#the volume raising as he goes

[sebek-zigbolt]

Portfest spoilers

[pucksandpower]

Fourth Time’s the Charm

Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)

Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea

The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.

“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”

You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”

His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”

You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”

“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”

“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”

He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”

Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A bet,” he says simply.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”

Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”

“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”

You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”

He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.

“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.

You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.

“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”

“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”

He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”

“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”

“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”

You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”

He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.

You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.

And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.

***

The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.

It’s close. Too close.

“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.

Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.

You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.

The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.

Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.

“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.

The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.

“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”

“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”

You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.

Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.

“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”

Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”

You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.

Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”

Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.

GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”

“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.

“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.

GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.

You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-

“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”

“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.

Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.

The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.

“I want to marry her. Tonight.”

You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.

***

When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.

“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”

You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”

He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”

“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”

“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”

“Max-”

“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”

You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”

***

The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.

It’s surreal, to say the least.

“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.

“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”

You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”

Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”

You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”

Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”

Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.

When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.

“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.

The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”

Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”

Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.

His grin widens. “Even better.”

Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.

“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You realize no one ever told him your name.

“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”

“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.

“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”

You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.

“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.

“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.

Elvis continues, undeterred.

When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.

“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”

You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.

“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”

You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.

“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”

His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.

“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”

Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.

When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.

“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.

Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.

When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“We did it.”

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.

***

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.

Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.

You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”

His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”

His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”

You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”

Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”

“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”

His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”

You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”

Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.

“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”

Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”

You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”

The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.

You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”

His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

And that’s all that matters.

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[evie-sturns]

Baby - Chris Sturniolo

summary: where chris gets into a fight with his brothers, all he wants is to be close to you.

contains: clingy!chris, fluff.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

chris bursts through the door, blinking his eyes a couple time before quite literally diving into bed.

the past half an hour the only thing i've heard is chris arguing with his brothers, i tuned it out after 15 minutes but matt sounded extremely angry with nick and chris.

chris lays face down on the pillows, his pale hands balled up into fists at his sides.

"baby, whats going on?" i ask quietly, reaching my hand out and dragging my nails up his warm back.

he shakes his head with a croaky groan, "matt's such a mother fucking-" chris starts, his voice instantly raising in volume.

i cut him off "no- no no chris" i laugh,

"talk about him nicely, please." i giggle, chris sits up in bed, strands of his hair flopping messily against his forehead.

"hes so mean!" chris whines, rubbing his eyes.

he shuffles over to me on the bed, before collapsing down on me. he buries his head into my chest as half his body is draped over mine

"what happened?" i ask with a small smiles, running my nails up and down his bare back.

"apparently i ate his- ate his dinner- but he never told me it was his and he just put it in the fridge!" he rambles,

"was his name on it?" i ask softly, chris pauses for a second before nodding,

"yes- yes but it didn't register in my brain that it was his! i was just distracted."

i scoff slightly, he lifts his head from my chest to look at me,

“no- ma, you’re not listening!” he whines,

my fingers lace their way into his silky brunette locks,

“i’m listening baby, i’m just trying to understand yeah?” i smile, he lets out a small hum before letting his head fall back down.

“i’m so angry at him, he made me upset.” chris says with a cute pout.

“should we go punch him?” i laugh jokingly,

“no-! you’re not understanding!” chris whines,

“i’m just teasing you,” i giggle,

chris snuggles his warm body closer to mine, “you two fight all the time, i’m sure it’s no different this time sweetheart.” i say to chris, scratching his head.

"it is different! hes so mean!" chris repeats himself,

"c'mon, how about we run you a shower." i suggest softly, chris shakes his head.

"i don't want you to keep getting yourself worked up," i smile, chris finally caves in,

"mmmmm..." he hums, i sit up but he rolls on top of me, pinning me down.

"you are such a big baby" i laugh, trying to roll him off me.

"am not!" he cracks a smile finally,

"you soo are." i poke at his ribs, making him squirm.

"i am not!" he protests, grabbing my wrists.

"okay- if you're not a baby then let me get up and turn on the shower for you."

he hesitates for a second, a silence filling the room before he rolls off of me.

i stand up, "see!" he shrugs with a grin.

"mmmhm" i hum, i walk into the bathroom, chris wraps his arms around my back, his chin resting on the crook of my neck.

"why are you so touchy today?" i ask, the corners of my mouth tugging up into a smile.

"i am no-" he starts but cuts himself off.

i turn on the shower, the warm steam filling the room instantly.

i turn around and chris has already stripped, he jumps into the shower and sits down.

"sitting in the shower is crrrazzzy"

i sit down outside the shower, playing with his hair, letting the water dampen it.

he reaches for the soap and instantly starts pumping out multiple pumps,

"christopher- thats my expensive soap-!" i start, but hes already playing with it in his hands.

i reach for the shampoo, pumping it into his hair.

he forms an 'o' with his hands before blowing a bubble with the soap, it floats into the shower stream before popping

"did you see that!" he gasps, his jaw dropped.

he goes for more soap, but i instantly stop him

"nuh uh- nopeee!"

"whhatt! your soap makes awesome bubbles- please?"

--------

a/n: this is based of 2021 chris cause hes all i think abt when i read fics, + i wanted to write abt him as immature aasss fuck

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[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[sexlapis]

so how about toji and y/n go to a game together and end up on kiss cam oooooo 🎀🎀🎀

꩜ cw : short fic, fluff, kisses, basically a relationship announcement to the whole world

toji has once again dragged you out to one of these basketball games he loves so much. you for one, do not care about basketball one bit, you think it’s boring and find yourself trying not to fall asleep when toji watches it on television.

so there you are, sitting in the crowd next toji, looking at your nails while toji drinks a cup of beer in typical sport fan fashion. it was halftime, so the crowd’s cheers and volume had died down a bit. until now.

you hear cheering and you look up, mildly uninterested but still curious as to what’s happening. you look around. and then you look at the big plasma screen.

on display is you and toji, in two love hearts, with the title “KISSCAM”.

your eyes widen. how did they even know you’d both be here? you tried so hard to keep a low profile.

when the audience seems to recognise who you both are, the screams and shouts only grew louder, pressuring you both to kiss.

you sigh and turn to toji, who’s already looking at you. he tilts his head. you looked so nervous despite being a famous actress and you clearly don’t want to do any major PDA right now, so he just leans down and pecks your cheek. you bite your lip, looking down shyly at your hands.

the crows woos a little, disappointed in the lack of making out but they move on.

you sit back, relieved that the attention is no longer on you both.

you celebrated too soon.

five minutes later, the kisscam is back on the two of you, urging you both to kiss with your lips.

“oh brother..” toji huffs, scratching the back of his head and turns to you. “y’know we can always leave.”

“nah, it’s fine.” clearing your throat, patience wearing thin. “it’s just a little kiss. not a big deal.”

you sit up and kiss his cheek and toji looks a little shocked, but tries to shrug it off by smugly nodding and smirking. you roll your eyes and smack his shoulder. the crowd cheers and the camera goes onto another couples to terrorise, but everyone still wants you both to kiss.

then, near the end of the half time, the kisscam is on you and toji again. but now your patience is all dried up, these people are annoying you, the crowd is too loud and this game is boring.

toji starts shaking his head at the camera. “yeah, i don’t think-”

“c’mere.” you demand firmly, grabbing toji by the back of his head and pressing you lips onto his. toji almost jolts but then just accepts your unexpected advance.

the crowd screaming and cheering louder this time, finally satisfied with the blatant display of affection.

you pull away, out of breath and annoyed.

“you happy now?!” you ask, shouting to the camera. “gosh.”

toji sits with beer in hand, flabbergasted, face pink and hair askew. he smiles, nodding happily and looking around raising his eyebrows, making sure everybody saw what just transpired and sits back in his seat, waiting for the game to start again.

a/n: 🥸

[coffee-and-geto]

“WILL MY EXQUISITE MORTAL LET ME BE HER FIRST BITE?”

“I can’t give you an Edward Cullen but I can be the vampire of your fantasies. So will you accept me, my love?”

pairing: vampire! suguru geto x f!reader | kinkoctober m.list

summary: it is at tokyo university, during a foggy month of october, with a soft, chilling rain falling drearily, that autumn gloomily settles over all the students. you are a biology student — a true passion for you. but aside from the precious time you spend with your eye glued to a microscope, observing cells, your nightly dreams of a noble vampire whisking you away from this life to spiral with you in a bewitching dance — much like edward cullen would — seem to be coming true. especially when your new lab partner, suguru geto, appears to be anything but one of the common folk…

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, AU no curses, suguru and reader are students in biology, some scenes are inspired from the volume 1 of the twilight saga, dark academia vibes (kinda), fall mood, slight angst, gojo and choso makes an appearance, gojo is also a vampire, friends to lovers, suguru is a gentleman, human/vampire relationship, nightmare, mention of alcohol (it’s beer), blood sucking, handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cowgirl, overstimulation, sex (p in v), oral (f + m), blood kink (well, i think so...), voice kink.

wc: 10,759 (i’ve missed writing long fics haha)

A mortal life can be so dull, can’t it?

While vampires, they get to live eternally, without worrying about time or dying. Not only are they blessed with breathtaking beauty, but they’re also quick, with vision sharper than an eagle’s, and they remember forever what they read.

That would come in handy for many, wouldn’t it, dear reader?

Or maybe, having a vampire boyfriend, like in books and series? Is it always asking for too much…

“You’re reading Twilight?”

The question, almost whispered near your temple, makes you jump on the bench in the lecture hall where you’re sitting, and you nearly drop Volume 1 of your favorite vampire saga. His breath is icy, enough to send a chill of goosebumps over the entirety of your skin. At least, October’s biting wind has a rival…

You quickly look up at a student around your age, who sits in the seat next to you, a smirk stretching across his perfectly thin lips. The beauty of this stranger becomes blinding.

Is such supernatural beauty even allowed?

With long strands of black hair brushing his shoulders, alabaster skin, deep obsidian eyes, and a physique perfectly balanced between lean and muscular, your mouth falls open in indiscreet amazement. And he has probably noticed, as the corner of his mouth stretches even further.

He knows he’s beautiful. Is he using it to his advantage? You half hope he is.

“Yes,” you answer simply, your eyes still fixed on him as he pulls out his things. “You recognized it?”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “A classic of vampire literature, isn’t it? How could I not?”

His remark warms your heart in a strange way. “Oh, I don’t know. I rarely meet guys who’ve read the same books as me.” Your gaze drifts over the lower rows of the lecture hall. “I expected you to bring up the movies.”

“I did watch the movies, but I read the books first. You know what they say about that.” His velvety tone draws your attention, and surprisingly, his gaze remains fixed on you.

There’s this light that animates his irises — like a smile.

“Is that why you took biology classes?” he continues, breaking your silence. You furrow your brows. “I mean, it’s the place where Bella and Edward first meet, right?” He chuckles at your still-confused expression. “In a biology class,” he clarifies.

And he laughs when the lightbulb in your mind finally goes on.

His laugh is so soft, almost musical and enchanting. A lullaby that pleasantly tickles your ears, drawing you in.

“So, you like vampire stories? Perfect for October,” he adds.

You study the flawless features of his face and almost forget to answer him. “Uh, yes. It’s one of the first romances I read when I was young. I reread it every year, like a tradition.”

“Oh, then I’m dealing with a real fan! Maybe you’re waiting for your vampire?” His teasing tone stings, making your cheeks blush adorably.

“What? No, I never said that!” you protest.

Once again, he bursts out laughing, this time so openly that you can see all his perfectly aligned white teeth — one detail you can’t ignore.

His canines are slightly sharper than average. They have their charm, certainly, but that doesn’t stop the strange feeling that there’s nothing ordinary about him.

No, you’re not delusional enough to think he could actually be a vampire (that only happens in books, come on!), but still, why not imagine it? His beauty, however, remains anything but normal.

In the end, as you join in his contagious laughter, you can’t help but think that maybe this new October will be a little more special than the previous ones and a little less lonely.

~~~~

By the end of the day, you at least managed to get a name — Suguru Geto.

Does a man who monopolizes your attention also have to be blessed with such a lovely name?

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

The familiar tone tickles your ears the next day, but you don’t look up right away, preferring to wait for him to set down his things and prepare himself, just as you are, for the practical biology class (the one that usually takes place in the lab).

You lift your nose from yesterday’s book and glance at the window, where a thin stream of sunlight slips through the glass to warm the surface of the floor. “It’s rare for October,” you comment nonchalantly.

“Don’t sound too excited,” he replies sarcastically, quickly slipping on his white lab coat. His long strands of black hair brush against the pristine white fabric with elegance. “You don’t like the sun?” A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as it twitches slightly.

“And you like it?” you retort, knotting your brows as your eyes rise to meet his.

“I hate it.”

You blink. “Didn’t you say it was a nice day?”

“I asked you if it was.” He chuckles softly. “If you’d breathe in something other than moldy paper…” He gestures at the yellowed pages of your book.

“Show some respect for my book.” You close it sharply and give Suguru’s shoulder a playful shove that barely registers, as if his muscles were made of stone.

“Good morning, class.” The voice of your professor cuts through just as you’re about to make a comment about it, and you quickly store your book in your bag.

For this biology class, a rather simple and classic experiment needs to be carried out in pairs using a microscope — a blood type test (ABO/Rh). Something fairly standard and easy to do. It reminds you of a scene from the first volume of the Twilight saga, and to say that you’re holding back from a mini-celebration would be an understatement, as everything seems perfect.

During the procedural steps of the experiment, you notice Suguru watching you, sitting on his wooden stool as you bring the needle close to the tip of your finger. “Aren’t you going to prick yourself?” you can’t help but ask.

Suguru shakes his head, swallowing. “I have a hard time with… blood.” He inhales and exhales lightly, as though something constricts him in his attempts.

“Oh, really?” You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Are you hemophobic?”

“Let’s… go with that,” he replies, his tone almost so dry and flat that you wonder where his cheerfulness from earlier has gone.

“So, you’re not really phobic?” you press, which elicits a small sigh from him that you notice despite its subtlety.

“It’s complicated to explain,” he says, his gaze lowering to the lab table legs. “I’ll just do the experiment with you.”

“But it’s graded,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t you rather we—”

“I know. The professor is aware, don’t worry,” he assures you through clenched teeth, scooting his chair back slightly from you and clearing his throat to stifle the metallic sound of the chair legs scraping the floor.

Of course, this doesn’t escape your notice. You even have half a mind to ask if he’s okay, but he cuts you off right before you can, making you almost want to shake him. “I’ll help you analyze your blood type; just let me know when to add the anti-A drops and—”

But before he finishes, you’ve already pricked your finger, and a large drop of blood is forming. The reddish liquid rolls down your fingertip like a tear, and you quickly place drops on the microscope slides.

Suguru stands up abruptly, and for a second, you think he’s going to rush over to draw some drops for the test, but he grabs his things instead and bolts out of the lab without a word.

In the room, no one — neither students nor the professor — seems to pay any attention to him.

You’re the only one left frozen, with drops of blood still trickling down your hand.

Wait, what just happened?

~~~~

During the rest of the week that follows, Suguru doesn’t show up to any classes. Not even the biology ones.

Confusion continues to hang around you, almost preventing you from enjoying a good night's sleep. He who seemed so charming and welcoming at first now seems to have pulled away all of a sudden.

Did you upset him by biting him without warning? He probably didn’t like that, but wasn’t it him who was behaving so strangely? It’s almost like he has bipolar behavior.

Sitting at the base of a solitary tree in your university courtyard, you’ve settled in to enjoy the grayish weather and the beauty of the autumn leaves swirling down onto the green grass by the pathways.

What perfect weather to study.

Fine raindrops fall here and there, but nothing to damage your belongings, or perhaps just enough to help you forget your sad heart. Of course, you barely know Suguru. He’s a student as ordinary as a gemstone in a river of pebbles. As normal as the beauty of a model and that of the one who foolishly stole your heart in less than 2000 words (you’re about there, dear reader). You’re just a fool. He doesn’t represent much aside from being beautiful.

And potentially liking what you read.

And maybe you’re also disappointed at the thought of having believed in a friend (a rare one, because yes, you certainly don’t have any).

And the possibility of spending the best season in the company of someone who might appreciate the same autumnal atmosphere as you.

The cold wind blows, sweeping your hair from your face over your shoulder, doing the same with a few pages of the textbook lying on the grass. You hold your copy of the Twilight saga close, the only thing that still connects you to Suguru, who has been missing for almost a week.

