Stevens murmurs over a sip of her tea. The smell of ginger pierces your senses even from your spot against the wall. Your eyes meet over her FBI standard-issue mug and she's waiting for you to fill the silence and confirm her thoughts. You hate this game; being hyper-analyzed by the way you lean against the chair, or the tapping of your fingers on your thigh. 

Every move means something. Being a member of the FBI's Hostage and Rescue Team meant that you've been hardwired to always find a way out of any space you're put into, and somehow the job has translated into your day-to-day coping mechanisms as your eyes flicker towards the door.

Coping. Right. That's what you're supposed to be doing.

Sometimes you forget the reason why you're here every week— but no matter how painful or teeth-grating these appointments feel, they're the only constant you have right now. And they're mandatory, or else there's no going back to normal; any more time sitting at a desk makes you more anxious even if it's what's been prescribed by professionals like the one sitting across from you.

"You already know why I'm here. I know the big boss man already told you, and if not—office gossip spreads here like wildfire," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Ms. Stevens takes note of that and writes something down in her notepad. "It's not what you think."

"You shot an unsub point blank and cost the FBI $4000 in damages."

Chuckling lowly, you run your hand through your hair, "Sheesh. You'd think for glass that expensive it'd be bulletproof, huh?" She's not laughing though, instead scribbling down more words and you think she's signing away your rights to rejoin your team. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal— you were just at the right place at the right time, and although you haven't been in rotation since your mandatory leave and the higher-ups put authorization holds to stop you from being on operations, that didn't mean you were just sitting around doing nothing. You still knew how to do your job, whether Ms. Stevens believed it or not. The shot you took made the weekly newsletter. Agent Fuchs and his family sent you a fruit basket this morning. Agents Hotchner and Rossi know your name now, for better or for worse. 

It was a bit of an odd way to end the weekend.

If anything, it was proof that you were ready to get back in action. But the subtle frown on her face says otherwise, and you swallow harshly, a lump in your throat feeling heavy like the truth— Ms. Stevens probably won't let this one go.

You realize she's staring at you for a better answer now as your eyes refocus on her fingers tapping on her desk. Nodding your head, it prompts her to ask the question that she's been holding back since you sat down. One could almost feel bad for the amount of paperwork that probably goes into your weekly sessions. 

Almost.

"How did you find yourself involved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Ripley?" she emphasizes, finally getting to the point. Sucking air through your teeth, you tuck your legs underneath your bottom on the uncomfortable seat. This is going to take a while to explain.

"I just wanted a cup of coffee, man."

—

A WEEK AGO

No one can deny that Dr. Spencer Reid's best asset is his brain. 

He knows it too— the fact is one of the few things he's sure about himself. Other people are much easier to figure out to be honest; case details scrolling through his brain like a frenzied catalog and each input has an output, each symptom with a diagnosis, and so on. The neocortex of the brain has about 300 million pattern recognizers that crave data able to turn into patterns or rules, and Spencer is used to staying late after cases conclude to write down all of the reasons why. Something about unraveling the unsub's methodology in case files is just as exciting to him as when he's in the field figuring out the why—mind the fact that he can read 20,000 words a minute. 

In his periphery, he can see the rest of the team settling into their desk chairs, but he's traipsed straight over to the office kitchenette for something to fuel his brain to be able to mince through the stack of paperwork on his desk. He's ignoring the fact that Emily slips a few more onto his pile, but what he can't ignore as he stands over the counter stirring in way more sugar into his cup than there is coffee, is you, walking through the glass doors virtually undetected by anyone but him.

The metal of his teaspoon clinks against his mug, and a side glance at your form reveals a lot to him— but not quite as much as he would like to know about a person at first glance. Stiffness in your posture indicates some sort of military background, there's a slight tremor in your hands as you reach for the mug on the top shelf—probably attributed to nerves? Most likely since he's never seen you on this floor before. You blink slower than average, and Spencer thinks it's a sign of exhaustion which checks out since you're blatantly stealing coffee from the BAU.

Sending a soft smile his way, Spencer quickly eases up and nods at you, sipping his coffee as he watches you move about the small space. Okay, stealing is a vast over-exaggeration, but in an office filled with FBI agents, it's a wonder that he's the only one noticing these types of things. He's also staring at you very intently, which might affect things.

That or the caffeine's already hit him like a punch in the face. 

You're pouring some of Penelope's homemade oat milk creamer and he observes the way you play with a fray on your knit sweater. There's something that clinks in your jean pocket and it's too small to be a gun, too big to be—oh! You're saying something to him.

"You mind?"

Spencer clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from your crotch as a blush rises upon his cheeks—shaking his head anyway until he realizes that you've taken the spoon out of his hand to swirl into your own mug, sipping at it and frowning.

"You're not from this floor," he states, and it's not a question because it's rare to have people break patterns around here at the BAU and you're far too comfortable to be a civilian but still on edge enough for him to think you must be an agent. Humming, he notes the furrow in your brow as you grab the sugar canister from in front of him, stirring in your preferred amount and tasting it, then adding more again, "Yeah?"

"There are 12 desks in here; 2 executive offices not including our section chief's, liaison's, and higher admin surrounding the bullpen, plus 6 members of custodial staff and the auxiliary agents that run in from different departments—I would know a face like yours," he blurts, blinking when you grin at how that sounds. Dismissing his blunder, you lean back against the counter and chuckle, "You're protective of your turf. I get it. That's good. I'm just here for a cup of coffee. Smelled the good stuff wafting through the glass doors," Handing him back the spoon, he can't help but stand there and hold it out like an idiot as you continue, "You want my credentials or something…. Doctor?"

"No, not at—" "Ah, perfect!"

Rossi grabs the mug out of your hand and takes a big swig as he looks at something on his phone distractedly, "Anderson was supposed to have a cup ready for me as soon as we got back… Why is this uh….watery?"

"Oat milk, sir," you say, taking it in stride as the older man crinkles his nose, mumbling his thanks, walking back to his office. Your eyes meet Spencer's with an amused expression and he sighs. The watch on your wrist beeps and you give him a two-fingered salute as you make your way out of the glass doors behind you eastbound; his gaze doesn't break until you're out of sight.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and it's Morgan with that look he gets when he sees the resident pretty boy with a person of interest (also known as when Spencer is caught talking to anyone, ever), "Now who…" he chuckles, squeezing him so hard that his drink spills a little bit, "was that?"

Spencer blinks, pouring more sugar into his mug and stirring it with the spoon, "Definitely not a secretary like Rossi thinks…." He takes a sip before realizing he's made a mistake. Besides the fact the mug he drank from is contaminated now, he's forgotten to ask for your name.

"At least that's what I'm trying to figure out."

—

It has been exactly 8 and a half months since you've been an active operator for the HRT's Red team. 37 weeks of trying to come to terms that Special Agent Charlie Young is dead. 258 days since your childhood best friend Harper was made a widow and her baby left without a father. And no matter what way you put it, it was your fault. Or at least no matter what everyone's been trying to tell you, it still felt that way since he took a bullet that was meant for you.

You spent your 6 months of paid mandatory leave in the confines of your apartment nursing bottles of Jameson, watching old telenovelas, and avoiding phone calls from anyone who would try to reach out. But in the space that Charlie's absence left behind is the reality that everything in life keeps moving on whether you like it or not. You caught yourself craving your old routine to prove to yourself that nothing's changed; that you're still capable of being the elite agent that worked your way onto this prestigious team in the first place.

So as you lie in wait in an unmarked car outside of 107 Leavensworth, you plan to do just that—follow through with the mission, this second chance—and prove that nothing can shake you. The next operations cycle starts soon and you have to make this count. Your eyes lock with Agent Morgan's as he crosses the road arm in arm with Penelope. Nodding at him, you slink further into your seat. There's a long night ahead, but hopefully, the only thing that will be bothering you tonight is your thoughts.

When they pass the courtyard, your eyes flicker back towards the empty street, checking every which way for possible suspects. It's quiet, and the air is a bit chilly, the wind sweeping through the street like a frosty vacuum. Your phone buzzes with another text from Harper, a voicemail from your mother, and unread emails.

[From Harpy: Have an extra table setting out for Thanksgiving. Your two favorite girls would love to see you if you can make it! Miss you Rip.]

[Missed call from Mama: Hi honey, I know you're probably busy but I'm worried about if you're eating enough. You're overw—]

The sounds of footfalls on pavement draw your attention away from the voicemail as a man comes near, swiftly passing the direction of your car with the purpose of walking into the apartment courtyard. You slide out with ease, throwing your phone to the passenger seat before making your presence known to him, "Can I help you with something? What’s your bus—"

BANG!

Gunshots are so much louder when you're the one being shot at. 

You swear you feel your heart stop beating as your body hits the ground, ears ringing from the shock that ravages your being and you just…lay there in the smoke of his revolver. The spinning view you have of the stars is interrupted by the sound of Derek Morgan's voice yelling into your walkie, "WE HAVE A FEDERAL AGENT DOWN, I REPE—"

You swallow hard, fingers sliding over the breastplate of your bulletproof vest and feeling the gaping hole left behind.

Fuck, can't even die right. 

Pushing yourself up and feeling nothing but the gravel in your palms, you wheeze, "He's getting away…Two blocks northbound. GO!" The man tweaks his head at you before springing into action, "I got her, GO!" And then his body moves as fast as you suppose that bullet did— surging towards the assailant's direction as you clear your throat and dust yourself off and look up at Penelope's window, her beaded curtains shuffling against the glass.

"Disregard. 10-78, Agent Morgan is pursuing, I have eyes on the vic…"

Rushing up the stairs, there's a tremor in your hand that slides along the banister. You need to push through the shock before the adrenaline wears off, but the faster you fly up the circular staircase, the memories hit you like a tidal wave. The sound of Charlie singing to his baby girl, Harper's smile when you first introduced them at the Academy a few years ago. Lactic acid builds up in your calves and your chest feels tight—your joints feel stiff as you stumble through the door blowing air out in puffs like someone does when they get burned. In the dark of the apartment, moonlight shrouds you like a spotlight and the singing and the laughter turn into blood and tears.

You'll never forget the way Harper looked at you in that hospital waiting room. It should've been you. Weaving through the fallen furniture, your eyes scan the perimeter for any movement; she was last near the window, and then where did she go? It should've been you. Turning the corner towards the alcove of her bedroom, Penelope Garcia's scream pierces through the darkness, and a gun is pointed towards your chest for the second time tonight as you stumble back, bumping a sparkly cat statue off her side table. It should have been you.

"Don't s-shoot!" you stutter, hands in the air and now the colorful woman is sobbing into your arms, blubbering, "Why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know…" you sigh, asking yourself the same question and holding her up—at least her hug is tight enough that it squeezes the truth out of you. You don't want to die. 

But why didn't you?

Your second chance at fixing things was looking more and more like a second shot in the dark.

—

By the time Spencer and the rest of the team show up, he's pleasantly surprised to see you making coffee in Garcia's kitchen. You're a shadowy figure against her counter, sipping honey tea from a TARDIS mug and minding your business. The BAU has staged themselves across every open seat in her living room, almost looking like a part of the bits and bobs that occupy the space—different personalities contributing to help out one of their own. 

Hotch looks at you, introducing you to them and Spencer holds back a smile when your eyes meet again. It's awkward, like when the teacher introduces a new student to the class. You shuffle your feet towards the group, nodding and biting your lip when you hear your name, "Call me Ripley. S'easier that way. I'm on loan from HRT."

"Glad you were available. The rest of your team was deployed," his boss says, and there's something in your expression that signals to Spencer that you're upset about that fact. Maybe it's the way your hands graze over your abdomen repeatedly, like checking for a wound or the way your eyes are consistently downcast. Even after your empty mug is placed onto a sage green doily, he watches you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest as if blocking yourself off from the group. 

"It was a favor from Otis. My night was going to look like this or catching up on Days of Our Lives, so… Anyway, you guys are held in high regard in our area. For good reason."

"And so are you," Hotch actually smiles, soft enough like a father softens a blow, "Head back to the office and I'll tell Agent Otis that you did a great job."

"Um…Ripley can stay. We're friends now," the bubbly analyst says as she pushes her glasses up and grabs your arm.

"I don't want to intrude on your process—" "You won't be intruding at all," Spencer interrupts, "In fact, you might be more of an asset in helping us figure this out."

The pieces fall together as you watch the BAU work together like different organs that make up the same body, each with its own function and essential to their success. You take a seat next to him on the sofa, your eyes ricocheting off of the person who speaks like ping-pong balls and he knows it's overwhelming to some, but it works. 

"I told you I'm tired of this jag-off getting ahead of us," Rossi grits as he walks out of the apartment after grilling Garcia. There's an awkward silence once the team splits off and you don't move from your spot after the door closes, "He always like that? Looks friendlier in his author's headshot." Emily chuckles, hair brushing Garcia's shoulder as she leans over her laptop, and Morgan is pacing across the hardwood floors, fingers touching every little trinket to distract himself while his Babygirl works her magic.