Too bad…

~~~~

The following week, to your surprise, as you take your usual seat in the biology lecture hall in the early morning, Suguru Geto quickly descends the steps and sits on the opposite side of the room.

The moment he walked through the doors, your eyes locked onto him and didn’t waver, but of course, he didn’t glance at you even once. So maybe you can give him the benefit of the doubt — maybe he didn’t see you.

But that doesn’t seem to be enough.

Not when, at the end of the lecture, he walks right past you to leave the room, making it all too obvious that he’s purposely ignoring you. He practically escapes from the lecture hall, walking so quickly that he leaves the crowd of students behind him.

He must be mad at you.

Well, so be it.

That’s what you tell yourself.

What you keep telling yourself.

And you keep repeating it, even as he sits with other students, one girl in particular giggling with him during class. A pang tugs at your heart. The same smile, the same eyes, but now directed at another girl. And even other guys. But it’s even more unbearable when it’s another girl.

Too bad...

So you wait through the following days, secretly hoping he’ll come over to you, but nothing. Then one Friday, just as all hope seems to have evaporated, your biology professor makes an announcement that makes you sincerely want to marry her.

“My dear students, it’s finally time for me to evaluate you on what counts most for me before midterms, and that’s your ability to work on a project, which you’ll hand in after some time,” she announces, her tone lightly enthusiastic, as if giving extra work could raise her salary. “I’ve already paired you up, with each group working on a different topic. The pairs and topics are already posted on the list I’ve sent to your emails via the course Canvas page.”

Within seconds, everyone in the lecture hall has their eyes glued to their phones, checking who their partner is. Cheers echo around you, with some students celebrating their familiar partners, while others are less pleased.

In your case, it’s your jaw that does the work, practically hitting the floor.

Your name right there, alongside his — Suguru Geto.

He’s the first person you look for, and you can’t deny a slight thrill of satisfaction.

Lower down in the hall, Suguru sits frozen, holding his phone, his shoulders tensed, likely processing the news about his partner. He shifts slightly after a few moments, and you can predict his movements with surprising clarity. The instant he begins to turn in what seems like your direction, you quickly avert your gaze, avoiding any — direct or indirect — confrontation with him.

The bell finally rings, and the students start packing up, barely listening to your biology professor’s reminders about the project’s due date.

You don’t linger either, hastily grabbing your bag, stuffing in your laptop and other things, eager to escape the room and avoid crossing paths with Suguru.

Just as you reach the middle of the courtyard, where rain pours down in relentless sheets, your name is called out despite the strong wind biting at your cheeks and bending nearby trees. The rain falls harder by the second, driving most students to seek refuge indoors, away from the dark gray sky and the downpour increasing in force and volume.

Despite the fierce wind and unending rain, your name is called out a second time as panic seizes you. A conflict arises within you. It’s Suguru’s voice ringing out miraculously above the “storm,” yet you still need to find shelter.

You keep walking, determined not to turn back. Your clothes are soaked, your skin chilled to the bone, and your hair plastered to your face. But no, you won’t turn back.

This time, your name is called so loudly and from so close that you startle, your previously squinting eyes now wide open. “Are you crazy? It’s pouring like a storm!” Suguru exclaims, wrapping his hand around your wrist to pull you toward the empty gazebo to shelter you both. You protest, pulling your wrist back in vain, but you have to admit it: Suguru’s grip is as solid as stone.

Both of you, soaked to the bone, stand under the gazebo as Suguru wrings out his jet-black hair, then immediately turns to face your shivering form. "Are you okay?" he murmurs softly, just as thunder rumbles in the distance. But it’s easy to read his lips.

You nod, averting your gaze. “What do you want?”

Suguru furrows his brows. “Originally, to talk about the project. But at this point, to keep you from throwing yourself at the storm!”

His words are so sarcastic that the two of you end up staring stupidly into each other’s wide, rain-dampened eyes, as droplets patter against the gazebo roof.

Then you both burst out laughing.

It doesn’t take long before you’re doubled over, tears welling up as laughter fills the air. The deep breaths and cold, ragged gasps that freeze your lungs mean nothing compared to this absurdly amusing moment.

When the laughter finally subsides and you’ve caught your breath, Suguru clears his throat. “Anyway, can I ask why you decided to challenge this storm when I was calling out to you?”

“Ask yourself,” you retort, the laughter vanishing from your face. “Weren’t you the one who left me mid-experiment and has been ignoring me ever since?” You pause, trying to keep your growing feelings hidden, as warmth rises to your cheeks. To cover it, you add, “And besides, I don’t owe you anything. You told me you’d arranged things with the professor.”

Suguru blinks twice in quick succession. “Did… that hurt you?”

You frown. “What? No, we barely know each other. That’s not what—”

He murmurs your name as a gentle warning, sending a shiver down your spine, then takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. “Answer me. Did it hurt you?”

You purse your lips, feeling embarrassed, but remain in stubborn silence.

Suguru sighs, then lowers his head toward you until his forehead rests gently on your shoulder. “Forgive me.”

“...What?”

“Forgive me,” he repeats. “I understand my mistake. I knew that leaving without an explanation would hurt you. But I didn’t think it would be even worse if I didn’t come to talk to you afterward. I thought… maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you’re left speechless at his words. “You have every right to be upset with me. It’s not fair.”

Suddenly, a clap of thunder booms, and you flinch in fright. Suguru instinctively places his hands around your elbows.

“Are you okay?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “Yes, I’m fine.” Suguru looks puzzled, his brow furrowing in response. “I mean,” you turn your face away, your cheeks aflame, “let’s just forget it happened. I’m not mad at you. Maybe I should have warned you I was about to prick my finger and—”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Suguru cuts you off softly, a worried crease forming between his brows. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t in the right mindset, and I panicked when I saw the blood. You have nothing to apologize for, please.” He uses the quiet moment to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen near your eyes behind your ear. “So… do you forgive me?”

Your eyes meet his again, and the warmth in them nearly overwhelms you. “...Yes.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” he whispers, grateful. Another silence lingers as he slowly releases his hold on your elbows. “So… are you up for the project?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve any more real blood,” you reply with a shy, half-smile.

“Promise, no more blood,” Suguru assures you, chuckling softly.

~~~~

“It’s actually pretty convenient.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not for our hands,” Suguru grumbles, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his fingers now stained red from the strawberry juice that’s seeped out.

“I actually like it,” you mumble, chewing on a strawberry used for your DNA extraction analysis — the topic of your shared project.

All of it comes from a strawberry, considering Suguru wasn’t keen on using mouth swabs, which was understandable.

“You’ve got juice all around your mouth,” he chuckles, amused by your bewildered and almost endearing expression. “Need some help?” He reaches out and gently wipes a red stain from the corner of your lips with his thumb.

You murmur a quick thank you, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly as he wipes his thumb with a tissue, then casually tucks it away in his pocket. With a quick glance at the clock on your living room wall, he comments, “You haven’t eaten dinner.”

“You mean we haven’t,” you correct him.

“No, I mean you haven’t,” he insists with that familiar little smirk. “And I’m suggesting we go out to eat.” He gets up from his chair in a fluid motion, heading toward the exit without waiting for a reply.

As he had intended, you soon find yourself seated at a cozy, discreet restaurant with soft, dim lighting. Suguru sits across from you, arms crossed over his chest, his torso leaning forward slightly.

“So? Did you decide?” he murmurs softly, a stray lock of his raven-black hair brushing his cheek, its tip just grazing his lips.

“Yes, I’ll go with this,” you show him, just as the server arrives to take your order with a polite smile. “What about you?”

“You didn’t choose a drink.”

“Oh, um, a Coke,” you reply, a bit caught off guard.

“Make that two Cokes, please,” he tells the server, who nods and leaves quietly. Suguru turns back to you. “I already paid the bill,” he adds as you open your mouth to speak.

“But you didn’t even know the price of what I’d order,” you protest, frowning.

“I left a tip just in case.” He grins.

Moments later, despite your ongoing complaints about his overly chivalrous gesture, the server places a steaming hot dish in front of you.

“Suguru…” you sigh.

“Eat,” he responds with his ever-present smirk, nudging the plate closer.

Seeing no other choice, you stab a piece of vegetable with your fork, chewing it with an exasperated pout.

Suguru’s grin widens until it reveals perfectly straight, white teeth, with canines just a bit sharper than average. If you let your imagination go, who wouldn’t think of a vampire? But you keep that thought to yourself and blink at Suguru, whose grin soon turns to laughter.

“What?” you ask, mouth still full.

“You look like an angry little chipmunk,” he laughs, covering his face with his hands to muffle his uncontrollable laughter as you swallow. His laugh is so warm, harmonious, and comforting that you can’t help but giggle along, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

“Stop,” you try to grumble, but the attempt only sharpens Suguru’s laugh, and soon both of you are swept up in uncontrollable laughter.

An hour later, you’ve finished your meal and your Coke — and even Suguru’s, who insisted he wasn’t hungry. It seemed odd, but his sincere smile reassured you. So you didn’t question it and asked him to wait outside while you made a quick stop in the restroom.

As you step out of the ladies’ room, two unfamiliar men block your way, stopping you from making a quick exit. You sigh discreetly, hesitant to say you’re in a hurry.

“Well, hey there, cutie,” growls one, a short, stocky guy.

“We saw you heading to the restroom all alone, thought you looked pretty cute,” adds his taller, leaner friend. “So if you’re interested, wanna spend the evening with us?”

Is this really Wario and Waluigi standing in front of you?

You swallow nervously. “Oh, sorry, I’m waiting for someone, so that won’t be possible,” you say politely, forcing a smile.

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“My…” You search for the right words, even though the answer is obvious. “Friend.”

“Your friend?” the shorter man presses. “Maybe we could help you find him, huh? We’ve even got a nice car to take you in.” His smile reveals teeth stained dark by tobacco, sending a shiver of dread down your spine.

“I can find my own way, but thanks for the offer,” you say, taking a few steps to slip between the two men. “Have a good even—”

“Hold on there, not so fast!” the lean man cuts you off, any hint of friendliness gone in an instant. “Who said you could leave?”

The shorter man clicks his tongue in agreement, narrowing his eyes dangerously as your heartbeat races faster with panic. “Yeah! We need some company tonight, so you’re either coming with us, or else—”

“Or else what?”

Suguru’s hands rest firmly on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Suguru, you—” Just turning halfway and looking up, you recognize his unforgettable form, and your heart nearly stops.

“You okay, princess?” Suguru murmurs, his neck bent so close to your shoulder that he could practically nibble your neck or playfully bite your ear. One small nod from you is all he needs before he carefully releases you and positions his body as a shield between you and the two men.

Even from behind him, you can feel his chilling smile.

“Gentlemen, shall we continue this conversation outside?”

“Phew!” Suguru exhales, brushing off his hands as you both leave the restaurant ten minutes later.

“W-What happened to those two guys?” you can’t help but ask, trying not to shiver in the biting cold that hits you the second you step outside.

“Nothing special,” he answers vaguely, smoothly slipping off his sleek black leather jacket and draping it over your shoulders. It’s cold to the touch. “Put it on—I don’t want you catching a chill.” His minty breath brushes against your cheek.

“No need, really. It’s already very kind of you to—”

“Don’t thank me, alright?” Suguru opens the passenger side door of your car, gesturing for you to get in. And before you can protest, he hushes you. “Nope, I’m driving tonight.”

“Aren’t you overdoing the chivalry thing?” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you settle into the passenger seat while Suguru rests his hands on the wheel.

“Better too much than too little, right? You complaining, or am I imagining things?” he chuckles, and you sigh, rubbing your arms against the cold that his jacket doesn’t quite keep out. “You’re cold?”

You nod slightly, and he reaches for the heat controls at the same time you do, and for an instant, your hands brush against each other.

And a strange, unpleasant feeling washes over you.

Suguru pulls his hand back, looking tense and stiff, his gaze fixed intently on the road. You turn the heat up by yourself and sink into your seat.

“Your… hand’s freezing,” you murmur, daring only to glance at him with your eyes, not turning your head fully. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your jacket back?” He doesn’t answer.

The rest of the drive passes in silence, and you can’t shake the question of how a simple brush of hands turned the atmosphere so awkward. It feels as if the air has thickened, like molasses, making each breath slightly difficult.

Once you arrive in front of your house, you both step out of the car, and Suguru hands you your keys as you do.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he murmurs, matching his pace to yours.

You don’t respond, pulling your house keys out, but you don’t pay attention to the porch steps and stumble. In the next second, you blink.

You didn’t fall.

Two strong arms, heavy and solid as iron, hold you firmly in place.

“You alright?” Suguru’s eyes are fixed on yours, his face far too close, so close that all it would take is for you to lean forward to kiss him.

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” you stammer, taken by surprise.

He steadies you back on your feet, his hand lingering around your waist to make sure you don’t stumble again.

Made of stone.

Suguru steps back, creating a respectable distance, while you fumble with your keys, your hands trembling slightly as you slip one into the lock.

“See you Monday?” you whisper, as though the night amplifies your voice.

“Monday, yes,” Suguru replies with a nod that seems almost… robotic.

~~~~

Two weeks later, neither of you had brought up any details about what happened — whether it was about the two men at the restaurant, Suguru’s icy hands, or his iron-like grip (and at this point, calling it iron was putting it mildly).

Now that you’re friends, it didn’t take long before you both started spending most of your free time together during the week — at the library, in the university courtyard, and sometimes even at cafés.

Your weekends often revolved around working on the DNA extraction project with strawberries, even though using cheek cells seemed more and more tempting. Why? Well, it fit perfectly into the human biology lessons in your course — even if the strawberries did the trick.

Naturally, you started learning more about each other — hobbies, music tastes — and, of course, books.

If there was anything that held you back from finding Suguru’s behavior odd at times, it was that day he sat beside you after a Sunday you’d spent chatting the whole afternoon away about your favorite books without making any progress on your biology project.

From Anne of Green Gables to Twilight, Dracula, Wuthering Heights, or Kafka’s works (Letters to Milena in particular), Suguru had brought every single copy he’d bought that Sunday evening and read them all overnight — something you’d thought impossible to read in such a short time, but Suguru assured you he reads very quickly.

So you believed him.

How could you not, when he found the best way to make your heart race by reading what you loved and showing up ready to discuss it all with you?

If that was his intent, then Suguru was indeed every bit the gentleman he thought himself to be.

“By the way, there’s a frat party happening soon. Are you going to come?” Suguru asks, his head bent over a DNA Ethics Guide textbook.

You’re both in the university library, as silent as a vampire’s heart. Ah, now you’re a poet?

You stop rummaging through your pencil case and glance up at him. “I don’t really know anyone, so—”

“Well, I do, so are you coming?”

You laugh nervously. “No, I don’t want to just crash the party; it’ll be awkward and—”

“I’ll be there, so it won’t be crashing,” Suguru insists, a slight smile playing on his lips as he looks up at you.

The sight takes your breath away.

“Will you let me finish my sentences, for goodness’ sake?” you retort, your cheeks flushing. You lower your eyes to your pencil case to avoid responding.

But his hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours to stop your movements. Your heart, already racing, skips a beat. “Come on, please? It’s not like I’m asking for a lot of favors.”

This time, it’s your whole body temperature that spikes — so much so that your hand, tangled with Suguru’s, becomes a little sweaty, and you gently pull it back toward you.

“I… I’ll think about it, okay?” you mumble, quickly rummaging to find your white-out for no reason and then using it on… absolutely nothing, really.

Because now you’ve forgotten what you were even looking for in your pencil case.

~~~~

“What about seven minutes in heaven?” Satoru Gojo proposes, a student with albino hair and cerulean blue eyes half-hidden behind useless round sunglasses, sporting a mischievous smirk.

“You suggest this every time!” Choso Kamo protests, the emo boy dressed in punk-style clothing, with messy black pigtails. He scrunches his nose in disapproval.

“But it’s the best,” Satoru counters.

The music blasts in every corner of the house where the frat party is taking place. Pink, blue, and fuchsia neon lights color the atmosphere, transforming every hue.

In one corner of the house, a circle has formed with Suguru’s friends. You all sit cross-legged, a few drinks nearby for refreshment, and you can’t help but think it’s one of the best ideas proposed since the beginning.

You’ve stuck close to Suguru since your arrival, which he couldn’t help but tease you about, provoking a blush that no one could see thanks to the neon lights. Plus, he kindly introduced you to his friends, all lovely and inclusive, never leaving you out. But if there was one goat — an animal very representative of him, by the way — among this flock of sheep, it was Satoru.

Outgoing by nature and quick to embrace any event that sparks even the slightest interest, he was the first to take you under his wing — all while Suguru watched cautiously — and show you everything you’d never dared to do at a party.

“What do you think of it, sweetheart?” Satoru whispers as the others debate the topic on their side (some for, others against).

You jump slightly, still not used to him addressing you with such open flirtation. “Um…” You clear your throat, squirming a little in your position. “I’ve heard of it, but what is it exactly?”

“You don’t know? Awww.” He leans in closer so that his lips reach your ear. “The goal of this game is to be locked in a room for seven minutes — a bedroom, a closet, whatever — and you can do whatever you want with the person who’s in there with you.” His breath is as cool as Suguru’s, and when Satoru pulls back, his face remains close to yours. His pale complexion reflects like an entity never seen before. “Clearer now, sweetheart?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “And when you say they can do whatever they want… what does that include? Generally speaking, I mean,” you inquire, sensing a weighty gaze upon you but not knowing where it’s coming from.

Satoru closes the distance between you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Well, let’s just say most people kiss, sometimes make out,” Satoru confesses with a sly smile. His scent is as intoxicating as Suguru’s — just like his stone-like embrace. Satoru’s skin — especially his exposed forearms — feels like it’s at the same temperature as the ocean, yet it’s as if a warmth radiates from him regardless. “But…” he brings his lips close to your temple, making you shiver as your eyes scan around, briefly locking with Suguru’s intense gaze on you, “some people find time to go further, if you catch my drift.”

You choke on your own saliva at that moment, and Satoru bursts out laughing.

A few minutes later, a duo emerges from a broom closet, giggling like tipsy people, returning to the circle amid cheers from the others.

Satoru replaces the empty glass beer bottle to spin it in the center, pointing at his next victim — if you could say it like that, since you don’t seem very excited about the game.

And despite that, the wicked bottle stops, pointing its neck at you.

Goddamn it.

A knowing smile spreads across Satoru’s face — he glances mischievously in your direction before spinning the bottle again and quickly sitting back down.

With every turn, the speed used to spin it feels like this simple bottle holds a sentence. Your fate for the next seven minutes.

When it finally slows down and stops, to your greatest…

Relief?

… it points at Suguru.

Satoru pouts a little in disappointment and stands up along with both of you to escort you to the closet, amid cheers of encouragement from the group.

Suguru catches up with a few quick strides, just to whisper to you, “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, okay? Just let me know because—”

Satoru cuts him off by shoving you tightly into the narrow broom closet and locking you inside. “And… the countdown begins!” he announces from the other side, his indistinct footsteps fading away.

The air is almost suffocating, the darkness plunging you into an atmosphere anything but reassuring, and especially the impossible closeness between you and Suguru becomes just unbearable.

Your breaths mingle, and when you try to shift positions, your chest brushes against Suguru’s, causing him to clench his jaw. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s… Let’s just say I’m not quite sure what to do here,” you admit, lifting your eyes to him, and God, he could devour you at that moment, the faint light at your feet bringing a tiny spark to your lost doe-like eyes.

“The others will get annoying if we don’t do anything,” Suguru huffs, rolling his eyes before shaking his head. “I guess Satoru explained it to you? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, okay?” he insists, his tone soft and patient. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales slightly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m a little embarrassed,” you murmur. Then, those previous words start to tease you. “Would it bother you to do something?” you ask nonetheless.

“No, not really,” Suguru chuckles, his perfect teeth glimmering slightly in the darkness. “But we can pretend if you prefer.”

“Pretend?”

“Yeah, just…” Suddenly, he gently takes your wrists and presses them against the wooden wall of the closet, leaning toward your neck, “...pretend.”

You bite your lip to suppress any sound, but you desperately want to make one right now.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear, near your pulse.

Your breathing has quickened, matching the beats of your heart, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “No.”

His lips descend to your neck, brushing against your skin, his breath caressing you to the point that you’re on the verge of breaking.

“S-Suguru…”

“Hmm?” He hums, slightly opening his mouth to let his teeth graze just above your trapezius. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to speak, as if two hands were preventing you by squeezing you in the sweetest way.

That’s when he starts placing butterfly kisses on your neck and shoulders, as light as they are burning despite the icy temperature of his lips against your volcanic skin. “You have such soft, tender skin, princess,” Suguru murmurs in a breathy whisper, continuing his feather-light kisses that unintentionally make you emit a small hum revealing your inner turmoil. He chuckles softly, the sound so pleasant that it sends a pulse through your core. “If I were a vampire, I would have devoured you by now,” he teases ironically.

You freeze. “Suguru?” you whisper, your brows slightly furrowed.

“Princess?” he replies in the same tone, his lips moving down to your collarbone, dotting it with sweet, intoxicating kisses.

Unable to resist the temptation, Suguru discreetly slips out his tongue and licks a strip of your bare skin, which begins to unravel you — your mouth unable to hold back an adorable moan that drives Suguru wild.

His canines painfully extend from their gums, their tips so close to your soft, warm flesh, filled with blood he has never craved so much, but he knows he cannot. Yet it’s almost impossible for him to resist, not when your little rapid breaths tickle his shoulder, when you seem so small and vulnerable in his arms, and when your pulse races to the point that his ultra-developed hearing cannot ignore it as it usually does. So what is he to do? He inches closer and closer, his canines just millimeters away from sinking into your neck—

“Seven minutes are up!” Satoru announces as he inserts the key into the lock — just enough time for you both to pull away from each other and for Suguru’s painful canines to retreat back into his gums.

Your face has never been so warm in your life.

~~~~

That evening, after returning home without any issues, you collapsed onto your bed, alone, faced with the only thoughts occupying your mind — Suguru Geto.

Oh Lord.

If he hadn’t been real, this man would have been your fantasy day and night.

But after what happened in that infamous broom closet, you can no longer see Suguru the same way.

Not after he somehow showed you how he could desire you.

How he could protect you.

Your thoughts become tangled, and you can no longer distinguish what your brain imagines and what it remembers.

Between the two strange men in the restaurant who suddenly assaulted you and the feeling that everything spins like a black spiral, blinding you, or the man who faces you in the dark corridor of what seems to be a gothic mansion.

He extends his hand, and you step forward to take it. It’s pale, cold, and as hard as stone. It pulls you toward him, drawing you against him, his smooth white mask waiting to be removed.

So that’s what you do, your hands gently pulling at the mask to reveal what lies behind, but the face that emerges makes you want to scream.

Suguru’s head faces you, his canines protruding and stained with blood, along with the contours of his mouth.

You try to scream, to flee, to do anything, but your body seems no longer willing to respond to your brain, as if paralyzed — and Suguru only leans closer to sink his fangs into the soft, warm flesh of your neck before—

You wake up with a start, sitting halfway up in your bed, your body slick with cold sweat and your panicked eyes searching for Suguru as if it were a vital need.

It may sound crazy, but you need him.

You have to check.

~~~~

“Do you prefer scrambled, fried, or omelet eggs?”

In Suguru’s kitchen — decorated in a rather modern style with black and white furniture, but with a touch of vintage or gothic (anyway, you weren’t good at decorating, so whatever) — the smell of heating oil fills the air, eliciting a growl from your stomach.

“Scrambled, but well-cooked,” you reply as he hums and grabs three eggs to crack over the heated pan.

While his back is turned, you rise as casually as possible, trying not to look too suspicious as you pretend to peek at what he’s cooking. Suguru glances sideways at you but smiles slightly, tucking a rebellious strand of your hair behind your ear.

Since then, you haven’t talked about the frat party at all, as if nothing had happened, in fact. At least from Suguru’s side.

From your side, you can’t forget how he planted kisses on your neck, how he licked your collarbone until you moaned, and you realize that if he had continued without interruption, you would have surely agreed to go further, just as Satoru had mentioned.

You stop drifting into your thoughts and wrap your hand around the fridge handle, and Suguru turns his head towards you, knitting his brows.

“I want to drink water,” you say, opening the fridge to take a look, expecting to find jars or bottles of blood but…

…nothing.

Now that’s a bit disappointing.

There’s just nothing in Suguru’s fridge, aside from the door leading into its depths.

You turn to him, confused. “Why is your fridge empty?” you ask.

Suguru pauses for a moment before responding, his hands busy finishing your scrambled eggs. “I prefer to order food when I can.” His tone is neutral, neither cold nor dry, just lacking any openness to guess anything, which begins to irritate you.

“Not even water?”

“You ask so many questions,” Suguru sighs, a slight smile on his lips but with no malice.

“I’m just worried that my friend isn’t eating well or that he has an eating disorder,” you lie, your heart racing even more because how is it possible that, aside from the small box of eggs on the counter, he doesn’t even have water? “Do you drink tap water? It’s not very good for your health, you know—”

Suguru adds a pinch of salt to the well-cooked eggs in the pan using a small salt shaker and throws you another sideways glance, but without a smile this time. “Why are you panicking?” he suddenly asks, his voice rough and low.

“What? No, I’m not panicking, I—”

“Then why are your cheeks red? I can even hear your heartbeat racing,” he retorts, and you freeze slightly — because he’s speaking the truth, a truth that only you should be able to utter.

“It’s because of the heat in the kitchen and also because you’re avoiding my questions, Suguru,” you persist. “And what do you mean by ‘hearing’ my heartbeat, huh?”

Now it’s Suguru who looks taken aback. “Stop saying nonsense, you just sound silly. It’s an expression,” he justifies, the expression on his face twisted in a frustration you seem to understand.

He places your eggs on a plate and turns his head away from you. So you muster your courage, and to hell with it if you wet yourself.

“Suguru, I don’t know how to react now,” you admit, your voice low and uncertain. “You act so strangely sometimes that I have questions, but it seems so stupid that I feel like I’m going crazy…” A knot tightens in your throat.

Suguru turns to you, and his slightly harder gaze from a few seconds ago softens. “What are you thinking?” he murmurs, so softly and kindly that you feel he won’t judge you.

“I just… I sometimes feel like…” You look away, stepping back a little. “You don’t act like everyone else and…”

“And…?” Suguru presses, pulling a glass of water from the cupboard.

You feel your face turning as red as it did at the frat party and admit, raising your voice slightly due to uncontrollable embarrassment, “You look like a vampire, seriously!”

A silence follows.

Then Suguru turns to you. “Are you afraid of vampires?” He chuckles, teasing you.

“No, but you’re acting strangely and—”

“And so you think I’m a vampire?” he cuts you off, losing all trace of joy.

And now, he catches you off guard, making you stutter like never before. “No— well, yes, but— not really…”

“Well,” he mumbles, returning to your plate and glass to set them on the kitchen table, “who knows?”

Your complexion turns pale.

“Tell me, princess, if I were really a vampire — not a bad one, but a vampire nonetheless — would you accept me?” Suguru now approaches you quickly, cornering you against the wall behind you as you stupidly step back.

Only your frightened eyes meet his, and his obsidian gaze scrutinizes you. “It all depends on whether you want to kill me or harm me,” you breathe.

“And what if that weren’t my intention as a vampire, that I cherished you like Edward Cullen did with his Bella, hmm?” He takes your wrist to bring it to his lips and smells — but what scent? “That I love you and protect you?”

“You would drink blood… right?”

“Would you let me taste yours?” Suguru’s teeth hold your trembling wrist firmly as they hover just above your tendon, his gaze locked onto yours. “Just a sip, perhaps? It’s harmless.”

“I don’t know, Suguru… Are you a bad vampire?”

“No, darling, I would be the good vampire you would want me to be.” Suguru grins, releasing your wrist to cage you in his arms, his mouth too close to your neck, and his cool breath sending shivers all over your body. “May I?”

Your disoriented arms wrap around him, and you resign yourself to closing your eyes before nodding gently without knowing why.

“Are you sure, princess?” Suguru purrs in your ear. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” you murmur, the blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing.

Suguru deliberately takes his time, planting a multitude of butterfly kisses on your skin, licking the area he undoubtedly wants to bite just to hear you pant softly in his ears.

He finally parts his lips, brushing his painful, protruding canines, ready to drink your blood.

Slowly, gently, and with the utmost delicacy, his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck.

You expected to feel pain, to scream, shout, and even struggle, but the only sensation is pleasure.

With every passing second, you feel a flow of blood circulating where Suguru bites you. It almost tickles, if you weren’t softly gasping and stifling whimpers.

It’s as if with each pull, a pulse of pleasure shoots directly to your core.

Until it becomes unbearable, your body writhing gently in any attempt at friction. Suguru feels it, of course, because after pulling his teeth from your flesh, he slightly straightens to admire you, your lips parted but in a pleading pout.

As for him, his lips hold the gulp of blood he just took from you, but he keeps his mouth tightly closed — because he knows the sight might disgust you. Then, a few long moments later, Suguru smiles at you, his long canines pristine once again.

You glance at your neck reflexively, and it’s as if he bit you without slicing your flesh. Your skin is smooth, with only two purplish holes visible. It looks like the wounds are in the process of healing.

Wonder fills you, and you wrap your arms around Suguru, who quickly does the same before you surprise him by kissing him directly.

His lips — despite their hard coldness — are soft against yours, moving slowly against your eager mouth, as desirous as you are.

Between kisses, you whisper, “How long have you desired my blood?”

“Since the first experience,” Suguru replies softly, his mouth devouring yours as you try to insert your tongue. “Not too far, my love, they’re sharp.” And you guess he’s talking about his teeth.

You pout. “I want you.”

Suguru presses his lips together, breaking the kiss. “Sure? I thought you were scared but I think I can control myself, and… don’t you want to ask me questions? It would be strange if you didn’t have any, after all.”

“We can do that later; I just want you right now,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “I’m I’m not afraid anymore.”

Suguru’s large hands slowly slide down your back and stop at your waist, gently gripping you. “So, you’re accepting me?”

You slightly turn your head toward him, your lips brushing against his jaw. “I’ve always dreamed of vampires — but they were still just dreams.”