"He's newer to the idea of a team."

Spencer has a heart-shaped throw pillow on his lap and he absent-mindedly plays with the sequins. He watches you chew on your lip before nodding, "Can imagine what that change feels like. Never easy. You guys are something else though—my Reds could never…get together like this."

"Isn't that the whole premise of the Hostage and Rescue Team? To be part of something?" The raven-haired woman pipes up, looking curiously at you. 

"Well, really it's to s—"

"Servare vitas—that's Latin for the HRT's motto 'to save lives'," Spencer hums, and you nod. There's a distant look in your eyes as you look off towards the window before speaking, "We just follow orders, I guess. In and out. It's funny how we're called operators when in reality we're the ones being ordered around." Your voice is wistful, going hoarse and you clear your throat. 

"Anyways, didn't Agent Rossi have three wives or something? Maybe he just needs to focus on finding a fourth."

The subject change lifts the tension that fills the room, everyone having a bit of a laugh at that. Morgan admires a blown glass ornament from Garcia's mantle before he moves his gaze to you, "He got it wrong three times, you think he'll find someone to lock it down for a fourth?"

"Actually, did you know that studies have found that the rate of divorce in the US is about 35% to 50% for first-time marriages and over 60% to 70% for second, third, or fourth marriages and beyond?"

No one moves a muscle at the statistic that spews out of his mouth like something from a well-oiled machine and you turn to him, full attention and tucking your legs underneath you with eyes full of wonder. He doesn't remember the last time someone's ever looked at him with anything other than mild unease.

"Really?"

"Really," he continues, "so even if you knew someone who could…" "Match his freak?" You suggest, interrupting him this time, and your choice of words makes Garcia giggle over the chatter of her keyboard, "I knew you were a cool cat."

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, always fumbling for words in front of attractive people, making Morgan send him a sidelong glance. Spencer goes back to playing with the sequined pillow instead.

"I got someone like that too. Hard to prove yourself when they don't give you a chance. It's like credentials, seniority, all that training goes out the window when I'm in front of them."

"Your boss?" Spencer mumbles, and you shrug, "Something like that." You sound like you don't want to share more, so he nods, saving your words for him to scroll through in his mind later, "He's definitely not Gideon." 

'Who's Gideon?" You ask, finishing off your cup of tea and leaning against the back of the sofa. It's comfy enough that all of your limbs sink in slightly, and he watches your eyes flutter with fatigue. Spencer tries not to get distracted by the way your eyes sparkle in the twinkly lights that hang from the walls of Garcia's apartment.

"He was…before. Before Rossi. Taught me everything I know."

"Must've been a good guy then, if you're this good at your job," you smile. It's the same smile you sent his way in the office kitchenette, soft yet like a shockwave, and he thinks that even without his eidetic memory, he'd remember your words forever.

"Mhm…" you muse, putting the cover of the TARDIS mug back where it belongs and standing up, "I should get back to the office. It was nice meeting you all, despite the circumstances." You nod at them, passing Garcia and patting her head before humming a tune on your way out.

"Ripley's kinda great, huh?"

Spencer nods, a small smile gracing his features. When he looks up, Garcia's staring right at him. Only the two of them recognize the Doctor Who theme song, after all.

—

You desperately need a drink.

You're sitting on Anderson's desk staring at the mess you've made of the BAU's bullpen, shattered glass sparkling like little fractals of light on the floor beneath your feet and this night just got longer. By the time they process your gun and get your official statement it'll be sunrise, you think. You can't look at the body even after they cover it with a tarp, the rest of the team tiptoeing through the debris in the entryway. This one's gonna be tough to explain to your superiors.

"Ripley!"

Penelope Garcia is rushing over to you and hanging off your side in a second, making the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach go away for a moment with her eyes shining like tinsel on Christmas morning and the guilt feels a bit lighter. You did a good thing. Then why…why won't your hands stop shaking?

"I never wanted you to do something like that for me," she starts, rubbing your arms and looking up into your eyes, "Do you hear me? Ripley."

You didn't even blink when you shot him, and you don't know if anyone would consider that the best or worst part of it all. Shrugging and placing your cheek against the hand that remains on your shoulder, you purse your lips, "I hear ya. I'll be okay now that you're gonna be okay," You sniff, blinking slowly as you watch your boss walk in, exchanging words with Fuchs and Hotch. "'Sides. We're friends now. You do what you have to when protecting your own." Your voice shakes a bit as you trail off, torn between the grateful smile on Garcia's face and the unreadable expression on your boss'.

"I had some time earlier, during everything going on—I work quick you know? And I do little crafts when I get stressed, so…" You feel a familiar piece of clothing being pressed into your hands, and it's your jacket. You didn't even realize you left it at her apartment, ripping it off after getting shot. A small embroidered pink flower now occupies the space where the bullet hole was. She giggles, squeezing your hand as you run it over her handiwork, "Sorry I only had pink thread."

"Pretty. Even better like this. You're a genius, you know that?"

The look on her face reminds you of a little kid who gets told their drawing is a work of art, but you revel in it. Despite the fact you might lose your job for insubordination, or whatever else Ms. Stevens can tack on—Otis is still looking at you from across the room, a talk imminent for your behavior. The HRT is risk intolerant, and though you saved a life today, you took someone else's.

"I read through your file."

Your eyes rip back and meet Penelope's as she stares at you hard through her glasses, "Uh…"

"Don't worry, just me. I just… get it now. The way you walked into my apartment earlier and you couldn't catch your breath, why you're the only Red left behind. I mean I'm like that after any type of cardio, and totally get it too, I…" she stops herself, and grabs your hands, "I get it. I've been there. I just want you to know I'm here if you want to talk, without the dark office and psych evaluation."

"You sure you're not a profiler?" you say simply, smirking. She laughs more freely than she has in days, patting your cheek, "Ripley, if I was, I wouldn't have been able to pass along your reinstatement papers. Your boss will see that soon enough. Again, thank you." 

You can't do anything but laugh—any type of unease lifting from your system before you catch a certain spectacled analyst staring at your new friend, and you nudge her, "You know, with all the heat I'm getting right now—No one's looking at me like that." Garcia grins, looking over her shoulder and then back to you.

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?"

As you watch her saunter over and talk to the guy, you start to believe it too. 

A steaming cup of coffee is placed next to your thigh and you look over to see Spencer leaning against the other edge of the desk watching you.

"Just the way you like it."

You beam at him, leaning over to gulp the scorching liquid. The steam spreads in the short distance between you as you cock your head at him, "You remembered!"

He shrugs like it's nothing of the sort, the small gesture warming you just as much as the coffee does as it travels to your stomach. 

"Do you know how hard it's been to get a cup of coffee around here?"

And then the two of you are giggling like schoolchildren, hiding behind furtive glances and shaking hands like there isn't a dead body covered by a tarp 10 feet away from where you sit. He nervously scratches at the pit of his elbow, unsure of what to say next but the moment is broken when Otis and Hotch walk over, effectively silencing your laughter. Spencer walks away quickly.

"Listen…"

Your boss sighs, rubbing at his bald head as he looks at you, "Let me guess, I'm not gonna believe what happened?" Hotch raises his eyebrows, "So you weren't kidding, Otis. That's why this agent goes by Ripley."

"You always have a way of doing things your own way, Rip."

Grimacing, your hands tighten around the mug as you look at your superior in the eye, "I followed orders and saved a life today. The rest.. was just because I really was trying to get a cup of coffee," The two men stare at you curiously, almost forming a blockade around your position on the desk, "Penelope adds vanilla and cinnamon to her oat milk." Otis looks unconvinced, still not blinking. 

"I'm serious! It's delicious!"

Otis pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. As he goes, he calls out, "You're back on for the next cycle." You spring up almost as if electrocuted, "Seriously? Can't take that back!"

"Don't do anything to make me want to," your boss says when he gets to the entryway, sweeping glass with the sole of his shoe, "No more surprises. I mean it, Ripley. Keep it up."

"Congratulations are in order then," Hotch says, shaking your hand, "I'll get the detective over to speed up your clearance. We all need a good night's rest."

"Thank you, sir."

Nothing can take away the elation that runs through your veins—like being brought back from the dead. You did what you set out to do, you made your second chance count and now you're an operator again. The type that saves lives and is in action instead of just filing paperwork and watching day go to night without feeling fulfilled. Excitement blurs your senses, your knee hopping up and down and it's not the coffee but the feeling of being useful again after all this—

"And Agent?"

"Sir?" you blurt out, looking up at Hotch, face falling at his next words, "I'm sorry for your loss. Agent Young would be proud of you." You smile at him and the emptiness sets back in when he turns away, immediately taking a big gulp of your drink as the muscle memory sinks in. 

It's not his fault of course. But how foolish of you to forget why it all happened in the first place. Your quest for redemption and who you've lost on the way here. Would Charlie be proud? Looking around the room for prying eyes, you twist off the cap of the flask that sits in your pocket with nimble fingers, slipping it into your long sleeve and pouring the contents into your mug until it's empty. As you take a sip, your eyes meet Spencer's over the brim and your heart lodges itself in your throat as you try to wash it all down. He nods anyway, scratching the nape of his neck and averting his eyes as he comes back to sit next to you.

"It all makes sense now."

The whiskey acts as a security blanket, protecting your feelings from what he might say next. It'd be better to pretend to not care what the doctor thinks of you, but when his shoulder nudges yours, you realize you do.

"Hmm?"

"Ripley. Did you know Robert Ripley originally titled his sports feature Champs or Chumps when it premiered in the New York Globe in 1918?" Spencer says like he didn't just catch you in the act. 

"You don't have to do this, y'know," you sigh, your mouth wavering over the now-cold beverage. Being patronized over your alcoholism might just send you into a bender if we're being honest, but then he scratches at his elbow again, sleeve rolling up slightly—and then you see the dots along his skin. Faint traces of fights neither of you bring to the surface go unspoken and for the first time in a year, someone sees you—vices and all and doesn’t recoil. There’s a wave that passes between you, hidden from the people that scatter the room and you can feel something crash over you in his presence. You think you might like it, even possibly sure of it when he speaks again.

"Why not? Obscure facts are right up my alley."

The sun rises on Quantico in the big windows behind you, framing everything in a new light.

—

"So are you?"

You blink slowly, torn from the reverie. It's been almost an hour of piecing together the parts you want to tell Ms. Stevens about how last night led to getting reinstated and earning your spot back on your team. The rest…you left out to not overcomplicate the situation. Come on… everyone lies to their therapist even a little bit.

"Hmm?"

She looks at you intently from a sentence she scribbles onto her notepad, "Are you ready to go back to work?"

Glancing at the ceiling, and then to the placard on her desk, Kirsten Stevens, EAC in blocky white font—you put your thoughts into words, "I mean even if I wasn't, I have to. This is my job. I have to do it well."

"But are you ready? Do you feel… able to do it well?"

Your eyebrows furrow, "I feel like you think I'm not—even if I've already proven I can." Ms. Stevens sighs, pulling her hair back into her claw clip and clasping her fingers together. Disappointment reeks from her stare, and you can't get to the bottom of why this woman seems like she's out to get you. You do the training, you perform well on the job, what else is there to worry about? The timer beeps, signaling the end of your session and you push off your knees, getting up from the couch. Your joints creak, frowning as you're still waiting for her to say something.

"Ripley. No one's saying you can't do your job well. What I am saying is, that until you admit to yourself that something's wrong…that feeling won't go away. You can't just run from your past," she says calmly. It's almost irritating, and a part of you wishes she'd yell at you instead. 

"I'm not running. I'm facing it head-on by doing what he would want me to do. Charlie would want me to get back to normal and be back at work." 

And she nods at you, turning back to her notepad and handing you a sheet detailing the inner work you have to do before your next appointment, "I can agree with that. We'll move you to every two weeks now since you're heading back to work. I hope to hear from you about any new updates…" Ms. Stevens says, continuing but the rest you don't listen to. She didn't even mention Charlie and he's all everything comes back to. If this is the help she’s prescribing, why does it still feel like you’re drowning?

You walk out of her office with the paper in your clenched fist and your phone in the other as you shoot a text to Penelope.

[To PG: Hey, I hope you're feeling better! Can you send me Dr. Reid's number? I need to ask him something. Also, Rossi's definitely single right? Asking for a friend (not me).]

—

"Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure." - Richard Siken

[ask to be added to taglist]

[vaginalsauce]

Short lived

Warnings

Unprotected p in v, oral fem and male receiving, spanking, drooling, pet names, mentions of cigarettes, mentions of alcohol and drinking, hair pulling, jealous slash, cum eating, flirty Izzy, degradation, dirty talk, slapping, really fucking rough, slight cnc?, Biting, choking, dacryphilia, lil bit of fluffy angst at the end idk

A/N

I kinda got carried away I am so sorry 🪨💨

Word count

2.5k

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Walking from the kitchen with armfuls of beers, you set all of them down on the coffee table with a huff. You plopped right down in-between Izzy and Slash, craning your head back, bored of Steven and Duff messing around with cameras, and Axl yelling about pointless things that weren't relevant to anything.