Suguru exhales. “I can’t give you an Edward Cullen, but I can be the vampire of your fantasies. So will you accept me, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

~~~~

“Ah— you’re teasing, Sugu—”

Muffled words reach your ears, but they are incomprehensible, as the vampire making you wet literally has his head buried between your legs, devouring your pussy like a starved man.

He lifts his head to look at you, and a smile lights up his features, his chin dripping with your wetness. “You can’t handle a little teasing, baby?” he coos, the tip of his tongue circling around your puffy clit in a torturous motion that makes you whine.

You pout, gasping when he pinches the little bud between his lips. “But I want you, now,” you insist.

“But I need to get you ready for me,” he responds, his hands placing themselves on your inner thighs to pin you against the mattress, laying you bare before him. He continues to wickedly tease you with the tip of his tongue against your clit and between your soaked folds.

“S’not fair,” you protest, your legs trembling softly on either side of his head like a little animal.

“Your beauty isn’t fair, that’s the point, yeah.” Suguru climbs over your body, one hand sneaking around your neck and the other sliding between your thighs to tease your dripping intimacy. He presses his mouth against your ear. “Do you know how badly I’ve struggled to not devour you?”

His whisper so close makes you gasp, as the sensation is far too pleasant and uncomfortable in the best way — breath as cold as it is warm, as he inserts a finger inside you.

“Hmm, baby?” You try to respond, but only a pathetic whimper escapes. He pushes his finger gently but surely deeper until he reaches your g-spot, and your back arches.

“Sugu,” you whine.

“You didn’t answer, princess,” he purrs, licking the shell of your ear. And he starts to pump his finger inside you, your walls clenching around his digit, warming his cold finger as he finger-fucks you in earnest. “Haven’t you seen how badly I was burning for you?”

“I— Not at the s-start,” you pant, bucking your hips toward his finger, and the more he whispers his dirty talk in your ear, the closer you feel yourself reaching your climax.

“Not at the start? And when we were in that broom closet? Weren’t you at my mercy like the little mortal that you are, almost whining because you have this dirty voice kink?” He adds another finger into your abused cunt, sinking his thick fingers to the hilt.

You squirm under him and try to respond. “M’sorry, Suguru, I just need you to—”

“To what, darling?” He pumps his fingers as teasingly as his voice, knuckle-deep and fast. “Tell me how badly you want to cum, can you do that for me?” Your sweet pussy squeezes his fingers, almost spasming because you need more, but he doesn’t allow you until you’re stretched enough to take him after that.

“I w-want to cum on— Hngh, please—” You throw your head back on the mattress, mouth agape from the unstoppable moans leaving your sweet lips. “C-Cum on your fingers, please.”

“That’s good, baby, you’re doing good,” he praises, kissing your ear, temple, cheek, and then lips. He drives his fingers deep into your depths and curls them just as you tighten around them, releasing the knot in your belly to let your juices flow.

His cold thumb joins your clit to rub gently until you ride your orgasm.

“Good job, baby, you did perfect.” Suguru straightens up, pulling his fingers from you to taste your fresh juices around his fingers while you watch with drooping eyelids and half-closed eyes. Suguru then leans in to kiss you, gently at first, knowing you’re still a little weak, then he inserts a bit of his tongue without ever crossing your teeth, fearing to hurt you.

You softly break the kiss and kiss his jaw, which makes him sigh softly. “Sugu? I have a question.”

He chuckles softly. “What did I tell you about questions?” He strokes your hair soothingly, laying down beside you. “But ask away.”

“Your entire body is cold, so it means that blood doesn’t flow through your veins, right?” you start.

“Right.”

“So, how can you be hard?” You slip a hand down his pants to palm his erection through the fabric. Your cute face almost makes his dead heart throb. “It’s funny, though,” you giggle.

“It’s hard to explain but, do you know how Edward made love to Bella?” Suguru asks, kissing your cheek as you unzip his pants.

“It wasn’t really described, but,” you pause, “was he hard?”

“Sure he was, like I am right now for you,” he mutters. Your palm wraps around his now free, throbbing erection, and your warmth electrifies a rush of pleasure through his cold flesh. You climb between his legs and lower your head so you can lap at his tip — dripping with his pre.

“Princess, be careful with—” He interrupts himself, letting out a groan to stifle a moan, which makes you laugh softly. “Tease,” he groans.

“Uh-huh.” You envelop his pale tip and suck gently, reducing Suguru to a panting and needy thing. Your fingers play with his balls, and he clenches his hands into fists, hissing between his teeth.

“Baby, be careful, you don’t know how badly I can hurt you if I don’t control at least how my body reacts to your touch, so don’t take me in your— Dear Lord,” he groans again. You see and feel the way he forces his hips to stay still against the matress to not pierce your palate with his length, much harder than usual. So you suck him slowly, carefully, not to surprise his body and give him the head you want him to feel — he even deserves it.

You withdraw his twitching dick from your mouth and grin, warming it up with your hands as he feels free to buck his hips and fuck your fist earnestly this time. “You’re so beautiful like this, aren’t you?” you praise, playing with his balls as he whines.

His long black hair sprawls across the immaculate sheets, his eyelids squinted and pleading, and his perfect lips slightly parted to let out the most divine sounds. Suguru is truly the vampire you’ve always fantasized about since your first reading on vampires.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” Suguru tells you, reaching out his arm to cup your chin and make you lift your eyes to his. “I want to cum inside you, if you would let me.” And God, how can you say no to that perfect immortal angel?

And so it is that you end up lying on the mattress, your belly exposed, your naked and heated body pressed against Suguru’s icy one, which you can’t wait to warm up.

He settles between your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before leaning down to pull you into his arms, shielding you with his stone muscles as your breasts gently crush against his cold chest, hardening your nipples, and he feels it — dragging one of his hands to it and pinching softly, just enough to make you whimper his name.

He presses his mouth against your ear again and whispers dirty words, “Ready to take my cock, princess? I won’t break you, promise. At least not yet.” And he brings his tip against your wet slit, pressing flesh against flesh to tease you until the end.

“You bast—” and he cuts you off with a kiss, pushing his tip to the very entrance of your delicious walls, ready to take him with every inch. You kiss him back, licking his lips eagerly.

“You’ll take it inch by inch, okay? It’s cold, so I need you to be comfortable with a suitable temperature,” Suguru warns you between heated kisses. “Ready?” He pulls his lips from yours to place them against your sensitive ear — on the way, he leaves a gentle hickey, enough to leave a reddish mark.

Tenderly, he sinks into you, the first inch greeted by your parted folds, greedy to take more of him.

“One inch,” Suguru says, waiting for you to adjust. “Is it alright down here?”

“Y-Yeah, I just need more, I want you whole.” You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, trying to ignore how you tighten around his dick when he whispers in your ear.

“Two inches,” he exhales then curses under his breath. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and how can you be this tight?” As he gently inserts the third and fourth inches, Suguru feels like he could crack at any moment, overwhelmed by the desire to bury himself deep inside your sweet, gorgeous pussy.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh inches are taken easily by your tightness, filling the room with your two uncontrollable gasps and the heat radiating from your body, which warms so much that when Suguru starts to fuck you gently at first, you think you might melt at any moment and see stars.

He rails into you so deep and fast that he curses under his breath. “Fuck, you’ve taken the eighth inch.” He groans at the same time as you, as you take him so well that he reaches the bottom, his tip kissing your g-spot even better than his fingers did earlier.

“Oh, fuck! S’too much, Sugu, and too deep,” you moan, and it only makes his dick throb harder than it was when you stroked him.

Because with every thrust or stroke, the two of you feel overwhelmed and overstimulated at the same time. He withdraws almost entirely to slam back into you, not too hard but enough for your toes to curl and you to cry out.

“I’m already close, Suguru, please, I wanna cum.” And Suguru chuckles softly, thrusting into you harder and faster than he was already doing. Now, his tip hits your sweet spot with every stroke, coaxing sounds from you that he dreams of hearing.

“Cum on this cock, baby, you can do it,” he coos in your ear, making you clench around him, intertwining your fingers with his. He takes one of your legs to lift it over his shoulder and buries himself deeper inside you, and you press a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

“I’m close, I’m gonna—” But you cry out again against your palm, cumming hard and loud on his dick, your velvety walls twitching and spasming as Suguru fucks you through your orgasm — your eyes shutting as you see stars.

As you come down from your high, Suguru slows his pace and stays inside you, lying down next to you. “You alright?”

And you nod feebly, throwing a leg over his waist to sit on him and take him deeper. You gently lower your head, admiring your juices flowing from your cunt. “Your turn now.”

And you ride him carefully, taking his hands in yours to place them on your hips, letting him lead the pace with you. “You’re beautiful,” Suguru murmurs, his obsidian eyes shining with devotion. He flutters them closed, humming, groaning, and sometimes whining when you bounce on him too well, and he’s about to cum.

You gently lay down on him as he lifts his hips in sync, gripping your waist to take over and help him cum — which he succeeds in doing, and the sensation is so surprising and pleasant that you moan softly along with him, your adorable faces scrunching up in pleasure.

His load is warm, neither cold nor hot. It’s as if you’ve warmed his dick so that it’s no longer cold.

Your cheek rests against the coolness of his muscular chest, and you sigh in relief. “You’re going to be very useful to me in the summer,” you giggle, placing gentle kisses along his neck.

“Whenever you want, my love.”

~~~~

“I often come here to hunt,” Suguru explains, parting branches in the forest to make it easier for you to pass.

You skillfully slip through and take his hand in yours to warm it up, smiling as you take in the view he’s sharing: a vast plain overlooked by tall, sturdy trees, sinuous riverbanks, and a large waterfall a bit further on, peeking out where your eyes meet the river paths.

“It’s beautiful, Suguru,” you whisper, fluttering your eyes closed as he squeezes your hand.

“Doesn’t it?” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you affectionately against him. “There’s never anyone here, just beasts. That way, I won’t have any humans to kill,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Is it like in Twilight?” you ask, giggling. “But you don’t have brown eyes.”

“No, it’s not the same,” he corrects you. “As long as I have blood, I have no problem. Human or not, it’s really just a matter of taste. It’s sweeter, you know.”

“Do you have a little sweet tooth?” you tease, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek as he steps away from you to bend down so you can climb onto his back.

“Not really, that’s more Satoru,” he laughs, gripping your thighs as you hop onto his back.

“Aha! I knew he was like you; you’re both just as weird as each other,” you snicker, proud to have solved another mystery.

Suguru bursts into laughter, as if your laughter is that of a little child who is also proud of themselves. “Yeah, and he studies physics, you know. He’s not very sharp in school, but physics is really his thing.” He takes a breath — an unnecessary one, since he doesn’t need to breathe; he just does it out of habit to avoid alarming humans — and glances at you discreetly. “Ready?”

You nod, and without further ado, Suguru begins his run.

He runs fast, of course; he’s a vampire.

But so fast, in fact, that you barely feel him taking steps. It’s as if he’s flying across the ground, the wind whipping against your faces. Every now and then, you lower your head, fearing that branches might slice your head off, but Suguru usually warns you when you can admire the scenery whizzing by faster than a car would allow.

When he finally stops, it’s to drop you off on a hill that takes your breath away.

The same one from your favorite book.

The hill is lush with small green grasses, dotted with tiny purple flowers like in a paradisiacal autumn meadow.

“It’s… It’s…” you stammer, amazed by the surprise he just gave you as he carefully sets you down on the ground, making sure you don’t stumble from the peculiar journey.

“For you,” Suguru adds, settling down on the grass as he waits for you to join him.

“Suguru, how did you…?” you trail off, sitting on the grass with an otherworldly appearance.

“I practically live here, to be honest,” he replies, planting little kisses on your neck and collarbone. “I hunt and feed here. And when I’m not feeling well…” He caresses your skin with the tip of his nose, tracing a path to your chest to bury his face there and sigh, his eyelids shut. “...I used to come here. But I don’t need to anymore.”

A smile curls your lips up. Your fingers gently stroke his jet-black hair. “You should turn me one day, you know? That way, I could come hunt with you and—”

“Not a chance,” he mumbles, pressing his ear against your heart. “I don’t want to lose this little heart. It’s mine.”

You huff. “You sound like Edward, seriously…”

“I would never abandon you, that’s for sure, but as for your transformation, it’s far from today.” Suguru places yet another kiss on your chest and then moves down to your belly, trying to find a sensitive spot to tickle you with his perfect touch.

“So I’ll go see Satoru,” you threaten, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Him? He’ll devour you whole without a second thought. I was the one holding him back during the frat party,” Suguru informs you with a little laugh.

“E-Excuse me?”

And it’s under Suguru’s amused laughter that you promise never to approach the albino — as much from afar as up close.

a/n: okay, i literally have missed the kinkoctober because of this fic :/ i hope at least you guys will enjoy it <3 (i’m so tiiiiired, tho). but tbh, it was fun to write since it was really during this month that the fic is so it’s like i’m living it :))

next → curse hunter! toji !!

tags: @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobeenhappy-blog @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @cybersomn1a @sanemistar

@ssetsuka @monokaix

[luveline]

what if bombshell!reader proposed to Spencer? Instead of Spencer proposing to bombshell!reader? Would he be upset or just as happy? Also, I absolutely adore your writing! 🥰💕

ty for requesting!! —spencer gets a love he deserves, 1.4k, fem!reader

The first proper time that you and Spencer slept together, he wasn’t nervous. It was sort of like a high school sleepover. You’d slept in shared beds in stuffy hotels and he’d once stayed the night while he was too drunk to remember it, but the first time you invited him in with intention to just be together, he wasn’t scared. You remember being surprised. Looking back, you shouldn’t have been. 

You laid together like you are now. He wore a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue chequered pants, and he’d pushed his hair back all day leaving the front pieces limp, and he’d touched your cheek to encourage your face to his before he moved in for one polite kiss. “I love you,” he’d said, much too early and a couple years too late at the same time. 

You turn on your side now to look at him. His contacts are out, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He’s watching a video on his laptop and the line of his jaw is soft. Or, softer than usual. He has a very sharp jaw. 

You shift a bit to alleviate the pressure on your hip.

“You okay?” Spencer asks. He doesn’t look away from his laptop nor does he sound tuned in. It’s sort of funny that he manages to care even when he’s not paying attention.

“Yeah.” 

“Tired?” 

“Not really.” 

“Hungry at all?” 

“Just brushed my teeth.” 

“That’s not the question I was asking.” 

“Not hungry, Spencer. Can I watch too?” 

He turns the laptop toward you to the point where his view is obscured, raising the volume a touch. “It’s about Tuberculosis. Do you wanna watch something else?” 

“No, this sounds interesting.” 

He settles in next to you. His fingers brush your chest. For a good forty five minutes, you and Spencer watch the rest of his video. He gets visibly tireder the longer it goes on, but neither of you attempt to get ready to sleep until the video’s finished. He closes the lid of his laptop, twisting in bed to deposit it gently on the floor. There’s a familiar shush of him sliding it under the bed to stop you from standing on it (a learned precaution). 

“Did you take that vitamin, the primrose?” he asks, flicking off his bedside lamp, leaving yours as the only source of light in the entire room. It’s a pink glass shade that kisses his pale skin a rosy hue. 

“Yeah, Spence.” 

He shakes the sheets back and the over you both. One minute you’re apart and the next he’s pulling you into him, confident handed, his breath warming your face as the gap between you thins. Despite his readying, he doesn’t say goodnight, or close his eyes. This is your time now. You often spend time at night just talking to each other about everything you’d meant to say that day, or nonsense conversation, until one or both of you has been lulled into a peaceful sleep. 

“I have something I want to tell you,” you say. 

“Okay.” He sounds completely trusting, no worrying, no reluctance. 

“You remember the first time you stayed at my apartment?” 

“No.” 

“The second time,” you correct. 

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “I was much less intoxicated that time.” 

“You were sober.” 

“I didn’t feel sober,” he says. 

“Nice. You’re getting so good at this.” 

“Thank you.” 

“But do you remember that?” You trace the curve of his nose. He’ll have to take his glasses off soon. They’ve already worn red crescents into his skin. “You told me you loved me.” 

“I can’t forget it,” he says, still grinning. You’ve tried to tell people —idiots— who don’t understand you and Spencer that, even without his million charms and idiosyncrasies, you’d love him for his smile. It changes his entire face. He never looks as beautiful to you as he does when he’s smiling. 

“I didn’t say it back.” 

“We’d only been together for a few days,” he says. “It was one of my moments.” 

“Spencer, I did love you, though. I should’ve told you. I knew in that moment that you really, really meant it, and I just want you to know that when you said it, I could have said it back. I should have. I loved you just as much, I promise.” 

“I know,” he whispers, eyes slightly widened. 

“I think I’ve loved you since the day we met. It’s cliche.” 

“Sometimes things are cliche because they’re good,” he says, laying his cheek more firmly into his pillow as he raises a hand to your face. His thumbs rests in the space under your chin. His fingertips brush along the skin just beside your lips. “And true. I loved you the minute you introduced yourself.” 

You savour the feeling of his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re so handsome,” you say, “and kind. You’re everything to me. You know that.” 

Spencer wraps his arm gently under your chin and behind your head as he lays closer to you. “I know. You’re everything to me. You’re my best friend in the whole world, I– didn’t even know how happy I could be before now.” 

“Me too, baby.” 

He closes his eyes. Your noses touch. 

“Spencer Reid, will you marry me?” you whisper.

Quiet. Aching, total quiet. He curls his arm behind your head until your lips are a hair’s width apart, and when he answers, it’s like he’s spoken directly to the deepest parts of you. “It’s all I want,” he says. 

“I got you a ring,” you murmur. 

The air races with your heart. The sound of your skin and clothes is the only thing to be heard between breaths. “I got you three,” he says. 

“Spencer, what for?” you ask, afraid to open your eyes and break the spell, the branching, unending feeling of connection you share. 

“I didn’t know which one you’d like.”

“You’ll marry me?” you ask. 

“Angel, I already said yes. I love you. I told you already we’d have to get married.” 

“Oh, we have to?” 

Spencer kisses you. It’s startlingly open-mouthed for a moment, but you adapt and overcome, you love him and his every touch, tilting your head to the side to allow him room to ferry in and kiss you deeply. It’s slow and measured, then quick and undecided. He turns his face one way to kiss you, then the other, back again, a hint of roughness —of hunger to it as he pulls your face to his. 

A spark of heat against your nose. 

Your eyes flutter open, a pinked path of light scored diagonally down his cheek. “Spence,” you say, feeling the weight and heat of tears gather behind your eyes, even as you smile, “don’t cry, baby.” 

“I feel like I spent my whole life waiting for someone to love me and it doesn’t feel real that it’s you,” he whispers slowly. 

“No? How do I make it more real for you, sweetheart? What can I do?” you ask sincerely. 

He shakes his head. 

You push your forehead into his. He doesn’t cry anymore than two burning hot tears, rubbing your shoulder as you yourself sniffle back your own emotion. You’re really not sad. You hurt for him, but this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. 

“Do you want to choose your ring?” he asks, enthusing his voice with cheer. 

“Do you want to see yours first?” 

“Did you get me a diamond?” he asks. 

“Don’t be silly, Spencer, of course I did.” 

He laughs and kisses you three times in quick succession before he sits up, wiping his face, chuckling wryly. “Sorry, I didn’t think I would react like that.” 

You tangle your fingers with his before he can get too far away. “I love you, honey. There’s nothing wrong with crying about it.” 

You aren’t expecting to start crying when he slides one of the rings he’s chosen for you over your finger. He says you can see each one in action and choose after you've seen them all, but the moment the band is over your knuckle, you know it’s the one you’ll keep. You push the ring you’d bought for him onto his finger with your cheeks still tearstained.

The diamond on his ring isn’t quite as big as the one he’d bought for you, but it looks right nestled against his pale skin. That night, you talk more than you ever have before, falling asleep only minutes after the glowing threads of morning have painted your twined hands with gold. 

[princessbrunette]

rafe had been trying to pick a fight with bunny!reader all day due to his bad mood. however, due to her being a little ray of pink glittery sunshine — it just wasn’t happening.

first, the problem was the pink glittery dildo in your dresser that he found whilst snooping due to boredom, waiting for you to be done in the shower. he argues with himself whilst you sit at your vanity, giggling and happily doing your makeup.

“you tellin’ me you need that shit? ‘cus… ‘cus if that’s the case, don’t come begging for dick every thirty minutes when clearly you could be fixing your own problems.” he rants, huffing as you carefully brush mascara through your eyelashes.

“its not the same! pluuuus, i haven’t used that thing in ages. dont even know where you found it, daddy.” you’re clearly amused and it’s making things worse, locking eyes with your boyfriend through the mirror as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“think i’m stupid, right? if you weren’t still using this thing you would have thrown it in the trash.”

you spin on your stool, giving him a convincing pout. “i only use it when you go away on business trips with your dad, ‘cos i just miss you so much.”

he blinks, clearly not out of juice.