You couldn't help but turn your head as Izzy moved to pull out a cigarette from the pack on the table. He placed it between his lips, and was quick to light it. He took a long drag before turning to meet your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

This caused Slash to turn his head towards the two of you, eyeing Izzy carefully.

"You want one, or are you just gonna keep staring, honey?" It caught you off guard but you only shrugged. Izzy pulled the cigarette from his pretty lips, placing it between yours gently.

Before you could even inhale, Slash wrapped his arm around your shoulders and took the cigarette from your mouth, putting it out on his own jeans. He stood, and without a word, left the room, slamming the door to Axl's bedroom.

It was no secret that you and Slash had feelings for each other, especially with Axl's big mouth around. But ever since you and Izzy had been getting closer, becoming better friends, Slash had become more distant, pissier towards you.

You sighed, letting your head fall into your hand as you began to rub your temples.

"What's his deal?" Izzy questioned, eyebrows raised in a bit of surprise. You shook your head.

"I don't have a clue. I'm gonna go talk to him." You stood, stepping over the empty beer bottles that were scattered across the floor.

As you reached Axl's bedroom, you gently knocked on the door, listening closely for any signs of his presence. "Slash? Can I come in?"

No response.

You knocked again, but there was still no response. Turning the doorknob, you gently pushed the door open, greeted by the sight of Slash getting off the bed and walking over to you. He pulled you into the room and closed the door harshly, his body pressing yours against the door.

"Slash?" You questioned, your breathing quickening as his hand ghosted down your arm to the lock on the door, flipping it and jiggling the door handle to make sure it was locked.

His face was so close to yours, you could smell the smokey breath that fanned over your face. His eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you have to do that?" He questioned, but it sounded more like a demand.

"do what?" You whispered, scared to raise your voice. His hand came to rest on your neck, giving a small squeeze.

"Fucking flirt with every guy that looks at you. You know what the fuck you're doing." He spat, before spinning the two of you around and pushing you roughly into the bed behind you. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that you forget Izzy ever existed."

You couldn't find your voice, letting out a small whine as you pushed yourself back, making room for Slash to crawl onto the bed with you, but he only stood at the edge of the bed.

"Tell me if you don't want this now, because I'm not gonna stop once I start."

You nodded quickly in response to his words, and he landed a firm slap across your cheek. "Use your words, whore."

You turned your head to look back up at him, bringing your own hand up to the forming red mark on your face, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. Your eyes were watering, but you couldn't deny the pulsing ache between your legs. "Please, Slash, I want it."

"Such a dirty fuckin' slut." Slash huffed, his hands coming down to unbutton his jeans. He slid them down his muscular thighs, already starting to palm himself through his boxers. "Gonna suck my cock? Show me how much you want it?"

You crawled closer, and slash gripped the back of your head by your hair, pulling your mouth directly onto his clothed bulge. You let your lips glide over the print, looking up at him, a single tear falling down your cheek from the pain he was inflicting on you, but you couldn't even mind.

"Fuck, you're a little minx." He used his free hand to tug his boxers down, discarding them with his pants. His hardening cock was right in your face, and you brought your hand up to pump him gently.

He grabbed his dick and rubbed it against your lips, and you opened your mouth. He was quick to shove your head down onto his cock, already fucking your face at a rapid speed. You gagged around him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as you tried your hardest to breathe.

You watched as he threw his head back, and you brought your hand down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself through your pants.

His hips were relentless, pistoning hard into your throat. You knew it was gonna be sore for a few days.

You were a bit worried about the rest of the guys in the living room, but their cheers and laughing and indistinct yelling just told you they weren't paying any mind to your missing presence.

You were caught off guard by the sudden feeling of Slash pushing your head all the way down his dick, and you lifted your hands up to dig your nails into his waist as he held you at the base of his cock.

Your nose was brushing against his happy trail, and you began to panick as you lost your breath. Slash pulled you off his cock by the back of your hair, throwing your head back as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Gonna make you mine, make you scream for me." He grabbed your hips as he leant over you, flipping you over and swiftly tugging your pants and underwear clear off your legs. You to let out a gasp when the cold air hit your leaking cunt.

"Oh shit, look at that... So fucking wet, just from sucking my dick? You really are a whore." He paused to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He leaned over your back, pressing his lips to your ear. "But you're my whore, aren't you?"

You couldn't even let out a whimper before he pushed himself into you, stilling as soon as he bottomed out inside of you. You let your arms give out, your front side falling into the comforter on the bed. Your sudden moan was muffled by the bed, but then he grabbed your hair from the base of your scalp, tugging your head back towards the ceiling. "My whore, aren't you?"

He repeated himself, and you sobbed loudly. "Y-Your whore, fuck." You muttered, scared that if you were too loud the other men would hear, and that was endless teasing you didn't want to endure.

Slash pulled his hips back, and you whined, pushing yourself back into him in a desperate attempt to fuck yourself on his cock. His hand raised, and before you could even think about what he was doing, a red handprint was forming on your ass.

You yelped, pushing your body forward as an attempt to get away from the sting, but with his grip on your hair, you couldn't move. "T-Theyre gonna hear, can't be loud, please--"

Slash cut you off with a hard thrust, and you let out a loud moan, mixed in with a choked scream. You couldn't contain it. His dick was so big that it hurt, and he was so deep inside of you that he was pushing painfully against your cervix.

Slash leaned down again, finally starting at a slow and rough pace. A bite was pressed against your still-clothed shoulder, and with the pinch, came the realization that you weren't gonna be able to be quiet. "Let's get this off." Slash pulled you flush against his chest, rocking back onto his knees. His hands rushed to lift your thin shirt over your head, not once missing a single thrust.

Once your shirt was discarded, he didn't waste any time in trailing his hand up between the valley of your breasts, coming to squeeze your throat roughly. "You're so fucking tight, squeezing me so hard."

You were lightheaded, eyes rolling back as your head fell onto his shoulder, mouth hung open. Your fingers dug into his hips, and your other hand coming behind you to tangle and tug on his hair. "You like feeling me so deep in your tummy? Right... There." He questioned, his hand pressing roughly against your lower abdomen, easily feeling himself through the flesh of your stomach. The applied pressure caused you to squeal, fighting to get off his cock, the pleasure becoming too much for your foggy little brain.

"Oh, that's it, isn't it? Right there?" His voice was so sweet and alluring that you almost melted into his rough grips. "Answer me, bitch." He grabbed a fistful of hair again, pulling your lips closer to his as he sloppily pressed his open mouth to the corner of your own mouth. You were too busy trying to escape the dizzying feeling of your orgasm approaching to even mumble a response.

You nodded, but he only slipped the hand in your hair to your open mouth, his middle and ring finger pushing past your lips and onto your tongue.

His fingers were salty, but tasted so good in your mouth. He shoved them back further, and you gagged quickly. You screamed loudly as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, thrashing around in Slash's hold. You balled your hands up into fists and started to beat against his hips, back arched as you desperately tried to escape the overstimulation.

"Hold the fuck... still." His words were cut up between thrusts and grunts as he fought to keep you held down, your pulsing walls sucking him in deeper than he already was as an attempt to drain his cock.

"Already cumming, baby? Such a pathetic little body, jus' can't take what I give you." He hummed, faking that sympathy that he knew you would soak up.

He snaked an arm around your waist, holding you down as he completely ruined you from below. Your cunt was already sore, and the tears spilling from your eyes had no end, similar to the moans leaving your throat and vibrating around his fingers. Drool coated your chin and chest, and the entirety of his hand, and he didn't even care.

"Look s'much better stuffed full of my cock than you do sitting next to Izzy." Slash shoved you forward again, but this time he placed his hands on the small of your back, pushing down roughly to keep your back arched as he continued his assault on your poor cunt.

"N-No more, can't take it-- Please, s'too much!" You yelped.

Another harsh slap came down onto your ass, and you wept loudly into the bedding. You were squeezing his cock so tight that his hips began to stutter, so his pace slowed and his thrusts got impossibly harder. The steel rings he wore on his fingers were making bright red welts on your ass with every smack he gave you, and you couldn't help but let out the crying and screaming, it hurt, but he didn't care.

With his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, you came once more, bringing your arms back to try and push his hips away from you, but he only grabbed a hold of both of your wrists, using them to pull you back onto him. Your weeping and moaning finally died down, and you just let him use you, limp from the overstimulation.

You were so fucked out that you didn't even feel the hot cum coating your insides. Slash pulled out as he was cumming, the last little bit of his spunk landing over your red and abused lips.

He released your arms, letting you fall forward.

"My fucking pussy, isn't it?" He shoved your thighs up so your ass was back in the air, and his thumb came up to run through your slick folds, practically shoving his cum back inside of you. You jumped when his finger brushed against your clit, letting out a small whine.

"A-All yours, Slash." You mumbled, and he brought his face to the red wounds and marks on your ass, pressing gentle kisses to the welts and light specks of blood that had begun peeking through your skin, already bruising.

His kisses trailed right back to your cunt, and he didn't hesitate in sticking his tongue right out and into your heat, from your clit to your hole. He hollowed his cheeks when he found your clit, sucking with so much intensity it caused you to lean back into him, despite all that had went down mere minutes before.

He was eating your pussy so carefully and intricately, it was a stark contrast from his previous tone and actions.

It took you minutes of him sucking and licking your poor cunt to realize that he was eating his own cum out of you, and the pure thought had you whining yet again.

He'd groan into your pussy, the vibrations going straight to your clit. It didn't take much for you to cum yet again, so sensitive from your previous torturous orgasms, and you shoved your face down into the bedding once more as you whined, squirming away from Slash's face. He held your hips and pulled you back into him as you rode out your orgasm, finally pulling off of your cunt and gently shushing you as you turned over to meet his gaze.

You suddenly broke out into tears again and Slash crawled back onto the bed pulling you up into his arms. You couldn't form proper sentences, your words simply coming out jumbled and choppy.

"s'okay. I'm sorry, I know. It's gonna be okay." You clung to him for dear life, your sweaty, naked bodies pressing together as your threw your arms over your neck.

All he could make out from your sobs was small "I'm sorry"s, "thank you"s, and "so tired"s. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head as he gently rocked the two of you back and forth.

"Did so good f'me, sweetheart, I'm sorry." He cooed, but it was too late, you were already asleep in his arms. He sighed, resting his head on top of yours for just a few more minutes before slipping you under the blankets of Axl's bed, and following close right next to you, wrapping an arm over your waist.

He buried his face in your shoulder as his eyes closed, feeling just a little guilty for the way he treated you.

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

You woke up to the sound of banging, looking around to see slash tugging his boxers on, and you immediately felt a surge of shame run through your body when Slash unlocked and opened the door to an incredibly red and upset Axl.

"You're washing everything on that fucking bed. No, actually, you're buying me a whole new one."

And with that, you sunk back under the covers, not daring to make eye contact with the fiery redhead.

[chaosology]

haven't i given enough?

— Sam Kerr x reader

based off another fic I wrote, hope it's ok!! masterlist

there will be a part two, let me know what you think :)

When Sam and Y/N met, everything had just fallen into place. Y/N was interning at the local hospital when the Matilda's had come for a charity event, cheering up sick kids on the ward. Y/N had never been much into sports, instead choosing to lock herself in her room on Sunday mornings when her sister would train. In fact, she had no real intention of even interacting with the team. For all she knew, they were a bother - cluttering the halls and blocking the entry ways.

That was until she slammed right into one of them.

Her pager was quiet for the first time that shift, and she had taken the opportunity to go get coffee from the break room. The pathology results in her hands were suddenly scattered on the ground as she was forced several steps back. She had just cursed, not even bothering to look at her now enemy as she crouched down to pick them up.

"Shit! I'm so so sorry," the voice came, "I'll get it for you."

Her hands were joined by two more that anxiously fumbled around on the vinyl tiles, attempting to pick up the A4 sheets that would just fall from her fingers and slip back out.

"No no, it's fine." Y/N fired back. She wanted to add a sly you've already done enough, but at least her mystery attacker had tried to help. That was more than she could say for others.

"Quite some force you've got there." Y/N followed with. She was too embarrassed to life her gaze from the ground and instead focused on the blue nikes in front of her, now reordering the papers and securing them into her clipboard.

"Yeah, comes with the job I guess"

Huh?

Y/N looked up and was met with an apologetic set of eyes and a warm smile. She took her outstretched hand, allowing herself to be pulled up.

"I'm sorry. I'm Sam... I'm Sam and I'm sorry." She was tripping over her words awkwardly, a blush beginning to paint her cheeks. Y/N had laughed, looking down to realise her hand was still in hers.

"Can I buy you a coffee?"

"So, when can I meet your family?"