“you need to learn a little patience and self discipline, alright — you’ll appreciate this dick more without the fuckin’ silicone version.” he drawls and you giggle again at his word choice before bringing your manicured fingers to your lips to stop yourself.

“m’attached to it rafey. i like it. its pink and glittery and i’m not throwing it away.” you stand your ground, and his jaw ticks, looking around once more at the toy laying on your bed.

“cant do all the shit i do n’you know it… right? you call me when that toy fuckin’ chokes you out how you like it or spits in your damn asshole and shoves its thumb in there. yeah?” he mouths off before leaving the room, caring less and less about the argument as time goes on. now you really couldn’t fight him — he was playing dirty, and that made you horny.

his fighting spirit is given a new lease of life downstairs in the kitchen, when you accidentally blurt out the wrong name whilst speaking to him.

you’re giggling uncontrollably once more, grabbing at his shirt in the kitchen attempting to pull you closer as he holds his hands up, pretending to be totally disgusted.

“nah, who the fuck is that — huh? nate?”

“gosh, rafey — he’s from gossip girl! i was just thinkin’ about the show and your names sound similar! was an accident!” the fact you don’t sound sorry in the slightest is grinding his gears, not hugging you back when you manage to wrap your arms around him. “daddy hug me back.” you pout, and he peels you back with his hands on your shoulders.

“on thin fuckin’ ice today… alright?” he raises his eyebrows. you smile and nod, earrings jangling like there wasn’t a thought in your head.

it’s on the way to the country club that he’s really had enough, insisting on playing your music in the car, constantly winding down the volume to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. your delicate hand reaches out for the volume toggle once more and he smacks it away.

“if you’re going to ask me if i’d still love you as a worm, or whatever bullshit you’ve conjured up — i suggest staying quiet, yeah? already told you that you’re pushing it today.”

he doesn’t have to look at you to know your smile is spreading.

“that wasn’t my question, but would you?”

the car pulls over to the side of the road with a swiftness, and he turns his body in his seat. you look unbothered as ever.

“why’d we stop?”

“you’re uh, you’re goin’ in the trunk. okay?” he rasps slowly, nodding his head like it would hypnotise you into agreeing. somehow, it worked — because your grin remains.

“okay!”

he marches over to your side and yanks you out before walking you round the back and opening the trunk. “i’m serious. get in.”

you do with no complaints — and by the time he is back in the drivers seat, he believes he’s taken it too far. however there’s no banging around, no crying, no screaming for him to let you out — so he drives away. the silence is rewarding, but he doesn’t feel great about it.

when he pulls up to the country club, he’s quick to walk around the backside of his truck and open up the trunk, relieved to see you happy as a clam — and lifts you out from under your arms. “that was fun! it was like you were a kidnapper, but also my boyfriend.” your eyes have a twinkle to them as he marches you towards his group of friends, gawking with questioning gazes.

“yeah you like that shit? ‘that turn you on?” he bites back sarcastically, but you nod anyway.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

please please i’d like to request a carmy blurb with the dialogue prompt “Don't go on that date” ❤️

Divine Timing.

carmy berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here. inbox here.

He’s in a bad mood.

Technically, he’s always in a bad mood. But this is the worst you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s screamed at Richie, belittled Marcus and pissed off Tina in the span of approximately five minutes, and everyone is tired. So, they enlist your help.

You speak fluent Carmy, Syd had said once. You’re the only one he listens to.

So, the next time he shouts, you shout back. Louder.

“Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?” he yells bitterly.

“Carmen, if you don’t stop fucking screaming, I’ll smack you so hard in front of everyone - I swear to fucking God.”

You yell back at a volume that shocks even Richie. The Beef stands still, everyone too afraid to move. Carmy is startled, stuck in place.

“We’re taking five,” you tell him, linking your fingers into his. “Come on.”

You drag him outside, sitting him down in his usual spot. You grab a water bottle and throw it at him, raising your eyebrows in a gesture that says drink it or else. He does as he’s told.

You let him wallow in the silence for a while, calming down slowly but surely. You look over, expecting to see him still angry, or frustrated. Instead, he just looks sad.

You move to sit next to him, turning your body so you can see his face clearly.

“What’s the matter, Carm? What’s got you so riled up today, hmm?”

“Nothin’” he replies, kicking his shoe into the ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Does matter. You can’t take your feelings out on everyone in the kitchen, you know. It isn’t fair.”

“I know.”

Your phone makes a noise, and you check the screen quickly before shoving it back in your pocket.

“Anyone important?”

“Nah. Just the guy I’m meant to be seeing later, checking in to see if I’m still good.”

Carmy tenses, whole body going rigid beside you. You feel it, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Listen, Carm. If you don’t wanna tell me what’s bothering you, then fine. But you’ve got to work it out in your own time - not in the fucking kitchen. Got it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, he speaks.

“Don’t go on that date.”

Your head whips around in disbelief.

“What?”

He ducks his head, willing the ground to swallow him whole.

“Don’t go on that date. Please.”

“Is that… is that what’s got you all upset?”

He scoffs and immediately regrets it, looking at you with softness in his eyes that’s rare as diamonds.

“Yeah.”

“Carmen… why?”

He takes a deep breath, gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s been eating me up, the idea of you going out with some guy. I wanted to tell you how I felt, but… I didn’t want it to be awkward, when you didn’t feel the same way. We work together, we see each other every day, and I didn’t wanna fuck up our friendship.”

“So… you took your anger out on everyone else?”

“Yeah, fuck. I didn’t mean to. Think I just bottled up my feelings too much.”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?”

Carmy chokes on his breath, staring at you in disbelief.

“You… wait- what?”

“Anyone can see that I like you, Carm. I have since the day I met you and you flashed me one of those million dollar smiles of yours.”

He gives you one now, all bright and bashful.

“This is the last time anything like this happens, you hear me? From now on, you talk to me. And I’ll talk to you. It goes both ways.”

He nods, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Here’s the deal, Berzatto. You go in there and apologise individually to each and every person you’ve been a dick towards today, and I’ll cancel my date with the douchebag I didn’t wanna see anyway.”

“And you’ll date me instead.”

You laugh, head thrown back and eyes crinkling.

“Fine. But only if the apologies are super heartfelt.”

He shakes his head, chuckling from deep within his chest. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For yelling at me back there. I needed it.”

You smile, leaning into him.

“You’re so welcome.”

“It was super hot, too.”

“Shut up, Berzatto,” you chide, but you can’t fight the grin that etches itself on your face.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Home From The Bar

Summary: Y/N goes on the town with the ladies from the BAU, she calls Spencer to pick her up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: flirty fluff

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, getting drunk, doing embarrassing drunk things, suggestive content (16+)

Word count: 2.8k

a/n: can be read alone but it is a blurb from Finding Home Again !!

main masterlist

Y/N had grown a lot closer to the BAU ladies over the past few months. JJ, Emily, and Penelope had become more than just Spencer’s coworkers—they were her friends too. So when they invited her out for a girls’ night, she eagerly accepted. The evening had been a whirlwind of dancing, laughter, and more than a few drinks. Now, they were sat at a table, cooling off after dancing their hearts out and sweating through their clothes.

As the night wore on and the drinks kept flowing, the conversation inevitably turned sideways, as it always does when good friends and alcohol are involved. And unfortunately for Y/N, everyone was curious about her sex life with the good doctor.

“So… how is he?” JJ asked, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous grin.

“Be honest,” Emily chimed in, leaning forward with a sly smile. “Was he a virgin?”

“Is he a pillow princess?” Penelope added, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Their questions came at her in rapid succession, leaving Y/N no time to prepare. Under the influence of alcohol, she could only laugh at the absurdity of it all, her cheeks flushing with both amusement and embarrassment.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Y/N giggled, trying to deflect the attention. “You’re terrible!”

“C’mon, we’re dying to know!” JJ teased, nudging her playfully.

“Yeah, spill the tea!” Penelope added, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N shook her head, laughing harder. “I’m not giving you all the details, no way!”

“But he’s so… proper,” Emily said, leaning back with a smirk. “I just can’t picture him getting all… you know.”

“He’s definitely not a pillow princess,” Y/N blurted out, the alcohol loosening her tongue. The words were out before she could stop them, and the shocked expressions on the other women’s faces sent her into another fit of giggles.

JJ’s jaw dropped. “No way!”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “You’re kidding!”

Emily grinned wickedly. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear.”

Y/N held up her hands in surrender, still laughing. “Okay, okay! Look, all I’m going to say is that he’s… full of surprises.”

The women burst into laughter, clinking their glasses together in celebration of the newfound knowledge.

“Who knew the good doctor had it in him?” Penelope mused, still giggling.

“I always knew there was something underneath that nerdy exterior,” Emily added with a wink.

JJ shook her head, smiling. “Well, Y/N, you’re one lucky woman.”

Y/N smiled back, her heart warming at the thought of Spencer. “Yeah, I really am.”

Of course, the conversation didn’t let up—it just took different paths. JJ shared some funny anecdotes about Will, Emily regaled the group with wild stories from her past, and Penelope brought up that infamous “one time” with Derek that always got everyone laughing. The evening was a blur of laughter, camaraderie, and just a little too much alcohol, which led Y/N to realize that she needed Spencer to come get her—now.

She fumbled for her phone and dialed his number, her fingers slightly uncoordinated from the drinks she’d had. After a few rings, Spencer’s voice, thick with sleep, answered, “Hello?”

“Hi baby!!” Y/N yelled into the phone, her voice louder than she intended.

“Ouch…hi, Y/N. Are you okay?” Spencer asked, wincing at the volume, his concern evident even through his sleepy haze.

“Physically? Yes. Well, no actually,” Y/N slurred slightly.

“No? What’s wrong? Do you need me to come get you? Are you still at the bar?” Spencer was instantly more awake, worry creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Can you please come get me?”

“Of course, I’m on my way,” Spencer replied, already throwing on his clothes and grabbing his keys.

His mind raced with a million possibilities—had Y/N hurt herself? Had she drunk too much? What could have happened? When he arrived at the bar, his anxiety spiked when he saw Emily smoking a cigar outside, a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with panic.

Emily took a slow drag from her cigar, exhaling the smoke before she responded with a smirk, “Oh, she’s fine… go get your girl, Doctor. She’s been waiting for you.”

Spencer nodded in confusion, rushing inside to find Y/N. He barely made it through the entrance when Y/N came barreling toward him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug and planting a huge, sloppy kiss on his neck.

“Spencer! You’re my fiancé, isn’t that just insane?” she laughed, her eyes sparkling with the joy and inebriation of the evening.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, wrapping his arms around her, holding her steady. “Well, I did propose. I’m still amazed you said yes.”

Y/N’s expression turned serious, or at least as serious as she could manage in her current state. “I will never say no to you, Spencer. You are my best friend.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, touched by her words. “And you’re mine. But are you okay? You said you weren’t physically well?” His gaze quickly scanned her for any signs of injury.

“Oh…um, I have a problem,” Y/N mumbled, looking up at him with wide, drunken eyes.

“What kind of problem?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“The kind only you can fix,” she whispered, leaning in closer.

Spencer’s concern grew as he looked Y/N over, trying to assess the situation. The dim lighting of the bar didn’t help, but from what he could see, she seemed unharmed—just a bit tipsy. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and the corners of her lips twitched in a way that told him she was up to something. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or more concerned.

“What kind of problem?” Spencer asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “I’m horny.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in shock, and he instinctively pulled back to look at her, making sure he’d heard her correctly. She looked back at him with the most innocent expression, as if she hadn’t just dropped that bombshell.

“Uh… what?” Spencer stammered, his voice going up an octave.

“I said I’m horny, Spencer,” Y/N repeated, a little louder this time, clearly not aware—or not caring—how public they were.

Spencer’s face flushed a deep shade of red as he glanced around, hoping no one else heard. “Y/N, we’re in a bar,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent.

“I know, and that’s why you need to fix it!” she declared, her hands fisting in his shirt as she tried to pull him closer.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Okay, let’s get you home before you say anything else that’ll make me die of embarrassment.”

Y/N giggled, holding onto him as they made their way out of the bar. “You’re the best fiancé ever, you know that?”

Spencer shook his head fondly, his heart swelling with affection despite the situation. “Yeah, yeah, let’s just get you home, okay?”

As they stepped outside, Emily caught Spencer’s eye and gave him a knowing wink. “Take care of her, Reid,” she said with a smirk.

Spencer simply nodded, still blushing as he led Y/N to the car. He managed to get her into the passenger seat and buckled in before they were on the road. Y/N immediately began fiddling with the radio, her intoxicated focus darting from station to station until she found something she liked.

“Oh!!! I love this song!” she exclaimed, as Lollipop by Lil Wayne started playing.

As the music filled the car, Y/N began to sing along, her voice a little off-key but full of enthusiasm. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at her antics, but when she started doing a tipsy dance in her seat—more of a rhythmic humping, really—his eyes widened.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he sighed, trying to keep his eyes on the road while his very drunk, very sexy fiancée put on quite the show next to him.

Y/N laughed, rubbing her hands over her body in a playful, exaggerated way, even groping her own chest. “See something you like, doc?” she teased, her voice dripping with sultry mischief.

“See something I love,” he grunted, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. It frustrated him knowing he couldn’t act on his desires while she was in this state. He loved her too much to take advantage of the situation.

Apparently, Y/N didn’t share that restraint. Before Spencer could process what was happening, her hand was reaching over, grabbing at his crotch without a hint of subtlety.

“Y/N,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as he tried to keep control of the car—and himself. “You have to stop that, sweetheart.”

“But Spence,” she pouted, continuing her mischief, “you’re so sexy when you’re all serious like this.”

Spencer’s heart raced as he gently removed her hand, placing it back on her lap. “We’re almost home, okay? Just hold on a little longer.”

Y/N huffed, leaning back in her seat with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, but you owe me.”

Spencer laughed softly, shaking his head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With that, he focused on getting them home safely, all the while knowing that the real challenge would be keeping Y/N at bay until she sobered up.

When Spencer parked the car and rounded it to get Y/N, she was ready. The second he opened the door, Y/N sprang into action, pulling him down for a heated kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she pressed herself against him with all the intensity of someone who had waited far too long.

“Y/N…” Spencer mumbled against her lips, trying to regain some composure before gently pulling back. “Upstairs first.”

“You are no fun, Spencer Reid,” she whined, pouting up at him.

“Hmm, I know, love,” he laughed softly, shaking his head at her antics.

Getting Y/N up the stairs proved to be another challenge entirely. She insisted on trying to walk behind him, grabbing his ass and making it clear she was enjoying the view. Spencer, on the other hand, was trying his best to keep them both moving without succumbing to her teasing.

“Hey, grab hands,” Spencer said sternly, taking her wrists in one hand and holding them behind her back, guiding her up the stairs with a firm but gentle push. “Get your drunk ass into the apartment before I drop you off at the firehouse.”

Y/N groaned, clearly turned on by his no-nonsense demeanor. “Fuck, this is so hot, Spence.”

“Shut up,” Spencer muttered, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

“Take me like this,” she purred, her voice low and sultry.

“I’m going to take you to bed,” Spencer replied, his tone exasperated but with a hint of amusement.

“Yesss,” she moaned, clearly misunderstanding his intentions.

“To sleep,” he clarified, his voice firm.

“With you,” she added, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I will sleep on the couch if you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he threatened, though they both knew it was an empty threat. Still, the seriousness in his tone made Y/N pause, her eyes widening.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Y/N mumbled, her voice small and contrite.

“Nope, not starting that,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head as he continued to guide her up the stairs.

Y/N finally shut her mouth, pouting as they reached the apartment door. Spencer unlocked it with a practiced ease and gently pushed her inside, relieved to have made it this far without any further incidents.

“Alright, water, bathroom, bed, got it?” Spencer said, his hands on his hips as he looked down at Y/N with a mixture of amusement and determination.

“If I do it, can I get a kiss?” Y/N asked, her voice slightly slurred but filled with playful intent.

“Yes, you can have one—one—kiss if you do it all,” Spencer agreed, knowing it was the only way to get her to cooperate.

With Spencer’s assistance, Y/N managed to drink a full glass of water, albeit with a few spills. She then, somewhat successfully, removed her makeup, though Spencer had to point out a few missed spots. She brushed her teeth, giggling at the sight of herself in the mirror, and finally slipped into bed in her pajamas, looking pleased with herself.

Spencer turned off the light, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as he returned to the bed. He was ready to give Y/N her promised kiss, leaning down with a soft smile on his face. But as he approached, he realized she was already passed out, mouth open, snoring softly.

“Thank god,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head with a fond smile as he pulled the covers up around her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, the affection in his heart swelling. 

As he settled into bed beside her, Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, thinking about how unpredictable and wild life with Y/N could be—and how much he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

When Y/N woke up, she immediately regretted every choice she had made the night before. Her head pounded like a drum, her mouth felt like sandpaper, her stomach churned uneasily, and her body was too warm under the covers. She groaned, kicking the sheets off in frustration.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Spencer said, his tone gentle but laced with amusement.

“No,” Y/N grumbled, pulling a pillow over her face.

“No?” Spencer echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Not good morning. Bad morning,” she corrected, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Feeling the effects of last night?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, nodding slightly under the pillow.

“Want me to get you some water?”

“And meds,” Y/N added pitifully.

“Be right back,” Spencer said, pressing a kiss to her head before heading off to the kitchen. He returned shortly with a glass of water and some painkillers. “Sit up and drink,” he instructed, holding the glass out to her.

“You’re bossy,” Y/N sassed, though she reluctantly did as he asked.

“You liked it last night,” Spencer teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What?” Y/N froze, her eyes widening as she looked at him, horrified. “Oh my god, what did I do?”

“Oh, do you not remember trying to mount me on the staircase? And then moaning when I told you to stop?”

“No! Oh my god, that is humiliating,” Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It was pretty funny,” Spencer said with a snort, clearly enjoying himself.

“What else did I do?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper, terrified but too curious not to ask.

Spencer grinned, clearly holding back a laugh. “You called me ‘daddy.’”

Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Spencer sat down beside her on the bed, his expression softening as he watched her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” he said gently. “We’ve all done stupid things when we’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think most people try to seduce their fiancés on the stairs while calling them ‘daddy,’” Y/N muttered, setting the empty glass on the nightstand.

Spencer laughed softly, shaking his head. “Maybe not, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. You were just being… affectionate. In your own way.”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers, still covering her face. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, not at all,” Spencer reassured her. “I found it kind of adorable, honestly. You’re always so confident and put together, it was nice to see you let go for once.”

“Adorable? I’m pretty sure ‘adorable’ wasn’t the vibe I was going for,” Y/N said, finally lowering her hands, though her cheeks were still pink.

Spencer smiled warmly at her, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay. I love all your vibes.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, finally starting to relax. “Thanks, Spence. You’re too good to me.”

“Only because you deserve it,” he replied, stroking her hair gently. “Now, why don’t you lie back down and rest? I’ll make you some toast and coffee.”

“Toast and coffee sound like heaven right now,” Y/N sighed, leaning into his touch. “But only if you bring it to me in bed.”

Spencer grinned. “Deal. Anything for you, even after you tried to seduce me on the stairs.”

Y/N laughed, her spirits lifting as she watched him head to the kitchen. Despite the embarrassing memories, she felt grateful to have Spencer by her side—someone who could make even the most mortifying situations feel a little less awful.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 4

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3

TW: one instance of homophobic language (internally), fear of violence due to homophobia (which doesn't occur).

Chrissy would have never expected Steve Harrington to be full of such soft, gooey feelings, but with every letter she helps him right, he only gets sappier. The latest is so sticky with sap she’s afraid it’ll stick to her fingers.

Part of her, the smallest, niggling part, wishes Steve really was her boyfriend, and all those little niceties could be for her. But, that wouldn’t be fair to Steve, anyway. There’s nothing there; he’s just Steve—the platonic ideal of a best friend.

So, she wears his last name on her back, helps him write his little notes, and hopes ardently that she’ll find someone she cares that much about for herself.

“What are you doing?”

Chrissy’s fingers stumble at the unexpected voice, Steve’s latest letter fluttering to the dirty ground. Someone else beats her to picking it up. She watches, mouth in her throat, as one of Eddie’s friends unfolds the note. He squints down at it, eyebrows raising higher and higher until they’re almost meeting his hairline by the time he reaches the sign-off.

He folds it up carefully before handing it back to her. She clutches it to her chest, but the damage has already been done.

“Aren’t you dating Harrington?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy stumbles over her words, only getting out an, “it’s not like—” and a “I wouldn’t do—” before sputtering into silence.

They stand there, staring at each other for an endless moment, neither speaking, before Chrissy finally spins around, shoves the note into Eddie’s locker, and flees as fast as her tired legs can carry her.

He doesn’t follow.

Practice had run long, and she’d just wanted to leave the note and get home. Now, home is less of a relief and more somewhere that she can stew in the repercussions of what she’s done. Jeff’s Eddie’s friend, he’ll tell him without hesitation, and where will that leave her and Steve?

With that in mind, she goes looking for Jeff bright and early the next day, hoping boys’ propensity for not talking on the phone means that they’ve yet to speak.

“Did you tell him?” she asks when she finds Jeff spinning the dial on what must be his own locker.

Seeming entirely unbothered even as everyone around them stares, Jeff continues unlocking his locker at a leisurely pace. Only once he’s pulled the lock down and swung his locker open does he turn to meet her eyes.

“You mean, did I tell my best friend that Chrissy Cunningham has been writing him love notes?” Jeff asks. Chrissy shifts her eyes around, relieved that no one’s close enough to hear Jeff’s quiet voice.

Chrissy nods, something weighty sinking into her stomach the longer he goes without responding.

He turns back to his locker with a huff to dig around on the top shelf. “No,” he says, but before the relief can hit her, he continues, “I don’t want you to hurt him, and I think you will.”

“It’s not—I don’t—“ she stumbles in an embarrassing reenactment of last night. When he turns back to her with that same judgmental look, she shores herself up, clears her throat, and finally eeks out a full sentence. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Jeff’s expression doesn’t change as he asks, “so, what? You’re going to leave Harrington for him?”

Her silence must speak volumes because he slams his locker shut, and turns to walk away, calling, “that’s what I thought” over his shoulder.

She stands, transfixed, as he walks away.

His dismissal niggles at her, until she finds herself seeking him out again before the end of the day. He’s walking out of the bathroom, still shaking his hands dry as she rushes up to him, matching his stride down the hallway step for step.

“I’m not dating Steve,” she says.

It’s the first time she’s said it aloud, none of her friends close enough to confide in. But, here she is, telling the best friend of one half of the reason her and Steve are even doing this, entirely unprompted.

Jeff looks at her sidelong. “Did you tell the rest of the school that?”

Chrissy sweeps her ponytail over her shoulder as she rolls her eyes. She’d never told anyone her and Steve were dating. All it’d taken was her wearing his letterman, and that confrontation with Jason, and everyone had been convinced, no lying necessary.

“It doesn’t matter to me what they all think.”

It does, but she’s been spending too much time with Steve, and his aloof indifference to his image has been rubbing off. She’s glad.

“But you’re telling me, because what?” he asks, still skeptical. “You have a big crush on my best friend?”

He throws finger quotations around the word crush that would be insulting if he wasn’t right. She does like Eddie. He’s weird, but nice unless provoked. But the thought of kissing his dry lips makes her nose wrinkle.

“It’s not like that,” she says again.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

He walks into his next class without another word. Chrissy continues down the hall, barely making it in time for her own.

It doesn’t get better.

Jeff’s dislike, visible in his eyes anytime they cross paths, cuts at her. She finds herself seeking him out, explaining again and again, or trying to without saying anything at all.

“It’s really not like that!” she says, finally frustrated enough to raise her voice. “Steve’s handwriting is atrocious so I was just—”

She cuts herself off, hands slamming over her mouth as she realizes what she’s said. It’s just, Jeff was making that face she hates again, that one with the raised brows and judgmental smirk, and she’d gotten mad.

“Steve’s handwriting…” Jeff murmurs quietly, eyebrows now lowered and furrowed in thought.

She might’ve been able to play it off. But the silence has lingered too long, and Chrissy’s never had much of a poker face. She knows the guilt and panic in her expression is damning; she still can’t seem to wipe it off her face.

“The notes…” Jeff starts, trailing off like he can’t bear to say it, “are from Steve?”

Chrissy clenches her hand tighter across her mouth like she can somehow retroactively shove her words back into her throat, stop Jeff from having the realization that might get Steve–who’s quickly becoming her best friend–killed. But, he keeps just looking at her. So, she nods, movements jerky and scared.

“Shit,” Jeff says, finally breaking eye contact to bend over and squeeze the bridge of his nose. “That explains so much.”

Unable to stop herself, Chrissy bursts into tears.

***

Eddie heads to his locker first thing in the morning. He’s been buzzing since he dropped off the last letter, hoping against hope that she’d check there again. And there, like an answer to his prayers, is an envelope resting atop his neglected Biology textbook.

Eddie’s ready to become a believer if all his hopes and dreams keep coming true. He’ll drop down on his knees and repent for all his sins if it means these letters keep coming. In fact, he’ll do it here and now, envelope clutched between sweaty palms as his knees smack into the unforgiving floor of the hallway. All the peons around him give him a wide berth as he smacks his palms together and sends up a prayer like he’s seen people do on TV.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jeff asks, squinting down at him like this is the weirdest thing he’s ever caught Eddie doing.

“Nothing!” Eddie replies, resisting the urge to shove the letter into his mouth. He hasn’t even got to read it yet, no way is he squandering this opportunity just because Jeff’s butting his nosy little nose into his business.

But when Eddie meets Jeff’s eyes, he looks so squinty and weird, and un-Jeff-like, that Eddie’s almost worried. He stands, bruised knees aching as he shoves the envelope—gently!—into the deep pocket of his jeans. Jeff watches the paper until it’s entirely out of sight.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, hand reaching out to cup Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff shakes his head like a dog after a bath, finally looking away from the ass of Eddie’s jeans. “What?” he asks, before shaking his head again, and it must help shake a thought loose because the next thing he says is, “I’m fine.”

Eddie keeps his eyes fixed on Jeff, wondering if it’ll be enough to break him, but all Jeff does is clench his jaw and straighten his shoulders, a warrior ready for battle.

“All right,” Eddie says, reaching his finger out to boop Jeff’s nose in that way he hates. “Keep your secrets.”

Then, he turns and walks away. He smiles as Jeff sputters behind him, calling out, “I don’t have any secrets!” just as Eddie pushes into the bathroom.

There’s a few freshmen in there, but they scatter as Eddie enters. Even still, Eddie rushes into one of the stalls and locks it behind himself. This is about as far as a lit candle and mood lighting as one can get—Eddie smells the hints of the shit the last guy in here must have taken and the fluorescents are bright enough to drill a headache into his skull—but Eddie can’t wait any longer.

He tears into the envelope, as gently as he can with impatient, shaking fingers.

  Eddie —

  I know you don’t like them, but I like sports. There’s something about depending on your body to get you through a hard work-out, you know? But, I don’t know if it’s my thing, like Dungeons and Dragons and music are yours. Maybe I don’t have a thing. Is that weird?

  My favorite color is yellow, like the sun, and sunflowers, and all those happy, bright colors. I’d love to see you in such a bright color one day, even if I do love all the black and red. It suits you.

  I’ve never dreamt much, but when they’re good, they’re usually about you, so your hopes just might come true.

  I know your handwriting, and what you yell about for the world to hear, but I don’t know as much as I’d like. I want to know everything about you. What’s your favorite color? Do you have happy dreams?

  Yours, Always

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. Maybe put it in Romeo and Juliet this time, the edition with the tear in the cover.

Here, tucked away in this shitty bathroom in this shitty school, Eddie Munson smiles. He’s got another note to write, and another book in the library to find.

*** 

“I have some bad news.”

Steve’s barely stepped out of his car before Chrissy’s ambushing him. He takes a startled step back into the beemer, as he meets her gaze.

Chrissy’s wringing her hands together, anxiety wafting off her. Just behind her shoulder, a guy Steve only recognizes as one of Eddie’s friends is stoutly avoiding his eyes. Whatever this is, it’s got Steve’s gut sinking into his socks.

“What happened?” Steve asks hesitantly.

His mind’s ticking away, and coming up with all the worst case scenarios. Eddie’s in trouble, or hurt, or worse. What else could bring these two together?

“Jeff knows about the letters!” Chrissy cries, words all jumbled together in her rush to get them out.

Steve takes a step back, pressing his spine uncomfortably into the metal roof of his car, instinct against an unknown threat.  No one steps after him. It’s hard to take his eyes off Jeff and Chrissy, but he does. The parking lot’s crowded with warm bodies pushing between cars, desperate to make it to class on time.

Just moments ago, Steve was one of them.

“You told him?” Steve asks, eyes locked on Chrissy.

For her part, Chrissy’s eyes look big and shiny as she nods. She takes a step forward, and it takes everything in him not to step back. It’s just—he’d thought they were friends.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, tears finally pouring out of her eyes.

Steve watches, stagnant, as the person he was starting to consider his best friend, cries. He wants to hug her, wants to scream at her, wants to run the hell out of here to lick his wounds in peace. But, Jeff takes a step forward, scowl on his face, and Steve takes two hasty steps back, tumbling painfully through his open driver’s side door and sprawling uncomfortably on his stick shift.

The few students nearby turn to look at him, saying snide comments to one another, barely polite enough to talk in whispers. He hardly notices, eyes locked on the main threat. Jeff’s face softens as he stops his forward momentum, foot still raised in the air for a step he doesn’t take. No one moves until everyone stops watching the spectacle and begins walking away.

Jeff’s the one who breaks the stand-off, voice quieter and gentler than he’d expected. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.”

Steve stares him down, still sprawled uncomfortably in his car. He’s right, but a small voice in the back of Steve’s head is wondering if they should do this at all. He wants to cut his losses and run. But, Chrissy’s still crying, and if his secret is going to be spread around the school, he’d rather have a head start out of town.

He crawls out of his seat, limbs feeling more ungainly and awkward than they have since he was prepubescent. It feels like every eye in town turns toward him as the sound of his closing car door echoes through the rapidly emptying parking lot.

“Follow me,” he says.

Turning his back on them feels like a show of trust he can’t afford, but he’s not following either of them off school grounds. The football field will be empty at this time on a Friday, especially with the rain coming down.

None of them are wearing coats, so he leads them beneath the bleachers. The rain still drips between the rafters, but there are a few dry spots big enough to stand in.

“Make-out spot, Harrington?” Jeff asks, mouth quirked up as he leans against one of the metal support beams despite it being wet and cold.

Steve’s intestines squirm around in his stomach at the way Jeff and Chrissy stay standing next to each other, a united front against Steve.

“It’s not like it’s Skull Rock,” Steve says, proud that his voice doesn’t shake. “Now, say what you want to say so I can go home.”

“There’s still school,” Chrissy hiccups out, as if he cares at all about that right now.

Jeff straightens, small smile dropping off his face as he eyes Steve. Chrissy’s face is wet. Steve’s just glad he can no longer tell what’s raindrops and what’s tears.

“I was being a dick to her,” Jeff says.

“No, you were—” Chrissy starts before Jeff talks right over her.

“All she said was that your handwriting was bad, and I put the rest together.”

A small part of Steve is soothed that Chrissy hadn’t told him on purpose. Accidents happen, he can understand that. But—

“Eddie told you about the letters?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, Jeff and Eddie are always occupying the same spaces. They must be close.

Jeff shakes his head, but it’s Chrissy that speaks first, “he saw me putting one in Eddie’s locker.”

“Oh,” Steve says, slumping into himself.

They’re both staring at him now.

Steve’s never been good with silences. When his parents are gone, he leaves the TV on in the living room all hours of the day. At school, he surrounds himself with warm bodies, all making noise. In his car, there’s always a tape playing in his deck.

“So, should I start fleeing town?” Steve asks, trying for a joking tone, but his voice cracks tellingly on the last word.

“No!” Chrissy cries.

She rushes forward, wrapping the entirety of her small body around his like she can shelter him from any harms that might come for him. Steve stumbles back, barely stabilizing before they both go tumbling into the dirt.

He wraps his arms hesitantly around her, patting her back awkwardly as she undoubtedly cries into his shoulder. She’s short enough that he can put his chin on her head, so he does. She feels right in his arms—good and warm.

Why couldn’t he like her instead?

“It’s okay, Chris,” he says, but she’s too short to hide in, and he’s got a perfect view of Jeff, still in his original spot. “It’ll be okay.”

It feels like a lie when it comes out of his mouth. He meets Jeff’s eyes, surprised when he finds them warm.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jeff says.

It’s only then that Steve realizes how haggard his breathing had become, like he’d been running suicide’s in the gym, not standing stationary fighting the fears of his own mind.

He sucks in an unencumbered breath, the stone constricting his lungs ground down to almost nothing. Steve nods, arms still wrapped around Chrissy like she might be ripped away from him. He couldn’t have expected anything better, not in Hawkins. Except, what’s the likelihood he gets this lucky again?

He’s two for two with good reactions, what’s the likelihood the third won’t play a nice game of smear the queer?

Except, this is one of Eddie’s best friends, and does “anyone” even include him?

“Even Eddie?” Steve asks, that same damning quiver back in his voice.

Jeff shakes his head, and before Steve can begin to panic, Jeff speaks, “I think you should tell him, but it’s your secret man.”

Steve tries to find any sign of a lie on Jeff’s face. The other boy just looks placidly back, waiting his scrutiny out.

“Thank you,” Chrissy and Steve say at the same time.

They collapse into each other, giggling like fools as the adrenaline leaves them both. Behind them, Jeff’s smiling like he finds this whole thing charming.