You looked over to the couch where Sam was resting with her phone, the sun painting a warm glow over her body - she looked beautiful. The question had caught you off guard, Sam could tell. The way your body tensed and nervously chewed on your lip. Your relationship with your family was... complicated.. In the nine months you'd been dating, there was never any mention of your relatives despite your meeting hers.

Your older sister Ami was everything you weren't. She was sporty and athletic, witty and carefree. She exuded an air of confidence that you could never quite match no matter how hard you tried - but that you could handle. It was the taking.

At 14 you stood anxiously by the lockers as you admired Cara Stevens from afar. She was so dreamy, blonde curls framing her freckled face. She had all the important qualities you needed as a 14 year old: she was pretty, a year above AND she had the nicest stationary in her grade. You couldn't believe when she walked over to you of all people, leaning against the door of your locker. Your heart was racing, almost beating out of your chest as you met her eye.

"Hey there, you're Y/N... right?" she had asked. She smelled of fresh mint and you swear she could combust right then and there. "I was just wondering if you could give me your sister's number? No harm in trying, right?"

All feeling had left your body as you absentmindedly scribbled down her mobile number, saying nothing as you watched Cara walk over to her friends and hold up the number like it was a trophy.

You cried in the bathrooms that day.

At 19, you met Grace Li. She was your first proper girlfriend, as you swore off dating in high school to focus on getting into medicine. Grace was studying radiology and you bonded over your mutual love of the sciences, regularly making dates out of shared lectures and labs. Grace clicked instantly with your family, always coming over and helping out when she could. You didn't think much of how she would always sit next to your sister and chat when she had the chance (even if the seat next to you was free.) You thought her inviting out your sister when you went clubbing with friends was just her trying to make a good impression.

You realised you were wrong when you walked in on them with their tongues down their throats in the bathroom.

Your sister had only offered a half-hearted apology that morning. "It's not my fault, Y/N. She came on to me and we were both super drunk. You guys weren't even that serious, right?"

It irked you that it seemed she hadn't even wanted a relationship with Grace, only to win her over and have her claim. But they were only human, right? You spent that weekend in bed crying not only from sadness, but the all-consuming guilt from momentarily hating your sister. You felt so awful.

You never saw Grace again.

At 23, you begged your mum and dad to drive you to the hospital for your first day as an intern. All throughout your childhood, they would take your first day of school off work to drop you off. You'd get breakfast before and play Strawberry Kisses on the radio, singing in the back of the car and kicking your dad's seat to annoy him. You had worked your ass off to get here and wanted nothing more to relive a favourite childhood memory on what would be the most exciting day of your life.

As you left your room to meet in the kitchen of the family home, you were greeted by the obnoxiously yellow note on the fridge.

"Sorry love, Ami was subbed in for a big game! Maybe tomorrow? x"

Your emotions had bubbled up to the surface as you ripped the note from the fridge. It crumpled in your hand as you stood there, tears falling down your cheeks. You had wiped them away pathetically, sniffling as you grabbed your lunch and stuffed it in your bag. The drive to work was silent. There was no Strawberry Kisses, no breakfast and kiss on the cheek. There was no photo of you in your scrubs outside the hospital, mimicking the cheesy grin you made in your kindy photo.

They never made up for it.

So yes, the relationship with your family was strained. There was no awareness on their part; instead, they would pass comments at the table about how you were oh so distant. They would tease about Ami "stealing" Grace as you sat eating, feeling like a little girl all over again. You loved your family, but they had the ability to reduce you to nothing in seconds without even realising it. The worst part was could never quite bring yourself to criticise it, always too guilty to think even a bad word.

You had wanted so desperately to keep Sam a secret, but she was getting impatient. You texted your mother that evening, asking if she was free for dinner and made plans for the following Saturday. Sam held you in that arms as you slept that night, but you couldn't quite rid yourself of that sinking feeling in your stomach.

When you arrived at dinner that night, you noticed the way your sister left the spare chair next to her and insisted you sat next to your father. Sam had looked almost uncomfortable at first, but next you knew she was having an animated conversation with Ami about football. The sinking feeling returned.

As you laid in bed that night, you traced Sam's face. She was exhausted - having fallen asleep as her head hit the pillow. Your fingers danced delicately across her cupid's bow, running down her jawline and coming to rest just above her heart.

The tender moment was interrupted by the buzz of her phone. She was too far gone to even notice and the screen eventually turned back off, returning the room to darkness. Until it buzzed again. And again.

Frustrated, you grabbed it to put it on silent. Thats when you noticed.

"Heya, it's Ami. Lovely meeting Y/N's better half tonight :) Send me that link we spoke about? x"

Oh.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Our Lost Girl, Our Babydoll - Part 1

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O

Summary: A bookshop and a spilled coffee leads you to Clint. He leads you to Natasha, and you lead them both to your best friend Darcy. They try to introduce you to Bucky and Steve but you're full of excuses and Irish goodbyes. Until Bucky catches your scent on Natasha and he's sliding in your DM's and offering to help pack up Darcy's apartment. Steve wants to give their bookworm the world and your Irish goodbyes won't slip passed him, because his eyes never leave you. But what's giving you the lost look in your eyes?

Chapter Summary: You're officially late for moving day and Bucky's concerned. Natasha might punch him if he keeps pacing.

You're late. You know it. Darcy and her new pack know it. Bucky 100% knows it and Natasha is going to punch him if paces anymore.

"Barnes, will you knock it off." She snapped, already frazzled by Clint's wandering hands and Darcy's want for everything to be packed a certain way.

"Aren't you worried? You're omega friend is late, she's not picking up her phone and you don't seem to care." He snapped back.

Natasha marched over to him, backing him into the corner of Darcy's tiny apartment kitchen. She took her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, unlocked it and pushed it into his face. Your location on showing on her phone and moving in their direction.

"I know exactly where she is and why she's late. Do you really think I don't care about where my mate's best friend is?"

Bucky held his hands up in surrender as Natasha stepped away. Steve, quiet in the corner, smiled at his pack brother.

"Shut it Steven."

"Ow, full name. I didn't even say anything." He smirked.

"You didn't have to."

"You know it's cute you're this excited. I've not seen you like this since...."

"I'm not cute." Bucky growled, "and it's alright for you! You got to meet her already!"

"I did and she, well, she's cute, smart and sexy as hell all at the same time, and she smells...."

"I swear to god if you carry on, I'll break your legs and throw you in a damn alley." Bucky growled.

Steve laughed in response.

Both were stopped abruptly by the ringing of the doorbell.

Let me know in the comments if you want to go on the tag list!!!