Three might be a crowd, but Steve’s never liked being alone. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

PART 5

[rhiannswork]

hii i was wondering if u could write something about a pool party that morgan throws, so ofc bau!reader and the rest of the team goes. spencer gets in the pool and everybody is speechless when they notice the scratches on his back. unbeknown to your involvement.

the water’s fine.

spencer ᕁ bau!reader

warnings: allusions to sex, suggestive if you squint with a monocle, smart reid (i did some research for that btw lolol), private relationships, hmm i think that’s it!

"hey, yln made it after all!" morgan exclaimed while relaxing by the pool, drink in hand. "sorry, guys. i had a bit of trouble finding a good bathing suit," you explained, not entirely truthful about the reason for your tardiness. in reality, you and spencer got sidetracked once you found the perfect suit, causing both of you to arrive late. yet somehow, spencer managed to beat you to morgan’s location.

as morgan gestured towards spencer, he reassured, "don’t worry, pretty boy just arrived." emily found it amusing, asking "who reads at a pool party?" while opening her soda can. "spencer reid does," jj responded as she sat beside the pool with her feet dangling in the water, earning a laugh from penelope who was sunbathing on a unicorn float.

"hey derek, do you have any more of those floats? i think i’m going to get in the pool." you placed your bag by the patio table and started to apply some sunblock. "sure thing, i’ll go inflate it." "thank you!" you shouted as he walked away from the group.

as you applied the rest of your sunblock, you couldn't help but notice the chatter of your colleagues. you walked over to spencer, who was deep into reading his book. "hey handsome," you whispered, making sure only he could hear you. spencer raised his head, squinting as he blocked the sun with his hand. "hi baby," he replied with the same volume. "are you planning to get in the pool, or will you stay here and read?" you giggled. "i’m going to finish this book," he said with a shrug. "suit yourself!" you walked off.

soon after, morgan returned holding a heart-shaped floatie which he handed to you before returning to his chair. you threw the floatie into the pool and gradually got in after it. descending the pool steps, you winced as the cold water rushed over your body. "why is it always freezing when you first get in the pool?" you complained as you reached for the heart-shaped floatie.

“the cold going into the pool is actually a result of conduction of heat. see, water is a much better conductor of heat rather than air. energy can flow from your body quicker than it would if you were surrounded by air at the same temperature. even if the water is much warmer than the air, you would still feel cool getting in.” spencer answered your rhetorical question.

"let’s not ask reid any science questions today," penelope giggled as she took a sip of her soda can. "my apologies," he chuckled, refocusing on the final chapter of his book. you shook your head and repositioned yourself in the float, finally finding a comfortable spot.

"spencer, come join us in the pool, the water is great!" jj exclaimed, eyeing the artificial waterfall nearby. "but I'm not finished with my book," spencer whined. "if he doesn't want to swim, that's okay," you shrugged as you started to float around in the pool.

he’s knows you, he’s caught on to what he calls the ‘yn trend’. when you say “that’s okay, it’s fine” he knows what you really mean. he huffed and placed his book down and walked over to the pool.

"i knew you would," you teased as you made your way to the edge of the pool. spencer removed his shirt and you couldn't help but keep your eyes on his body. "wow, spence! you’ve got the body and the brains," penelope commented, lifting her sunglasses for a better look.

"i’ll only be here for a few minutes," he muttered before diving into the pool. the sudden rush of coldness left him shivering, but he quickly adjusted and began to swim around. as he explored the refreshing waters, he found himself falling in love with the pool.

"spence what’s going on with your back?" jj tilted her head. spencer turned to face jj and emily, who had come over. emily commented, "it’s so red." spencer lifted up slightly and morgan asked, "pretty boy, are you allergic to chlorine? you should've told me earlier." "i’m not allergic! i don't know what you guys are talking about." he raised his voice, combing his wet hair back.

you hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation that had erupted about spencer’s back. you looked over to see penelope inspecting him. “it looks like scratches… reid are you seeing someone?”

you could tell that spencer was caught off guard by penelope’s question. he stuttered a bit before responding, "uh, no, i’m not seeing anyone." penelope didn't seem convinced. “okay i know i’m not a profiler like you guys but this doesn’t just happen.” she traced the scratches with the pad of her finger.

you watched spencer becoming slightly uncomfortable with the questions of his dating status. “spencer, let’s go see if it really is scratches from fingernails.” you slipped off the plastic float and went to grab a towel to wrap around your body. spencer followed you into morgan’s home and slid the patio door to limit the cool air from coming in.

“jesus, did i really do that?” you spun spencer around to look at his back. “you did.” he chuckled throwing his head down. “‘m sorry…” you felt a little guilty, you didn’t mean for him to become a target of interrogation.

“don’t worry about it… i like it when i make you feel good.” he smiled with his hand on your face, his thumb slightly grazing your face. “yeah?” you slightly smiled. “mhm.” you reached for his lips until you heard the door open.

“and now we know who the culprit is.” morgan laughed with a empty glass of piña colada of his hand.

[evie-sturns]

Snap - Chris Sturniolo

summary: when you apparently 'distract matt' while matt's driving chris snaps at you, he regrets his choice of words instantly when you get upset.

contains: angst, crying, makeup-sex, fluff, arguing, yelling, gentle!chris.

----------------------.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.-------------------

i sit in the backseats of the sturniolos car, nick is to my left scrolling aimlessly on his phone and chris is in the passenger seat. the conversation in the car is quiet.

matt swings round a corner earning a small laugh from me,

"matt, can you turn up the music please?" i ask chirpily,

chris has been on edge the whole day, we've bickered countless times throughout the afternoon.

chris's jaw clenches as i repeat myself, "matt?"

"one second-" matt mutters while switching lanes,

i reach my arm out and turn up the volume myself, leaning over the center console from the backseat slightly.

the volume in the car raises, the headlights illuminate the road infront of us as i lean back into my chair.

"you don't have to turn up the music now, patience would be nice for a change." chris mumbles, i brush off his comment.

"do you know when we're gonna be home or not?" i ask softly, clutching my seatbelt restlessly as matt switches lanes again

then chris snaps.

"hes driving us safley to our fucking house!" chris yells, his voice booms throughout the car,

i've never heard chris yell like that, i've never heard chris yell in general.

"chris- shut up?" i bite back, my attitude kicking in

"stop distracting him!" chris screams at me, his head snaps back and looks at me over his shoulder, veins are visible on his pale forehead.

"shut up!" i yell back at him out of shock, my voice is shaking and i'm nowhere near as loud as chris.

"stop distracting him, you're fucking annoying!" chris shouts,

the whole car goes dead silent.

"you can not fucking talk to your girlfriend like that?" nick raises his voice at chris,

"i'll do what the fuck i want!" chris replies angrily.

"oh my god guys, stop? nobodys distracted and nobody is fucking annoying." matt says from the frontseat,

i take in shaky breathes, when i say that chris has never yelled like that before i mean it, my ears hurt.

nick wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair lightly. "i'm so sorry about him" nick whispers quickly,

the only thing i can do is nod, staring straight ahead at the back of chris's head.

i don't even realise i'm crying until i feel my cheeks become soaked, i take in a deep shaking breath.

the whole car is completely quiet as we pull into our street, not a word has been said since chris's outburst.

“dude stop fucking acting like i just punched her in the nose she’s fucking fine.” chris says from the front seat,

“watch yourself chris.” nick warns,

i see chris glare back at me, i wrap my arms around nick as we pull into our driveway, the painfully long drive is finally finished.

chris instantly pulls on the door handle to open it even though it’s locked

“unlock the door matt.” chris mutters

“bro when i unlock the door you are gonna go straight into your bedroom and sort your shit out.” matt raises his voice

chris’s jaw clenches as he looks out the window, matt unlocks the car door and chris instantly swings the door open, he slams his shut behind him and storms up the driveway.

the whole car goes silent with matt, nick and i in it, aside from the small sniffles coming from me.

“i’ve never seen him like that i’m so sorry.” nick sighs, i nod silently

“c’mon inside,” matt says, stepping out of the car and opening the door for me.

i step out onto the concrete of the driveway, the cold night air against my warm skin makes me shudder.

nick holds my hand as we walk up the steps of the front porch, chris didn’t leave the door open for us like usual.

matt fiddles around with the doorknob and finally creaks it open.

i step into the house and instantly grow warm again, i think it’s the fact the heatings on mixed with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my body.

“you can come stay in my room tonight.” nick whispers, almost dragging me down the corridor into his comforting room.

“have a good sleep!” matt calls out with a sympathetic sad smile on his face, “thank you matt.” i croak,

i flop down on nicks bed with a small sigh, nick jumps down next to me and tugs up the covers. i rest my head on his arm as i fight back more tears.

“you can let it out now, it’s just us.” nick whispers,

that’s enough for me to start sobbing, floods of tears fall down my cheeks.

“i’m sorry-“ my voice breaks, “i’ve just never really been yelled at like that.”

“i know, i don’t know what’s wrong with him and i’m so sorry.” nick sighs, he runs his hand through my hair as i continue to cry.

“he’s gonna fix this, i promise.” nick says softly, i nod into his arm.

-

i’ve been laying in nicks bed for around an hour, my tears have mostly stop due to the fact i’m so tired, too tired to keep crying.

my eyes flutter shut again,

abruptly i hear noises coming from matt’s room, they don’t sound like arguing but it doesn't sound.. normal.

i sit up in bed,

"dude- you know i cant sleep alone c'mon." i hear chris say with a shaky voice,

"yeah, well your fucking girlfriend would be in bed with you right now if you didnt scream at her for an hour." matt replies,

"so go back to your own room." matt follows up.

chris lets out a wobbling sigh, i hear the door to matts room slam shut followed by small footsteps coming down the corridor

i hear the footsteps grow closer to nicks room before a soft couple of knocks on the door, my heart drops as i lay back down in bed.

"what." nick calls out,

"can i speak to y/n, please-" chris almost whispers,

nick looks over at me, i hesitate before nodding.

i stand up out of bed and walk over to the door, i creak it open and im met with chris's face.

he kind of looks like a train wreck.

his lips are red and puffy, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his brunette locks are messy and hes avoiding eye contact.

"um- do you want to come to our room, i just want to talk to you- you dont have to though" chris stambles, tilting his head towards our room.

i nod, chris goes to reach for my hand then pulls back. i follow behind him up the corridor towards our shared bedroom.

he opens the door for me, i walk inside awkwardly, the silence is deafening.

i plop down on the bed and chris follows, he sits down a couple feet away from me and his gaze shifts towards me.

chris fidgets with his long fingers before his blue eyes meet mine.

"i'm so- sorry for what happened earlier-- i know i raised my voice, and i shouldn't have at all. it wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't right, i wasn't thinking straight." chris starts after a couple seconds of silence.

"i messed up, big time. i let my weird 'fuckin mood take over, and i directed it at you, which was completley uncalled for. i hate everything i did, and for making you cry, and yelling in general. you mean everything to me and im so so sorry."

"i dont even know what happened, it was like it wasn't me talking dude- i just love you so much and- and-" chris's voice breaks,

he brings his pale hands up to his flushed face and wipes his eyes.

"please forgive me" he says while running a hand through his hair.

i scoot over to chris and wrap my arms around his trembling body, the warmth of his body comforting me.

"i don't know why you yelled at me like that, but ill try to forget about it." i sigh, chris nods and burys his face into my chest.

i pull away from chris and take his face in my hands, his cheeks are a deep red and his lips are raw.

i press my lips to his softly, i wrap my arms around the back of his neck before straddling him.

i sit comfortably on his lap before shifting slightly,

suddenly chris lets out a low whimper into my mouth,

the kiss wasn't even sexual, there was no tongue, just lips pressed together.

i let out a small laugh,

i feel a poking against my inner thigh, "are you serious chris?" i giggle,

"i am so sorry- i don't know how that happened" chris says in a panicked tone

"how did you get hard from that?" i scoff, rubbing my eyes.

"i don't know." chris sighs, "ill go fix it just give me a couple minutes"

he goes to stand up off the bed but i pin him back down,

"don't say that? i'll make you feel better chris."

"i don't want you to have to do that, i don't want you to think i only apologised for sex-" chris rambles, i press a finger to his lips,

"i know that wasn't why you apologised." i assure him before lifting my baggy shirt off of my body,

chris's eyes gaze over my bare chest, i feel him grow fully hard.

"oh fuck" chris laughs slightly, i stand up off of chris's lap and shimmy my pyjama shorts down my legs.

i'm left in my light pink lace panties, which quickly follow in the pile of my clothes on the floor.

chris stands up off the bed and walks over to me, he picks me up by my ass and throws me down onto the bed. "are you sure?" chris asks, "yes chris." i smile

chris fidgets with the buckle of his belt, which keeps his baggy jeans up.

his discards his belt on the floor before unbuttoning his denim jeans. chris's jeans fall to the floor followed by his boxers,

letting his erection spring out, his tip taps his stomach before he stands between my thighs,

chris is usually a rough, fast sex kind of guy, but hes not acting like that today. he's being slow and his tough is so gentle.

he brushes his fingers over the hem of my panties before pulling them to the side. chris presses a light kiss to the inside of my thighs before standing back up.

"you ready sweetheart?" chris asks, tracing mindless shapes on my clit lightly.

"yeah-" i reply

chris lines himself up with me before pressing his tip inside of me,

he lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he enters me, i sink my top teeth into my bottom lip with a small moan.

chris presses further of his length inside of me, stretching my walls around him, "you feeling okay?" chris whispers, grabbing my waist lightly.

"feels.. really good" i breathe.

chris finally bottoms out, i feel his tip lightly press against my cervix before he almost pulls out again, then presses back inside of me.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, i moan into his mouth as his thrusts continue.

chris pulls away from the kiss and presses his forehead to mine, his brunette hair resting on my bare forehead.

chris uses his free hand to move some of my hair away from my eyes, i feel his tip repeatedly brush against my g-spot.

with every thrust he hits that spot, earning louder moans from me.

"oh chris!" i whine, arching my back off the bed as his pace picks up a little bit.

"you're taking me so well, feel so good around my dick." chris praises me, knowing i love it when he praises me.

chris reaches his hand down between where our body meets and presses his hand onto my lower stomach.

"feel me right there?" chris asks,

he pushes deep inside of me causing a obvious stomach bulge, my mouth falls open as i feel my mind fog

"fuck chris- oh my god im so close" i babble out, "keep doing that- please"

chris lets out a low laugh, "im close aswell pretty girl"

chris reaches further down and rubs my clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure.

and thats enough to send me over the edge.

i feel an intense amount of pleasure wash over me, "chris!" i call out, clenching around his length as i release.

chris pulls out of me and strokes himself a couple of times before finishing on my stomach "oh god.." chris groans, throwing his head back.

he flops down on the bed before pulling me onto his stomach, "i love you so much." chris breathes out deeply,

"i love- you to." i pant,

chris lets out a small laugh before reaching his hand to my stomach, he wipes his cum off of me with a grimace on his face.

"sorry that was kind of gross." chris laughs.

"it was hot." i correct him.

chris sits up and carrys me over to the couch in his room, he sits me down on it before digging through his closet.

chris pulls out a shirt of his and some sweatpants, he brings them over to me and tugs the sweatpants up my legs and pulls the shirt onto me.

"you're so pretty." chris smiles, "dont be boosting my ego now chris." i joke

"its truee thoughh" he replies.

"you're so stupid." i say, my cheeks going red.

"you're flustered so somethings clearly working." he grins, helping me up off the couch.

"it doesnt matter, i need water." i giggle,

chris reaches for his bedroom door and opens it for me, i step out into the corridor and grab chris's hand,

we walk down the corridor together into the kitchen where nick is sat,

he looks up at us with a small sigh

"glad to hear you two made up" nick groans dramatically,

"what?" chris says, his eyebrows furrowing.

"chris. all i could hear for the past 20 minutes was 'chriss dont stop' it was a living hell." nick says holding back a laugh,

my eyes widen,

"you guys are gross" nick smiles with an eye roll, nick walks past us out of the kitchen and punching chris in the arm.

"chris-" i protest,, my face red.

"hey- to be fair you were quite loud..."

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

BRO BILLIES NEW ALBUM SENT ME TO HEAVEN I SWEAR, also i saw this mega fucking hot guy at the supermarket today like im talking hotter than matt sturniolo deadass.

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @cristiana-heartzzchris @chrissturnsss @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall

[hyperfixatedbastard]

sweet, sweet silence

Vox x Autistic!GN!Reader

Dating the CEO of VoxTek Enterprises has its perks. You always get brand new devices before they even hit the shelves, and occasionally, Vox makes things specifically for you - like noise-cancelling headphones.

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS: none!

A/N: this is for the autistic homies but it works for anyone with sensory issues! 'tis based off of my own experiences so apologies if it feels inaccurate to anyone, i'm projecting so hard rn. this is also my first time writing x reader/2nd person POV so I hope I did alright! also, i do requests if anyone would like to see more of this kind of thing :)

Dividers

"Doll, c'mere for a second, would ya?" Vox calls out to you, gesturing for you to come to his desk with a 'come hither' motion. 

You raise a brow in interest as you approach your boyfriend where he's sitting in his rather eccentric chair, tinkering with...something. You hop up onto the desk, careful to sit in a spot that you know has no important screens or buttons (you learned the hard way). You don't say anything, instead just tilting your head and waiting for Vox to show off whatever he's been working on this time.

He finally lets you see what's in his clawed hands: a pair of headphones. They're clearly a VoxTek product—the blue and red color scheme gives it away—though you're certain you've never seen these on sale before. It's not uncommon for Vox to show off new products to you before they're released, though, so you don't question it.

He smirks as he holds the headphones out to you. It's not that sly, devious smile he so often has on his screen, though; it's that grin you have when you're about to surprise someone and you just know they're going to love it. "These are for you, darling."

On one hand, you get a little excited (free shit, fuck yeah!). But on the other, you're a little worried—you're not good at receiving gifts. It always ends up awkward because you don't really know how to express gratitude in an expected, neurotypical way. But Vox is well aware of that, and he can tell when you're grateful, so you push those worries to the side and take the headphones from him.

You look at them curiously, inspecting the foldable hinges, the ear cushions, and the small assortment of buttons on the speakers. You can tell that the three buttons on the right speaker are for adjusting the volume—increase, mute, and decrease—but you have no damn clue what the button on the left speaker is for.

"Well? Put 'em on," Vox encourages you, still with that expectant grin as he anticipates your reaction.

You do as he says and place the headphones over your ears. They're certainly comfortable, but you don't see what the big deal is. You already have headphones—they’re not great, as it’s damn near impossible to drown out the unbearably overstimulating sounds of Hell, but you manage. Kinda.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s so special about these headphones, Vox presses that mystery button on the left speaker, and everything goes blissfully quiet.

Your eyes widen as you get the first moment of true silence for the first time since you arrived in Hell. The sudden difference is initially jarring, but the relief is downright euphoric. 

During the entirety of your afterlife in Hell, it's been ceaselessly loud and often unbearable. The screams, the explosions, the gunshots—it's incessant, and you never get a moment of peace. The V Tower is not nearly as bad as the rest of the Pride Ring, thanks to a lot of soundproofing, but there's always something. Moans and other lewd noises fill the halls of anywhere within five floors of Valentino's studios. You can hear the screeching and yelling beneath the thrum of music emitting from Velvette’s section of the tower. 666 Studios isn't much better, with the constant chattering of the crew and bickering between newscasters.

Vox's lair office is by far the quietest place in the entirety of Hell, at least in your experience. The soundproofing here is much more effective than anywhere else in V Tower, and Vox is the only person ever here. He does talk and maniacally laugh to himself fairly often, but you don’t usually don’t mind that (and he’ll typically quite down if he can tell you’re having a rough day). But it’s far from perfect—there’s still the intermittent click-clacking of a keyboard, the constant whirring of the computer fans, the low humming of all the tech, and the audio from whatever security camera Vox is spying on. You can tune it out most of the time, but it all overwhelms you so, so easily.

And you aren't very good at hiding it (at least not with Vox, who’s too observant for his own damn good when it comes to you).

Which is why your dear boyfriend has just spent the past several days making you the best noise-canceling headphones Hell has ever seen. He knows what the constant overstimulation does to you, and he sees it far more often than he'd like to. You get irritated and snippy, and sometimes it gets so bad you have a meltdown. It's gotten less common over time, but it still happens way too frequently for either of your likings. 

“So, who’s the best boyfriend ever?” he hints, clearly fishing for a compliment. His voice is surprisingly clear despite the headphones practically deafening you—his words are muffled, but just loud enough for you to understand what’s being said. He's grinning at you like he's the one that just got the excruciatingly heartfelt present. 

Usually, you’d have a witty comeback to Vox’s attempts at getting you to stroke his ego (always followed by an actual, genuine compliment to ease his insecurities hiding behind that ego), but you’re drawing a blank right now. 

The gift is so thoughtful that you don’t even know where to start on expressing your gratitude. Noise-canceling headphones seem so obvious now, but this is Hell! Both you and Vox had died before this technology became commonplace, and not many people in Hell care that much about the noise. Vox made these headphones specifically for you. He doesn’t need them (he can quite literally just turn off his audio input) and he probably won’t make much of a profit with them as a VoxTek product. He’s a busy man, being a CEO and an Overlord, yet he took the time to make this for you himself, not even passing the project off to one of the poor souls that works for him. 

“Babe?” Vox calls out gently, waving a hand in front of your face. Oh, shit—you’re overthinking your response so much that you forgot to actually fucking respond.

You blink a few times, meeting your boyfriend’s gaze. His brows are slightly furrowed, in what you think is a mix of concern and amusement. He’s a little worried he’s fucked up somehow, but he knows you well enough by now to recognize when you’re thinking too hard about something. He actually finds it quite adorable, at least when you’re not about to have a panic attack from it. 

As he looks at you expectantly, you decide to just go with your gut (at least, that’s what you think you’re doing—you’ve never entirely understood what the fuck that phrase means).

You don’t give yourself time to second-guess your actions before you’re practically jumping into Vox’s lap—though it’s more like falling since you were just sitting on the desk. He lets out a little ‘oof’ of surprise before he chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, holding you steady while being careful of his claws. He smirks as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck, jostling the headphones a little but not enough to fuck with the noise cancellation.

“So…you like them, then?” Vox prompts, just wanting the confirmation even though the answer is already clear. You can tell by his tone that he’s still grinning proudly.

You just gently nod, inadvertently rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt (fortunately, Vox is a fancy bastard with high standards when it comes to clothing, and he’d long ago thrown out any garment made with fabric that triggered your sensory issues).

“Thank you,” you murmur against his neck. 

His hands tighten ever so slightly around your waist, and his response is so soft you can barely hear it through the headphones. “Anything for you, doll.”

[miguelhugger2099]

Puppy Love

Summary: Gabriella wants a puppy! Miguel doesn’t. You convince him. Kinda. Not really. Art: Spinkee on Deviantart (quality is booty but i couldn't find another miguel with a dog hah)

Miguel x Reader, Pure Fluff that’s it.

“No. No, no, no, ningún perro.” Miguel shakes his head at Gabriella, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

His daughter is on her knees on the floor, looking up at her father on the couch with her hands clasped together. She falls on her back dramatically.

“Pero porque nooooo?!” She whines and Miguel sighs, rubbing his temples with one hand and dragging it down his face. He watches Gabriella complain and pound her fists and feet on the floor.

“Ah-ah-ah! Nada de eso.” He says sternly and Gabriella huffs, sitting back up with her legs crossed. She pouts angrily at him to show her fury but all Miguel sees is his baby girl throwing a tantrum.

“Gabi, mija, you’re not even gonna take care of it. Who’s gonna clean up the poop and pee, huh? It’s gonna be me.”

“Papi, I’ll take good care of it! I promise! Pinky promise!” She whimpers, scooting closer and tugging on his pant leg.

“Dije que no, Gabriella. Deja de chillar.” Miguel doesn’t even look down at her, his stress levels heightened after Gabriella had been asking for a pet dog for weeks now.

Gabriella’s face scrunches up, her tiny features contorting unpleasantly as tears well up in her eyes. “MAMI!” She cries, getting up and stomping away from Miguel in the living room to barge in your room where you were folding her clothes.

Gabriella faceplants in the bed, screams muffled as she flails her limbs wildly in frustration.

You pick up one of her clean shirts and fold it neatly in a growing pile. “What happened this time?” You ask her, taking a quick glance up to see Gabriella had moved her face to the side, cheeks flushed red with anger.

“Papi won’t let us have a puppy.”

“Gabi, my love, a puppy is a big responsibility.” Your daughter groans and flips on her back, watching you do her laundry.

“But, Mami, I'm not a baby anymore! I’m ten years old! Ten! I’ll be so responsible! Tell Papi that he won’t need to do anything!”

Once you’re finished folding, you place a hand on your hip and raise your eyebrow down at her. “Papi said no so we’re not getting a puppy, Gabi. Not now.”

“Mami, please!”

“Take these to your room, my love.” You hand the folded pile to her and she begrudgingly takes it. She hops off the bed and goes into her room where she shuts herself in for the rest of the day.

You meet Miguel in the living room, TV volume lowered of a faint cheer of futbol fans during a game. Curling up on his side, he welcomed you with his arm around you, tucking you closer and getting more comfortable with a heavy sigh.

“Maybe we should get a puppy.” You say, breaking the comfortable silence.

Miguel groans, his head rolling back and you look up at him with amusement. “Not you too.”

“We have the funds! I don’t see why we can’t have a little pet around here to keep Gabi occupied.” You place your hand on his chest, rubbing in little circles.

Miguel’s head tilts towards you. “It’s not the funds I’m worried about. I know as soon as that dog comes in, all Gabi’s gonna do is play with it and I’m stuck cleaning it’s shit.”

“Aw, c’mon, baby. It’s our baby girl we’re talking about. Our princess.” You coax him but he’s firm on his stance.

“No. Dogs and all those animals belong outside. So they’ll stay outside and never in my damn house.” He trains his eyes back on the screen.

“You’re so stingy.” You pout and cuddle up to him, head resting on his shoulder.

“She can get a dog when she moves out which is never.” Miguel grumbles, lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Remember: Don’t tell Papi how much we spent.” You remind Gabriella, giving her a pointed look with your index finger over your lips. 

Gabriella beams with happiness, nodding vigorously as she holds a brand new puppy in her arms. A little black pitbull sniffing the air and wagging its tail from left to right, matching the girl’s excitement.

You open the door and Gabriella places the dog down gently. The puppy sniffs the floor and huffs through its nose, getting familiar with its new home. It quickly sneezes and sniffs through everything, half of its body being swung around with its tail. It gives a small yip and its jumps around, wanting to play.

Gabriella is ecstatic! She chases the puppy around, taking toys from a bag and throwing it. “C’mere Princess!”

You slump on the couch, peering in the bag of pet supplies for a baby dog that Miguel would definitely not be happy about.

Gabriella runs around with the puppy for hours before passing out after a day of play. While placing pee pads in the corner of the living room, You hear the door unlock.

Your lovely and blissfully unaware husband hangs his keys in the hook, shrugging off his coat. “Hola, mi amor.” He greets you. 

You welcome him with a hug and a kiss, one he hums in delight. His arms go around your waist and he bends down for another kiss. “How was your day?” You ask him, lips brushing against his.

Miguel sighs. “Fine. Could be…better…” He trails off after hearing unfamiliar footsteps and a bark.

Miguel turns his head to the side to see a little pitbull running up to him and barking, thinking he’s an intruder! Princess circles around him, sniffing and sneezing with her snout, darting this way and that way before looking up at him with a ‘smile’. All she’s really doing is baring her teeth.

Miguel stares blankly at the dog. “You didn’t.”

You grin up at him, wincing. “I did.” You stop him when he groans your name, a lecture on the tip of his tongue. “Princess is already here and Gabi is just so happy.”

“You named it already?” He rolls his head back, hand coming up to cover his eyes in disbelief. He pulls away from you, a pout on his lips. “I’m not taking care of it. You keep that thing away from me.”

“Miguel, now you’re just being dramatic.” You place your hands on your hips. Princess continues to sniff at Miguel’s legs and he shoos her away.

“Mama, listen. I'm not walking or feeding or playing or cleaning it’s shit. That’s for Gabi to do. Whatever it needs, it’s not my problem.”

Miguel kept most of his promise. That was until you went weekly grocery shopping with him on the weekend. While you were finding the meats, you told Miguel to grab the seedless green grapes that Gabriella wanted.

He came back with the grapes and a dogs chew toy. It was a plain bone with ridges around the middle. He tosses it in the cart and hangs by your side. You glance at the toy and then Miguel.

“Why?” You ask. Miguel takes a grape from the box and eats it. Mid-chew, he answers you.

“For the dog. She’s chewing on my shoes.” 

“Uh-huh…” You nod, unconvincingly. Miguel ignores the way you don’t believe him, his hands grabbing the handle of the cart and moving without you. 

The next time is when Miguel comes home from work, dropping his work bag to the floor and tossing his coat on the arm of the couch. He sits with a loud groan, flipping his shoes off. 

The scratches of Princess’s nails scurry down the stairs and rushes towards Miguel, pawing at his pants. 

Miguel leans down and rubs her back a bit before patting her. Princess tumbles to the ground and rolls on her back, huffing while her tongue slips off to the side. “Hey, Princess.” He mutters, patting her over and over again. Princess tries to gnaw on his hand, still growing out her sore canines and Miguel tsks slipping his hand off her. “Okay, okay, ya, ya!” 

Princess rolls back on her stomach, unphased by Miguel’s snapping. She then sits up and jumps so her front paws are on the couch seat and Miguel shoves her paws off. 

“No! Not on the couch! You have a bed!” 

You approach with Miguel’s dinner, him taking the plate from you appreciatively. You then stare down at Princess, her beady black eyes looking between you and the food on Miguel’s plate.

“You just ate, Princess. Go. Bed.” You command and she walks off to her little round fuzzy bed, collapsing on it and rests her head on her paws. She looks between you and Miguel again, her eyes become more and more cute in hopes of some extra food.

“You taught her stuff?” Miguel asks after taking giant bites of your cooking. You sit on a chair by the couch, resting your feet on the coffee table in the middle.

“Me and Gabi.” You hum and turn on the TV to a novela that you and Miguel both liked. 

Miguel grunts. “Quick learner.” He mutters. 

The other time is when you woke up and couldn’t find Princess. You knew Miguel was on his run so she couldn’t have escaped so she must’ve been hiding. But where?

You searched high and low before Gabriella woke up in the morning for playtime. A deep pit of worry in your stomach began to brew, the thought that Princess might’ve escaped somehow. 

While making your own breakfast, you hear the front door open and a loud bark, followed by loud panting. You leave your breakfast, moving over to peek at the front door to see Miguel huffing and puffing and Princess on the ground equally exhausted but her leash around her body. 

“You took Princess?” You ask, placing a hand on your chest in relief. You wouldn’t face a ten year olds tantrum today. 

“I thought Princesa could use an actual workout instead of twenty minute playtime with Gabi and—“ Miguel sighs again, wiping sweat off his forehead and fanning himself with the front of his loose white tank top. “Jesus, she has energy.”

“Princesa?” You ask with a raised brow.

“What?” He sniffs. “It’s still Princess. Don’t be weird.” You put your hands up in defense but he quickly surrounds his sweaty arms around you.

“Ew! No!” You laugh and try to leave him embrace. Miguel pressed a loud obnoxious kiss to your temple. The sound of the kiss making Princess jump up and start barking. She lunges at you both, using her force to push you enough to take a step back. 

She continues to bark and whine, nudging herself between you and Miguel’s legs. Miguel lets go of you which makes Princess jump up as high as possible to Miguel. He leans down and pats her body all around. 

“Alright, alright! I’m gonna shower.” He laughs and leaves another pat to her head before giving you a proper soft kiss to your forehead. 

But what really solidified Princess as an O’Hara was when Gabriella had a mini talent show in front of Miguel.

With one hand she held a treat. Her other hand did commands for the tutu wearing dog.

“Sit!” Gabriella said. Princess followed.

“Spin!” Princess spun.

“Roll over!” Princess stood still.

“Roll over!” Gabriella tried again. Princess tilted her head. Gabriella faces her father. “That one is still a little new.” She frowns but Miguel chuckles. He pats the seat beside him and Gabriella giggles, jumping into his arms.

Princess barks, feeling left out and tries to jump in as well. 

“No, no, no! Bed!” Miguel shakes his head, commanding her while trying to push her off and Gabriella helps her up. 

“Papi! Just let her do this one time!” Princess whines when Gabriella tugs on her front limbs.

“Gabi, no! The couch is gonna smell like dog!” 

Princess lands on the couch, her body having grown a little bit bigger after these few weeks. She places all her weight down on Miguel’s lap, tumbling down to lay down on top of Miguel and Gabriella’s lap. Gabriella tries to move but can’t so she laughs.

“She’s getting heavier!” 

Miguel groans. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” 

Princess tilts her head up, her tongue coming out to lick his neck and face. Miguel stops her. “Eww!” And Gabriella breaks into laughter.

After a while, Miguel stays up watching TV, Gabriella and Princess both asleep in his lap, Gabis arm around Princess. 

You come from outside your shared bedroom and yawn. With your slippers you shuffle into the living room and see all three of them huddled up together. 

“You’re still here?” You ask, another yawn escaping you. 

Miguel looks at you and then his two girls in his arms. “They were so tired.” He mumbles softly.

You sigh and shake your head. He could be soft about his daughter and dog another day. Not in the middle of the night. “No. C’mon. Take Gabriella to bed.”

A/N: Heavily inspired by my own parents teehee