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

[zumicho]

THE END OF MOUSETRAP! ← IWAIZUMI / AKAASHI SMAU

EPILOGUE: TAKE YOUR PICK — KEIJI ROUTE

before you continue: this was my first smau, depsite it being a huge chaotic mess, and how mismatched it is with my theme — it has a very special place in my heart & I hope it’s earned a place in yours! thank you for reading & keeping up with mousetrap ♥︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ

with love, ree.

｡･ﾟﾟ･ WRITTEN PORTION BELOW ✧･ﾟ: *

you wake up to soft, rhythmic clatter of keys being pressed, each tap like gentle rain on a tin roof in his quiet room. right, his room.

the lights are dimmed, illuminated by the faint blue glow of the television flickering in the corner. blinking away the remnants of sleep, you watch as your brother lives up to the title of ace & captain.

when did he turn the volley channel on? in the small nook by the window, you see a figure hunched over a laptop, the screen casting a cool light onto his scrunched-up face. keiji doesn’t notice you've woken, too absorbed in whatever he’s typing.

you shift under the covers, stretching and yawning. his sheets smell like new books and coffee. like him. as you stare at the volleyball plushie sitting next to you on the bed, the rustle of the bed seems to catch his (akaashi’s) notice. he tensed, but he’s still glued to his screen. probably thinking you’re still asleep. his glasses are pushed up above his forehead, his hair bunching messily behind them. it’s a good look, you note. “if you keep looking at me like that I’ll ambush you one day. when I catch you,” you threaten the plush.

it works. now he’s looking at you. “sorry. did I wake you?” the glasses slide down the tiniest bit at the tilt of his head.

you wiggle over to the end of the bed and smush your face onto his forearm. “mmyes. buht you can make it up to mmfe.” and he chuckles at the muffle in your voice. you could listen to that laugh forever. you look up at him, resting your chin on his arm now.

he’s wearing the navy blue cashmere sweater your mom gifted him last Christmas. it’s a v neck. god, do your parents adore him. red creeps up his arms like he notices you drooling over him. it’s like he’s immune to the years you’ve been together—not once has he normally received a compliment from you.

“when are you going to make her your fiance? what’s taking you so long? it’s been three decades.” your dad would scold. his stupid grin would give him away, though. he could never stay mad at his ‘future favorite son in law’. it’s one thing you and your father have in common. you have a soft spot for akaashi keiji.

keiji’s about to say something, but the man on the tv beats him to it. both of you look to see a bright-eyed iwaizumi, reporter shoving a mic at his face as he catches his breath. he answers a few questions, like “how did you become the adlers’ trainer?” and “did you think this was what you would be doing when you played for aoba johsai?”

“how does it feel?” the reporter demands. for some reason? akaashi looks to you at that question. what? your eyebrows ask him.

“how does it feel, that you’re here and not there?”

there’s another lull in the conversation, which you’ve gotten used to expecting.

you smile. “I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else. maybe doing something else,” you tease, “but not anywhere else.”

“you’re disgusting.” he flicks your forehead.

“ow.” you swat his hand away. “you’re mean.”

“thanks.”

“and I hate you.”

now he’s smiling.

he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“hate you too.”

@needtoloveoutloud @rory-cakes @minaluvu @tenjikusstuff4 @cherrypieyourface @strawberrygloom1 @bows4life @dreamsofnaughtiness @suitstars @vivianne666 @this-is-me-lolol @kettlepop @giocriedpower @literaleftist @yuminako @kagtobis @wolffmaiden @gsyche @fllavviiaa @guitarstringed-scars @hibernatinghamster @ryuverse @muyyie @gra-eae @phoenix-eclipses @cnnmairoll @neuviloved @reneny @elliott0o0 @girlkissersco @aliensstolemyheart

akaashi driving to his job playing this in the car thinking of you

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Melancholy (Discord Drabble) tw for depression/depressive episode, tbh i've left it super vague.

Eddie sneaks up behind Steve and wraps his arms around his boyfriend's middle. Steve stills, pausing the endless stirring of his coffee.

He had watched Steve doing so for a solid minute before moving into the kitchen, quietly observing after being greeted with a worried frown from Wayne after arriving home.

"What's goin' on?" he says, giving Steve a reassuring squeeze.

"M'fine," he says low, resuming his stirring.

The spoon scrapes and tinkles loudly in their silence.

"Steve..." he whispers in his ear.

"It's nothing," Steve shrugs and turns his head to look at the window by the four-seater dining table.

"Wayne's having a smoke," he explains.

Steve drops his spoon in his Cubs mug and shuffles around to face him. His eyes are glassy, impossibly big and sad as he frowns.

"I don't..."

He stops himself, shaking his head. Eddie reaches up to run a hand through his hair.

"S'okay," he soothes, watching as Steve closes his eyes, "I fear, Sir Steven, you have been touched by a bout of melancholy."

Steve hums, the corner of his lip quirking just a little. But his mild amusement quickly crumples away as he hugs Eddie tight, fists balling as much as they can in the leather of his jacket.

Steve buries his face into the crook of his neck, sniffling away.

Of course, Eddie holds him. Allows him to cling as tight against him as he wants, tears wetting his neck and shirt collar.

And he'll stay like this, as long as Steve needs to. Standing in the cramped kitchen with only the distant murmur of activity outside, the smell of coffee surrounding them.

[winniethewife]

Blorbo Scent head cannons:

This is a list of what I think some of my blorbo's smell like, as requested by @silvernight-m forever ago...

Oscar Isaac:

Marc Spector: Whiskey, Egyptian amber, Cedar

Steven Grant: Earthy, Old books, Jasmine flowers

Jake Lockley: Tobacco, Leather, Ember

Leto Artiedies: Italian Bergamot, Sandalwood, petrichor

Shiv: Cloves, Leather, Amber

William Tell: Bourbon, Coffee, Oak

Star wars:

Poe Dameron: Leather, ozone, gunpowder

Din Dijarin: Gunpowder, Juniper, lemon grass

Hunter: Amber, Sandle-wood, Vanilla

Crosshair: Palo Santo, Cypress. Amaretto

Wolffe: Dark Patchouli, Ginger, smoke

Fox: Coffee, Pepper, Gin

Misc:

Johnny Silverhand: Gun powder, Tequila, Cigarettes

Control (Southern reach): Citrus, nutty, Barley

Vessel: Amber, Blue Sage, Wood oil

II: Mulled wine, Pine, slate

III: Spice, Cannabis, Blackthorn

IV: Elderflower, Spruce, Leather

~

Masterlist

Taglist: @boredzillenial @queerponcho @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction