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beardedjoel · 2 months ago

Text

indebted

dark!joel x f!reader. one shot.

main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: you're having a bad day. one you think is getting better once a rough around the edges man comes to your rescue. you didn't expect it would takes such a sharp turn for the worse. first person pov reader. 9.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! NON CONSENUAL SEXUAL ACTS, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, pervy, sleazy, and foul mouthed joel. degradation, sexual favors, forced oral and piv, virgin reader, corruption, innocence, and daddy kinks featured. biiig ol' age gap (reader's age not mentioned other than "young" but i imagine her as 18-20 as she has a relatively immature attitude, imagining joel 50-55), this is not for everyone and that's okay. i'm not responsible for the content you consume.

a/n: i had some hormonal induced insanity and came up with this. i had a great time trying out a new pov for writing fic! enjoy him as much as i did, friends 🖤 and thanks @joelstummy for the amazing freaky beta work!

I’ll be the first person to admit now that what I’ve been doing is stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. The list goes on. I can hear my father’s stern, militant voice in the back of my head, telling me as much. Except now he likely won’t get the chance to relish in it because I’m going to die here. Way out here where nobody will find my body, and I’ll be just another person that went missing in the QZ, never to be seen again. But this time, it’s not some sleazy FEDRA scheme and coverup or a smuggling deal gone wrong.

It’s utterly and completely my fault.

Sneaking out wasn’t meant to become a habit, but after the first few times, I lost the fear and adrenaline that had burned hot through my veins at those first steps of freedom. I craved it again, so I kept going further. And further. Away from civilization as I knew it, until the cluster of buildings known as the Quarantine Zone became a tiny speck in the distance. Out here was desolation, nothingness, only abandoned buildings to explore. The infected were another story, but I started to learn routes that helped me avoid encounters with them.

It helped clear my mind after a while, this newly found sense of adventure. All I’d ever known was a cage, a walled city that had become so mundane I felt my insides starting to rot from the listlessness of it all. My father was important - top in the rankings - I knew that, and it was all the more reason to keep me safely locked away while the city stirred with chatter of an uprising against FEDRA.

He never bothered to check on me much, anyways, making my little forays quite easy. Once I’d persuaded enough people with ration cards, they’d shown me the tunnel leading to freedom. Well, that tunnel, then another, a ladder to climb back up to the surface, and only then could I go through a precarious hole in a chain link fence. That was the smuggler’s route, they said, an easy ticket to getting in and out without being noticed.

I’d been abusing it, staying out for days at a time, never able to drink in enough of this quiet solitude that was of my own choosing, not my father’s. I couldn’t quite figure out what hole inside of me I was trying to fill, but I’d be damned if I stopped trying.

However, today seemed to be my last chance to try at all. His footsteps had been quiet - so quiet - approaching behind me. An old store, full of half decayed plushies, molded candies, and other adorable things from lives long put in the past, had called to me, distracted me. The arm around my throat, constricting, the other coming up to put a hand over my mouth. A dirty, putrid smell encompassing everything as I sputtered against him. This is it, I’d thought. What a waste.

I scream and fight against the strong hold he has on me, a nasty sneer right against my skin. “What’s some fresh meat like you doing waaaay out here, huh?” a dark voice rattles into my ear.

I scream behind his dirty palm in response, kicking my legs back at him. I should have learned more self defense, but who needs it when you’ve spent most of your life safely tucked away with your family name as your biggest protector?

“You smell good… real good…” The creep’s voice buzzes by me as he takes a deep breath in, making me shudder. One swift kick and I’m sure this is it, the one to knock him senseless and let me escape. He’s smart for how distracted he seems to be by my scent, and he’s one step ahead of me. My legs are kicked out from underneath me as I rear one back, and I fall to the ground, the man coming down with me to sit on my back, straddling my body in a fluid motion. He grips my hands behind my back, leaving me helpless in my fight, kicking and screaming. I’m ice and heat all at once, my body burning in a frozen blaze, my fight or flight quickly turning to fawn as his weight presses down on me.

“You can have anything in my backpack, anything! Please, let me go! I - I don’t want any trouble,” I choke out pathetically, hating how my voice comes out in shaky waves. This isn’t how to appeal to people like this, people who have lost their sense of humanity, evident by the way he’s now grinding himself down onto my jean clad asscheeks.

A laugh comes out of him that would haunt me as evil incarnate for the rest of my days if I wasn’t so sure that I was going to die at the hands of this man after he was done with me. “We both know I don’t give a fuck about any damn backpack of yours. I don’t want any trouble either, sweet cheeks, I just think you’d have a lot of fun with me and my friends. But mostly me,” he replies with the hint of a wink in his voice.

My stomach clenches, sickness rolling in that is only furthered as the man leans down, cloaking me with his large form. I can’t turn enough to see him, to even know what this violation of a man looks like, but his energy is beyond hideous as I catch a glimpse of his yellowing teeth in a grin before he pushes my head down to the cracked linoleum tiles. My hair tangled in his fingers, he holds me down hard, and I struggle to breathe as he crushes me beneath him.

“Now, are you gonna come easily, or do I need to do things the hard way? Either way is fine with me, for a fine piece of ass like this. In fact, I might prefer it the hard way, but we’d hate to ruin this pretty skin of yours, wouldn’t we?” He says slowly, pressing the cold blade of a knife to my throat.

“O-okay, okay,” I acquiesce, stopping my squirming, just needing a bit of room to breathe, my lungs heavy inside my chest. My panic only makes my chest tighter, even when the man leans back the tiniest bit. I had hoped that my sudden compliance would get that knife off my throat, but it hasn’t. “Just don’t hurt me… please…” I whimper.

He lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Afraid I can’t promise that.”

I’ve never felt fear like this, such certainty that I was about to be ruined, my life as I know it changing without a chance to even look back. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for it, for anything he’s about to do next, finally accepting that there isn’t any appealing to scummy men in a scummy world. But nothing comes except for a muffled crack ringing through the air, and then a thud as the entire weight of my adversary falls on top of me, crushing. Something warm has splattered on my skin, my face, then starts to coat my jacket, seeping through. I shake violently, begging my body to catch a full breath under the weight of him.

Then as suddenly as it happened, it stops, the body yanked off of me and tossed to the side with ease. The deafening thud of his entire weight onto the ground is stark. I flip over and scramble backwards, grabbing the knife that had fallen from the man’s hand in his swift, final moment. Holding up a shaky hand, I grip the knife tightly, looking up to face a brutish, tall man with overgrown hair of chestnut and gray. A trim beard with the same coloring wraps around his tightly set jaw. He’s all wide shoulders, thick arms, broad chest, and my senses go on high alert again. His gun is practically still smoking as it hangs at his side, an active threat.

“Y’alright?” he drawls, thick and deep, echoing through the abandoned shop. One step closer to me has the knife practically flailing as I struggle to calm my hands, a strained hum alongside my shaky breathing the only sound I seem capable of making.

“Put that thing down,” he says calmly, almost exasperated. His stance slackens, one knee pushed out as he sizes me up. I’m likely the most miserable looking thing he’s seen in a while, I’m sure. “You’re harmless.”

“H-how do I know you’re not with him?” I blurt out.

My gruff savior lifts his brows incredulously. “That guy?” he asks, motioning impatiently to the dead body only a foot away. “Think I’d be puttin’ a bullet right in his skull if he was my best buddy?”

My eyes dance over him as I think. He has a point, and he did just save me from whatever debauched things that stranger’s mind had been conjuring up.

“Y-yeah, you have a point,” I finally say. He steps closer, and this time, I let him, putting the knife down. He motions with an authoritarian air for me to push it away, and I obey immediately, flinging it across the room.

“Poor fucker died with a hard on, didn’t he?” The man muses as his boots thud on the way over to the body, kicking it slightly as if to check, letting it roll back before turning his attention on me. “Now, are you usually this stupid, comin’ into hunter territory, or what?” he asks, reaching a hand down to me, presumably to help me up.

“I didn’t know…” I mumble, letting his hand hang there. He doesn’t snatch it back right away, although I can tell he wants to, that he’s already beyond exasperated by his day and the last thing he’d wanted was a damsel in distress like me. I hate that he’s proving all the things I’d been trying to disprove about myself by coming out on these solo trips into the great, big outside. I’m weak. Dependent. Needy. It makes my skin crawl with self loathing and frustration.

“Didn’t know, huh? So just clueless, then?” the man spits out, staring down at me with darkened eyes that make me turn my head away in shame. At my sullen silence, he seems to soften a little. “I’m Joel,” he says, an offering to go along with his outstretched hand.

I sigh, taking it and telling him my own name. I’m up on my feet, dusting myself off and looking at him shyly now. I don’t know what people are supposed to say when someone saves their life, so I just mumble, “Thank you.”

Joel snorts, nodding in acknowledgment as he crouches to pat down the body, seeming to come up short of anything interesting. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, standing back to his full, towering height, glancing around with sharp eyes. “We should move.”

I might be as stupid as he says, because I wordlessly start to follow him towards the door. His hand stretches out behind him, open and inviting me in as he checks outside the door with a careful peek, his gun held tightly in the other. I stare down at it in disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t bite,” he sighs, that perpetual vexation in his tone again as he twitches his brows at me. “Need you close by. An’ it seems you have a tendency to go where you shouldn’t.”

My cheeks grow hot at the harsh truth of it, and I grasp his hand without any further objections, marveling for a moment at the way it envelops mine. All calloused and hard, mine soft and unused for labor of any kind.

“I’ve got a safehouse not too far from here.”

“A safehouse?”

“It’s already gettin’ dark. There ain’t no way we’re making it back to the QZ today, princess,” he retorts quickly, the pet name mocking on his tongue.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, disappointment pressing in on my shoulders.

He chuckles out more of a snort, pulling me around a bend, slowly leaving behind the dangerous territory that I’d unknowingly encroached on. “You’re a FEDRA princess if I’ve ever seen one,” he tells me, and my heart sinks that I was so easy to read. I’d seen how capable this man Joel was, but damn was he was astute, more than I’d given him credit for.

I chew at my lip. “Fair enough,” I mumble under my breath, letting him take his well earned win. The longer I hang onto Joel’s hand, letting him expertly weave me through the barren streets, the safer I start to feel. He knows where he’s going, a practiced route he’s taken countless times, and it hits me then that this man is a smuggler. He has to be.

“Are you a smuggler?” I ask pointedly. “I’ve heard that people like that come in and out of the QZ.”

Joel falters for just a brief second, giving me a wily grin. “Look who’s readin’ who now,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Ain’t gonna run and tell your daddy, are you?”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a smile. “I can keep a secret.” In fact, I like keeping secrets from my father, hence the sneaking out, so Joel can count on me to never rat him out.

His amused grin in response lights a little flame akin to friendship inside of me. This grumpy old bastard could smile after all. “Just through here,” he says, letting the smile drop, taking a sharp left down a street just as a sprinkle of rain starts to fall on us. It’s a less urban area - more like a neighborhood - sprouted with apartment buildings and abandoned, vine covered cars. It’s my favorite thing about all the exploration I’ve been doing, seeing the way nature can reclaim anything and make it her own.

The cracked street below us makes me tread carefully, lagging behind as Joel’s hand tugs me along urgently. We turn down an alley, Joel whipping his head left to right before dragging me behind him, finally dropping my hand to open a door that leads right into a tiny lobby and a stairwell. He runs a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back some - a rather handsome look for him, now that I’m thinking about it. I try to ignore that thought as his voice booms through the empty room.

“Up,” he commands, gripping my hand again and leading us up the stairs.

My stomach sinks a little when he takes out a key, unlocking a padlock on one of the apartments numbered 405 and pushing the old, chipped door inwards. I have no reason not to trust Joel, he saved my life afterall, but I can’t shake the nerves I feel from being in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar man. It’s quiet here, likely nobody in the vicinity but the two of us.

“Home sweet home,” he grunts out, dropping his backpack and gun holster near the door and shrugging off his damp jacket, leaving him in a plain tee shirt that hugs his muscular frame. It’s a small, cramped apartment with a living room and kitchen directly next to it, a little window cut into the wall, peering in on the living room from above the stove. It looks as if it’s left exactly as it was years ago, full of furniture and clutter, only a vessel for Joel to use without making it his own at all. I peer past to see a small hallway I can only assume leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Know it ain’t the palace you’re probably used to, but we’ll be safe an’ dry here,” he say, and I roll my eyes behind his back. If Joel thinks that I live in a palace, he’s clearly misunderstood the state that the QZ is in. My father’s house is spacious, sure, but it’s just as dilapidated as the rest of the city. The only difference is the level of protection afforded to our homes.

He ambles into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets with a clatter, then comes back moments later with an open can of beans and two forks. I’m still standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Hungry?” he asks gruffly, and I shake my head, wide eyed. I’d lost my appetite the minute that man had grabbed me earlier, and I couldn’t seem to get it back. Joel shrugs, digging in with a messy forkful of from the can. “Your funeral,” he says, chewing.

Joel sinks down onto the couch with a tiny groan, setting down the can on the side table next to his armrest, giving the other cushion an expectant look. “Well, you gonna sit your ass on down an’ tell me why the hell I had to save it today, or what? Why the hell you’re wanderin’ around like it’s a free for all out there?”

I flinch slightly at his harsh tone, but gingerly step my way into the room, unzipping my jacket and shedding it. For the chill outside, the temperature inside the apartment is more comfortable than I’d expect, my skin welcoming the change. Joel eyes my thin tee shirt, and I feel a flash of heat sweep my skin before I feel the prickle of goosebumps, knowing my nipples are poking through the fabric. His eyes catch there before he promptly averts them.

I sit precariously next to Joel on the loveseat, pressed as far away as I can from him, not wanting to cramp his personal space. But he seems to have no problem with that anyways, his legs spread wide open in a comfortable stance, leaned back against the cushions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a moment as he awaits my answer.

“I was… exploring,” I say simply, cringing at how ridiculous it sounds coming out of my mouth. Who leaves perfect safety to wander around in a dangerous world on purpose? For no other reason than curiosity and a sudden, rebellious sense of defiance?

His eyes snap open, head pulling up from the couch, turning my way. “Explorin’…” He mulls on the word, slowly licking his lips before pursing them. “You’re tellin’ me I had to save a FEDRA brat today ‘cause she was explorin’? You really are stupid. ‘Course you are, look how young y’are. Look how fuckin’... sheltered.” Joel throws his hands up, landing them on his thighs with a soft thud, sighing. “Can’t even blame ya.”

I pluck up every bit of courage I have, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, it was really nice of you to save me and everything, and I do thank you for it. I’m sorry if I messed up whatever… smuggling stuff you had going on today, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me… stupid.” The last word is quiet, mousy, and I turn my head down, eyes shining with unshed tears that I silently curse myself for. My father’s voice rings through my head - you stupid girl! - making me shudder.

Joel sucks at his teeth. “Hit a nerve, I see,” he says passively. “Alright, I’m sorry kiddo. I just mean, you’re puttin’ yourself at risk doin’ what you’re doin’, and it ain’t a smart idea. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, relaxing a little. “I just needed to get away.”

“From your dear old daddy?” he teases, picking up the can, shoveling several more bites into his mouth. I go silent, picking at a thread on the couch rather than answer him. “Ah, another nerve, I see. Daddy issues. Could’ve guessed that one.”

“I don’t have -”

“Sweetheart…” Joel interrupts, looking at me from under his brows, pulling his lip between his teeth, seeming to look at me in a fresh light. It sends my skin tingling, the way he eyes me, a glint in his stare. It seems to prove his point, the way a pet name from a middle aged man seems to immobilize me against my will. I want to slap the smug look off his face, but I have no grounds to do so, only grumbling quietly with my cheeks blazing in embarrassment. A prickle of something else works its way deep into my belly, something warm at how his scrutinizing eyes flick over my body, the lines in his face set, showing his age, his experience.

“Take a piece of advice from a man probably as old as your daddy, then. Trust me when I say that outside those walls ain’t the place to find what you’re lookin’ for. The sooner you let go of that notion, the better off you’ll be.”

Frustration blooms hot in my chest, overpowering whatever the hell that sudden, unwanted feeling was. I’m tired of people dictating what I can and can’t do, what I’m capable of. “People do it all the time - smugglers - you would know,” I retort. “I’ve been doing it for months. Never had a problem until today. It was just some bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Really? You’d be that man’s newest little cock sleeve if it weren’t for me savin’ your ass,” Joel growls, standing up off the couch. I wince at his vulgar language, the picture it paints in my mind of what life might have been like if Joel hadn’t happened to be in the right place at the right time.

“I - I know - I’m sorry,” I blurt out, feeling my hands start to go shaky. “Thank you, Joel, I really - I really do owe you. Everything.”

“Like I said, don’t thank me yet.” He steps over so that he’s in front of me, using his boot to part my legs, scooting them apart and standing between them. “Think I did all this out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Didn’t think that maybe I was after the same damn thing as buddy boy earlier?”

I’m like a fish out of water, the way my lips move with no sound coming out. “Joel…” I breathe out in warning, in questioning. I see his arms strain in his t-shirt, hands flexing open and closed.

“I can’t say the thought ain’t crossin’ my mind now. You are mighty pretty. And you do owe me a favor. One big ol’ gigantic favor, for savin’ your backside.” He brushes his fingers along his jeans, palming his crotch for a brief second before leaning forward, caging me in on the couch with hands on either side of me, pressing into the cushions. My heart hammers in my chest so loud I expect Joel can hear it, can feel the fear taking hold of me. He bares his teeth above me like a wild animal, and now I’m certain he can smell my fear too, that he thrives on it.

“You know what? Maybe you were bound to find what you were lookin’ for outside those walls. Maybe that’s what you needed, is it? Couldn’t find any love from daddy back home, so you wanted to find someone to turn you into their own personal little play thing. Poor baby just needed some attention, did she? Sad, really.”

My hands tremble, my words lost as I can only breathe in shaky little breaths, shaking my head violently. How can this god forsaken day keep getting worse?

“Please -” I mumble out, bringing a jittery hand up to my mouth. Joel slaps it away, gripping my chin harshly at first, inspecting me before his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. I’d think it was gentle, caring, even, if not for the nasty look spreading across his face, the grin that darkens it along with his eyes.

“Time to put this pretty thing to better use and show how grateful you are to ol’ daddy Joel,” he says, using his free hand to deftly unbuckle his belt, the jangling sound like a death knell, making my throat go dry. “Promise I’ll be much better than he would’ve been earlier. People say I’m… a generous lover.” His drawl is slow and calculated, voice deep with lust, the sly smirk turning to a triumphant grin as he chuckles, amusing himself.

He grips the top of my head, pushing me to slide down the couch cushions into a slump as I struggle, powerless against a man of his strength. He positions himself higher up to bring the giant denim bulge right in my view. I wince, trying to turn my head away as his zipper comes undone, his hand grasping deep into the fly of his jeans, yanking his cock out. When it springs free, I gasp as he lets it slap me in the face. Hot, throbbing, and massive, leaking a shiny bead of precum that had ended up somewhere on my cheek. I sit stunned and held in place by his rough hand.

The cold hard fact hits me that this is the first time I’m ever going to experience intimacy of any kind. Hell, I’ve only had one kiss before, and it was when I was ten years old, with a boy belonging to one of my father’s friends, a name I can’t even remember now. The first penis I’m ever seeing is right here, right now, in a context I have had zero control over. It’s thicker than I’d imagined one could be, softer too as I look at the skin of it. Veins run along the sides and bottom, all leading up to an imposing, angry pink head at the tip, practically bursting as it awaits me. It’s magnificent and terrifying at the same time, nothing like what I’d expected based on the half-assed health classes provided by schooling in the QZ. Sex has always had a shroud of mystery for me, and I never imagined that all those secrets, long awaited, would be uncovered like this. A dingy bedroom, a man likely almost three times my age, and me as an unwilling participant. Desperation swiftly grips my chest as I realize I actually have no clue what goes on behind closed doors between two people, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out in the crudest of ways.

The fearful innocence I know is about to be stolen from me causes tears to sting at my eyes, fat little droplets that instantly start to roll down my cheeks, leaking onto Joel’s large fingers still gripped around my chin. I start to struggle, my body seeming to catch up with my mind, loud warning sirens of DANGER! DANGER! finally blaring out in a panic. When I squirm, Joel plants one of his knees into my body, keeping himself balanced while still being able to hold me down.

“Don’t cry now, honey, it’ll only make him harder.” He sneers as he strokes his cock, slapping the head against my closed lips a few times. He wrenches my jaw down, forcing it open. “Nice ‘n wide for this big boy, there we go,” he says, not waiting a moment longer to barge his cock past the opening while he has it.

He groans loudly as he shoves several inches in right from the get go, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. The hand that had been holding my jaw presses in on my shoulder, holding me in place. I’d have nowhere to go, anyways, with his knee on my thighs, his entire body caging me in, the cushions giving me no leeway to the way his cock is forcefully intruding, inch by inch down my throat. The taste is all consuming - a little salty, a little ripe, tasting like days of Joel’s old sweat, but it’s not completely bad, not what I’d have expected. It’s heady in a strange way, clouding my mind as I try to cope with the fullness in my mouth.

The next moment I sputter, my eyes popping open wide, flooded with tears as he hits the back of my throat. I try to gasp for air and I find that I can’t. This is torture of some form, it must be. Full panic follows, where I try to move, but every avenue is pinned down in some way by Joel’s massive body. I weakly flap at him with my hands but it barely even deters him from rocking his hips in and out, choking me again on the thrust inwards as the back of my throat tightens, gagging around his thick girth.

“Open up, relax your goddamn throat,” Joel hisses at me, keeping his cock pressed fully to the back of my throat, constricting any airflow I was hoping to have. I finally breathe shakily out of my nose when he pulls back just enough, only to slide it in slowly, his eyes carefully watching me. I glance up for the first time at him from below, hoping to find any shred of humanity he might have for me, but I’m met with an icy, dark gaze clouded with lust, power.

“Gonna fuck your face now, like the dumb little slut you are. This is what stupid girls get for wanderin’ around by themselves. This is what they ask for.” He punctuates the last words with a sharp thrust inwards, my entire body convulsing with the gag I sputter out around him, drool pooling around my stretched lips. I would whimper if I could, if I even had the air to do so.

Joel is relentless for the next few moments, rapid thrusts in and out of my mouth, my head held conveniently in place against the couch cushions for him. He groans deeply, his pleasure evident while I’m just trying to get my next breath in. I time them expertly, learning as I go, letting him continue to take from me to gain his own pleasure.

“That’s it, that’s right, you’re turnin’ into quite the good girl,” Joel mutters above me, rolling his hips with vigor and making me gag again. I can feel drool dribbling down my chin, my neck, landing on my chest, and it makes me feel ashamed, embarrassed, and a twinge of something else. I can’t tell as Joel grunts, pumping himself in and out of my gruesomely contorted jaw, if the fact that it’s something even remotely sexual has me feeling things I shouldn’t. My cheeks burn hot as my eyes continue to water - how much of it is crying and how much of it is just my body’s response to him hitting the back of my throat, I don’t know.

Then he surprises me by slowing down, languid strokes of his cock in and out with sloppy sounds, a soft hand landing on my head, stroking before bundling my hair in his fist tightly. “Knew you’d have such a filthy little mouth for daddy,” he coos, rolling his hips forward a little further, touching the back of my throat with his cock.

My body spasms a little when he keeps pushing, grumbling quiet groans of approval. My eyes squeeze shut, leaking out an onslaught of tears. I don’t want to see the aftermath if it ends up that it’s one gag too many and the inevitable happens. But to my surprise, he keeps slipping down, intruding on my throat. I try to keep my trembling body still, wanting to keep my throat relaxed, terrified of what might happen if I fight this. Can a person die this way? Could I really choke to death on this man’s dick?

“Jesus fuck. Lord have fuckin’ mercy…” Joel breathes out as he pushes even further. “Swallowin’ him down, aren’t ya? Feel me right in here, I bet.” I flinch when he touches his hand to the column of my throat, wrapping his fingers softly around the flesh. When he starts to retreat, the choking is back in a second, but Joel holds me by the throat, keeping my neck craned back, returning to the brutal way he’d been abusing my mouth. I groan and sputter and try to cough through all of it, my mouth stuffed full over and over again before I can get a breath in.

He’s relentless, and then it stops all at once, his cock popping out from between my lips with a wet, lewd sound. A stream of drool follows, a gush that dribbles down onto my already soaked shirt, and I cough violently, my hands flailing to clutch at my chest.

As soon as the pressure of Joel’s body lifts off of me, I’m scrambling to somewhere, anywhere else, my limbs stiff and achy, my jaw panging with a soreness I’ve never felt before. He stands in front of me, one hand shooting out to grab the collar of my shirt before I can even get fully off the couch, pulling me close.

“Does it look like you’re done showin’ your gratitude yet?” he growls out, gripping the back of my head and forcing me to look down at his cock, still standing at full attention, shiny and dripping with saliva. I swallow hard, the lump painful on the way down. Joel shakes my head for me, the burn at my scalp making me wince. He presses his hips flush with mine, forcing his erection against my thigh before slipping it between them. He leans in close, hot breath ghosting over my face before his lips brush mine.

“You do make a pretty cocksleeve, y’know. Suckin’ cock like a cheap whore, wonder if you take it the same way in your cunt.”

I whimper, shaking my head, the tears non-stop as they roll down my cheeks. “Please… don’t. You don’t have to do this…”

Joel scoffs. “If I put my hand down your pants to that pretty little snatch, tell me I wouldn’t find you wet right now.” He punctuates the words with a sharp pull on my scalp. I cry out, lip quivering, trying to shake my head. “Don’t lie t’me after I’ve been so, so generous t’you today.”

I’m spinning around, a dizzying sensation, Joel’s strong bicep brought across my chest as his other hand delves below my waistline, plunging deep, right to my cotton panties, bypassing the waistband of those, too. Without care, without any sense of boundaries, his fingers explore, slipping through my sensitive slit with ease. I yelp, squirming at the intrusion, and Joel’s deep chuckle behind me confirms what I already knew, what I was beyond confused by.

“Thought so,” he says gruffly, then he cups my entire mound, giving an almost comforting sensation, holding his hand tightly pressed to it. “Nothin’ to be upset about, we’re just havin’ a little fun, payin’ off your debt to dear ol’ Joel, okay?”

I shake my head. “I - I shouldn't be here… it shouldn’t be like this,” I whisper in a cracking voice, hanging my head low as the tears just keep coming, damn them.

Joel’s fingers start to move slowly, just starting with one, stroking gently up my lips, spreading my slickness around. I’m surprised that it feels good, a pleasant little tingle zipping right to my core that I quickly lament, hating myself for it. “What shouldn’t be like this, hm? That you shouldn’t like my cock down your throat? It’s perfectly natural, doll,” he says, somehow soft and condescending in the same breath.

“A-all of this,” I whimper, “Please, j-just let me go. I w-won’t say anything, I won’t do anything. I just…”

Joel quietly shushes me, letting his finger do the talking for a moment. It drags up to my clit, rubbing tiny, enticing little circles. I bite my lip hard, enough to taste copper, trying to suppress the moan climbing its way up from my chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay that it feels good. It’s ‘sposed to. Good little sluts like you don’t know any better, don’t care what it is that’s gettin’ their panties wet. Desperate,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick mess that’s now drooling onto the cotton. “Just relax, let it happen…” I feel his breath, hot on my ear, before he nibbles, biting down hard on the earlobe, tugging it with his teeth. It bursts out, the whimpering moan I’d been holding back, just as he pinches my clit at the same time as the bite.

He laughs. He has the nerve to laugh and it sends a shiver down my spine, my brain muddled and confused and turned on by the eroticism at play here. He soothes me by nuzzling my neck, taking a long, deep breath in. I squirm as Joel’s hand retreats, and I wonder for just a moment, a brief, all consuming moment, if maybe he’s seen reason. When his fingers find the buttons of my jeans, my heart plummets to depths previously unknown as he unbuttons them, pulling the zipper down slowly, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing right on my neck.

“Please, I gave you what you want already,” I beg once more, feeling it fall on deaf ears as Joel tugs my jeans down, revealing my pink cotton panties. They’re my favorite pair - were my favorite pair - a rare find in a world like this. Pretty pale pink with a nice lacy trim and a little bow at the front. Only now, they’d belong to Joel.

Joel clicks his tongue in approval of the sight, pulling his head back to peer at my underwear from the back before his hand grips my ass, jiggling it roughly. “Oh, you’re jus’not getting it, are you? You feel this?” he asks angrily, letting me feel the hard length of his cock pressed to my ass cheeks, threatening to slip between my thighs. “This means you didn’t give me nearly half of what I want yet. He’s still achin’ for ya, princess.”

I grit my teeth, hating the pet name, the way he’s using who I am to mock me. It’s a low blow. I hated everything to do with being associated with my father - I knew he wasn’t a good man - and I hated most that it was so obvious to a stranger which echelon of society I belonged to. If I was so important, where were they now, huh? I want to scream those words at him, but instead I just feel my legs tremble underneath me, my knees feeling like jelly as they almost give out on me.

“Please!” I struggle against his hold, but it only makes him grip my ass tighter, hard enough to bruise. “I-I’m a virgin,” I suddenly squeak out, unsure of why I say it other than some last ditch effort to deter him. My heart pounds as he stills, dead silent with his hand grasping my ass like it’s his next meal, like he owns it.

“Well ain’t it my lucky day. Shit, that’s why you were sputterin’ all over my damn cock, ain’t it?” he says as the epiphany dawns on him, laughing. My cheeks blaze hotter and hotter, hating that I’m even embarrassed at my lack of experience and skills, like I have some sick need to impress him. He notices my tension, my head hanging low as I cry new tears, and says, “Hey, hey, nothin’ to be ashamed for. In fact…” His hand fists in my underwear, tight and unrelenting. I feel his cock press against my ass again, harder than ever before it slips between my thighs. “Makes me awful excited,” he purrs, bringing his mouth to my ear again.

I only give him a timid whimper in reply, squeezing my eyes shut as I realize there is nothing I can do to stop this man. He thinks I’m a cheap whore, and he loves it. I’m a pure virgin, and he loves it even more.

He squeezes me tighter to his chest, my back starting to sweat through my thin tee shirt. “The hell were you savin’ yourself for anyways? Marriage? A sweet pussy like this?” At my silence, he cups my pussy hard, letting the dampness of my underwear soak into his palm. “Answer me!” he barks out.

“I - I wasn’t! I don’t know!” I cry out, trembling.

“Well,” he says, fisting my panties again, starting to pull them down. “M’honored you’d let me be your first, sweetheart,” he drawls, and I nearly scream at the insinuation. I’m not letting him do anything.

I start to put up more of a fight, useless against his thick arms holding me so tightly. Cool air touches my ass and the space between my thighs as he manages to shimmy my panties further down even in my struggle. I clamp my legs shut in defiance, roaring out a strained grunt as I keep trying to squirm out of his grasp. He huffs in anger, trying to subdue my writhing body before he pushes it towards the couch. I land hard, banging my knee on the hard edge that supports the cushion, wincing and trying to catch my breath. I’m practically in position for him already, ass pressed out towards him, on my hands and knees.

“Gonna make me do things the hard way, are you?” He scowls, his free hand fisting in my hair again, pulling me close. His breath is hot over my shoulder, the sensation vile against the skin of my cheek, stained with tears. “Been too long since I found a pretty virgin like you. An’ ruinin’ this perfect, pure little cunt is jus’ the cherry on top of a perfect day f’me.”

I feel his hard cock twitch against me, a reminder of what’s to come. The movements are quick for how bulky Joel’s body is, let alone his age, as he exchanges the hold across my chest for my wrists, bundling them behind my back. I cry out at the strain, the awkward angle he’d twisted them to, fighting him again until a hard smack lands on my ass. I scream through gritted teeth, not giving up the fight, but another thwap! rings out through the apartment, making me falter. My tender flesh screams at me in agony when he lands another spank, even harder this time, then another, until I’m crying unrelenting, fat tears.

With me rendered motionless, Joel presses down, bending me over, my balance tricky with my hands behind my back. My face nearly touches the couch, but I’m precariously held up by the wrists, the strain already making them ache. The warmth dripping between my thighs betrays me as my ass stings in residual little pulses, so raw and sore but spreading a pleasure through me that I’ve never known before.

I don’t have time to dwell on it before Joel is grasping one hand on my hip, notching himself at my entrance. “Promise you’re gonna like this, that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else’s cock but daddy Joel’s,” he spews gruffly in my ear before he thrusts hard, one swift motion to bury himself inside of me. I scream out, the searing pain between my thighs making me wonder if I’m being split open for good, if it’s possible that some things are just too big to fit in certain places of the body.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Joel hisses through his teeth, making the tiniest thrusting motions to ensure he’s buried deep. Every movement pierces me with a new sting as my body desperately tries to adjust, to accommodate the horrible, overwhelming intrusion. “You were not kiddin’, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever been in.”

I sob, unable to speak, unable to move as Joel thrusts brutally from the get go, his hips snapping with force, crashing into mine hard enough to bruise. The lewd sounds we make disgust me, because I know I’m part of those sounds, my body enjoying the filthy things he’s saying, the way he’s taking me without remorse. He pulls himself out, clicking his tongue as he peers down between our bodies. “Christ, you are one sexy little bird. Poor little virgin bleedin’ on daddy’s cock.”

The thought horrifies me, making my stomach turn. “Please,” I cry out, my body rocking with the motions as he starts to fuck me again, the strain on my wrists as Joel uses them to help thrust himself inside of me starting to gnaw deeper into them. I’m like a ragdoll with the way he’s jerking me by my wrists, my body having no choice but to flail in time with the movements so that he can press himself deep on each cruel thrust inwards.

“You want more? You beggin’ already?” Joel grunts between his heavy breaths, sounding so cocky it makes me want to spin around and punch him. I settle for gritting my teeth instead, feeling my body slowly but surely melding into his. When Joel presses me down further, forcing an arch in my back, I whimper when his cock hits something sensitive, deep, primal. Fuck, is it something.

“Oh, that’s it. We got her now, don’t we?” he says from above, continuing to stroke his cock along that spot repeatedly. I feel myself losing my will to fight, hating the pleasure but feeling myself lean into it slightly, my hips pressing back to meet his nearly against my will. “You ever come before, sweetheart?” He leans in a little closer to ask the question, the pistoning of his hips slowing the slightest bit.

I refuse to answer, tears pooling in my eyes. I don’t want him to take this from me, I don’t want him to know anything about me. He jerks my wrists at the same time he slams his hips into me, and I whimper loudly, feeling the way he’s surely bruising my insides.

“If you ain’t figured it out yet, the rules are that you answer me when I’m askin’ you a question if you know what’s good for ya,” he spits out, and I shake my head, letting it hang limply.

“Use your words. Say ‘no, daddy’,” he says with sinister condescension, stroking his own ego.

“N-no… daddy…” I say, my tongue revolting against the words, bile climbing up my throat.

He moves his hand to my head, stroking carefully and softly. “Oh, that’s a shame. That’s a daaaamn shame. All pent up, y’are. But daddy will make it all better.” He sounds deranged, sick, like he truly believes that I’m thankful to him for what he’s doing to me. I can’t answer, my mouth gaping open just as he releases my wrists, letting me fall to the couch with a thud. My open mouth gets a mouthful of the cushions, making me sick over the fact that it’s probably full of god knows what due to its age and whatever things Joel seems to get up to in this apartment of his.

I blink as Joel grips tightly at my hips, wondering why he suddenly trusts my hands to be free, when it happens. He thrusts into that spot again, harsh and unforgiving, and I nearly see stars behind my eyes as the head of his cock punches against things I didn’t even know were there. That’s why. I’m incapacitated at this angle, brutally forced to enjoy the pleasure washing over my body as Joel takes from me, actually giving in return this time.

I bite my tongue hard, not wanting to give him any satisfaction for the tiny moans that are growing louder in my throat, desperate to be let out.

“Let me hear you, princess. Daddy doesn’t do with quiet girls. I can feel you clampin’ down on my cock, know you’re lovin’ how I use you up like you were meant for it.”

I shake my head in protest, but a strangled sound escapes past my tight lips when Joel slams into me harder than he has yet, puffing hard as he fucks me like a greedy animal. He chuckles through heavy breaths, little whispers of that’s it, come on, take it, flow freely from his nasty mouth.

I feel myself slip away, further gone from reality as the warmth spreads from my pelvis into my belly, coiling tight. Everything tingles, set on fire, the spot where Joel handles my hips with his fat fingers practically burning with a constant mix of pleasure and pain. I cry out when Joel’s cock pulls that feeling out from deep inside of me again, half a sob and half a moan as it crescendos, waves of pleasure crashing over me.

Joel’s grunts of approval, so brutish and debauched, sends a new wave of arousal through me. I tremble, eyes squeezed shut with my body completely out of my control, taken over by this boundless bliss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before: heavenly warmth worlds above any of the pleasures I’ve known. This had to be what Joel was referring to, urging me towards, telling me he wanted to make me come. This had to be what I was missing out on all these years, hiding myself away. Was this the reason sex was so coveted, so sought after? Was this feeling… the reason he’s doing what he is to me right now?

It feels like it’s never ending, my body so rigid as it spasms yet pliant as he fucks into me harder and harder. I loathe the noises I’m making that intermingle with his as I squeeze my eyes shut, enjoying it.

“Fuck, fuck - that’s it - f-fuck knew you’d love it. Come on my cock, baby, that’s right.” Joel’s string of praises reach my ears as I come down from my high, limp and yielding to whatever it is he wants to do to me now. I have no fight - my bones turned to jelly, my body sore all over, my throat scratchy from the way he’d assaulted it earlier. I only have it in me to give the rest of myself over, whether I like it or not.

“S-so fuckin’ tight, lettin’ me take your virginity like a good little whore,” he punches out, pounding into my sensitive cunt like it’s saving his soul, like it’s the only thing he could ever care about. I’m on the precipice of coming again, my nerves still frayed and on edge from the last one. A smaller but still powerful climax takes over, my body shuddering and tight, milking every last second of the pleasure.

“Gonna blow my load into this pure little pussy, make it mine - fuck - gonna fill you up like the cocksleeve you are. P-probably never want to be without my fuckin’ load drippin’ out of you again. I-I’m close, fuck -” Joel rambles as he ruts his hips deep, one final thrust and a grunt, and I feel him stall, pulsing into me.

It’s all suddenly very still, an eerie quiet settling over the room. My entire body burns hot, the only thing keeping me from collapsing is Joel’s hands still anchored on my hips as he leaves his cock inside of me, plugging me up. I want to cry again at the sudden, overwhelming shame I feel, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t.

Joel pats my ass a few times, pulling out. I tremble hard, falling forward onto the couch without his hold, instantly curling in on myself. I resent the way I’d noticed how empty I felt the second he was gone, how cold my body was without his warmth pressed into it. I dare to peer up at the sick man who stands above me, catching his breath, watching just as the last bit of his softening cock gets tucked back into his jeans. He swipes a hand across his forehead, gathering sweat, staring down at me with a darkened expression, grinning cockily.

When he plops down on the couch next to me, picking up the can of beans he’d been eating before, my mouth hangs open in surprise at how casual he’s acting. I watch his face shine with sweat, his breathing still labored, but everything else about his attitude would indicate he didn’t just force himself on me.

I try to keep my expression neutral for my own safety as I feel something leak out of me, not even wanting to give him the smug satisfaction of having to confirm my suspicions about what it is. I do my best to position my body so he can’t see between my legs as I try to pull my underwear up from where they sit near my knees, my jeans following. Joel only gives me a knowing glance as he takes a bite, conscious of the fact that a part of him sits inside my now soiled underwear, and a part of me now sits inside of his soul.

He shoves the can my way and I shrink back at his sudden motion, not taking it from him. “Eat. I ain’t havin’ you all weak and despondent for the next time.”

I feel my heart sink down past my ass, my stomach plummeting along with it as nausea overtakes me, a dizzying sensation clouding my vision. He couldn’t have said what I think he did. I - I’d paid my debt, whatever it was he thought I owed him for saving me when I didn’t even ask him to. For saving me and then doing exactly what that man had planned to do anyways under the guise of a caring, noble rescuer.

“N-next time…?” I manage to make my mouth move, my throat to produce a sound, pushing the question out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

“Know you said not to call you stupid but my house, my rules, an’ sweetheart…” He looks at me under his raised, expectant brows. “My stupid, stupid girl. Did you really think that would be enough? That I’d get an opportunity every man dreams of - an untouched, perfect pussy like yours, to keep all for m’self, and throw it all away?” He’s creeping closer as he speaks, shrouding me on the couch with his huge frame, caging in where I lay, my body wound as tightly as it can to itself to block whatever he’s thinking of doing next. “Now you don’t think daddy is that dumb to let you go knowin’ all that, do you?”

I sit stunned silent underneath him, wide eyes fixed in a tortured gaze on his rugged face, but his hand squeezing my thigh is warning enough for me to shake my head, stuttering out an answer. “N-no. No…” I whisper.

Two approving pats on my cheek send Joel slinking back slightly, his dark, unhinged eyes staring holes into me as they roam over my body. Despite nothing even visible - my chest hidden underneath my arms and legs clamped tightly - I feel violated, objectified.

Terror rips through my chest as reality settles in slowly but surely. I look at the man I’d trusted once, who’d shown himself to be a friend, or at the least an ally, currently feasting his eyes on me like I’m a product. Which now, I suppose I am. A whore. His whore.

“Now,” he says, licking his lips, that hungry gaze already returning, a bulge appearing in his jeans and stretching the fabric. “All I’ve got to do is decide just how long I’ll keep ya for.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

#fic: indebted #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dddne joel miller #dead dove joel miller

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loonylupinblack3 · 5 months ago

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Hellooooo, I was wondering if you could do some sfw and nsfw alphabet head canon for our beloved Wolverine?? 😝😝💗💕

NSFW ALPHABET

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: smut, literally so much shit i can't be bothered putting it all in here 😭

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: never done one of these before but it was fun so enjoy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Logan is always in a good mood after sex. He'll make sure you're alright, that he didn't go too rough or hurt you, and then he'd just have you in his arms. He'd be content.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of their partner’s)

Logan is a thigh man 😌 he fucking loves your thighs, loves squeezing them when you're sitting together on a couch or when he's driving. He loves being between them and when your thighs squeeze around his head he is a GONE man. Often holds you down by your thighs when he's fucking you.

C = Cum (where they like to cum)

Logan loves cumming inside you. He fucks you raw and loves the feeling of his cum spurting inside your cunt. It makes him crazy, feels like he's claiming you as his, he can't get enough of it.

Often watches it drip out of you just to shove it back in (he Loves cumstuffing 😩)

He also loves coming on your stomach and back, painting you with his cum, but again, he'll cum in you at least once when you're fucking, he can't not give you a cream pie

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves the idea of being your first. It's not necessarily a corruption kink, it's more of being able to be the person to introduce you to new things, to be the only person you think of when you think about sex. To be able to talk you through it, teach you tricks, ect.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Obviously Logan has experience what with being hundreds of years old. He loves to try new positions with you, showing you new things and doing stuff with you you haven't done before. He likes introducing you to things and over his 200 years alive he’s experienced A Lot of things

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Logan’s not very picky with his positions. Loves missionary so he can see your face when you come, watching what he’s doing to you. Also loves going behind so he can slam into you and be as rough as he wants. However he’s not opposed to you being on top and riding him, and fucking loves the idea of you using him to get off.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely more serious. He'll play with you and tease you and flirt while fucking you, but he doesn't make jokes or laugh during sex. He gets too wrapped up in fucking you.

H = Hair (do they like hair pulling?)

He'll pull your hair All The Time. Almost painfully so, pulling you back to him when you try to squirm away, when you’re giving him a blowie (also makes u wear his mask sometimes so he can pull on the blow handles)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As we know Logan has Issues with intimacy and it often comes as a hard thing for him. Often sex with you is just sex, but thet are some moments where he's fucking you that he feels safe enough to confess his intimacy to you. He's not vulnerable often, but the few times he is it's usually when you're fucking, and he feels safe enough, in power enough, to tell you things.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Logan usually relies on his memories of you when masterbating. He’s an oldie, so doesn’t take many pics/videos of u when fucking (he’s also literally so consumed with fucking you he wouldn’t even think to remember it if he wanted to). Often Calls You, however, and lets you ramble about your day while he gets off to the sound of your voice

“Anything else happen?” he rasps while grunting, pumping his shaft.

“Are you jerking off-”

“Keep talking darlin’, I'm not done yet,” he orders.

And of course you continue.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding is a big one. He loooooves cumming inside of you, filling you with his cum. Never been a fan of wrapping before tapping as they say, so you’re def on birth control. Even so he’ll often whisper dirty things in ur ear abt breeding bc you both just Get Off to that shit

“Gonna breed all my babies into you”

“Fuck, can’t wait to pump you full of my cum, gonna look so pretty pregnant”

ect.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Logan loves to take you away on spontaneous vacation weekends to a lodge cabin in the middle of the mountains, no one else around, and just Fuck you. He goes on all weekend, loving that you’re both alone with no possible interruptions. He goes crazy about having you all to himself.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tbh you being angry with him, yelling and pointing fingers makes him soooo horny. Angry make up sex is a usual and the ones that go on the longest. He loves taking his pent out aggression on you <3

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Doesn’t like doing anything while you’re sleepy/asleep/drunk/ect. He wants you to know what’s happening, to be invested and feel what he’s doing to you. He’s also around dead ppl a lot (obviously) so having u asleep would remind him too much of dead people and it would just Not be the vibe :/

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Logan is a giver!!! Repeat it with me!! He’s been around for hundreds of years, he’s hot, people have given him blowjobs left and right. Yet there’s only ever been one of you. He’s never had you before, never tasted you or fingerfucked you so ofc he’s so much more obsessed with eating out your pussy to think about receiving anything. (also, with his amount of experience, every time he does eat you out u literally have an out of body experience)

HOWEVER that’s not to say logan doesn’t enjoy receiving. Oh my lord, even if u gave the worst blowjobs in the history of Everything, the knowledge that it was your mouth around his dick would be enough to make him cum (except he’s def taught u a few tricks to make the experience even better for him)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Bro… do we even need to specify….

Logan is the roughest guy you’ve ever been with. When he gets turned on he gets turned on and doesn’t stop until your limp beneath him unable to form a single coherent sentence. He loves making you cockdrunk and his dumb little fuck toy.

“Oh don’t worry baby, you just stay there and let me fuck you okay? There’s a good fuck toy.” ect.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Tbh Logan is not a fan of quickies. Like if he reeaaally needs it, like if you’re wearing that red dress he bought you that leaves barely anything to the imagination, sure, he’ll have a quickie (becaus tbh how could he not?)

But usually he prefers to wait until you have enough time because he is THOROUGH. He will fuck you over and over, in every single position like 😩

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Logan loooves experimenting. He loves introducing you to new things, finding new ways to push you to the edge and improve your sex life. HOWEVER. Risks are not his thing. He wants you 1. To always feel comfortable and safe with him and 2. All to himself, so he does not like the idea of anyone accidentally seeing you two ect.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?).

It is NEVER one round with Logan. He’ll fuck you on his fingers, fuck you with his cock, his mouth, his thigh, everything, over and over and over again. Like he never tires, and doesn’t think of it as a job well done until you’re a blubbering mess underneath him

T = Toys (do they use toys?)

Logan actually despises toys. He’s an oldie at heart and believes he should be the only thing getting you off. When he catches ur masterbating with a toy, vibrator dildo Does Not Matter, he goes feral. Fucks you till the only thing you can get off too is him.

“You gonna admit it, huh? You gonna admit nothing can make you feel like this but me? Or do i have to fuck you some more? Yeah, i think i need to fuck you some more, really get it into your head Bub.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Logan likes the idea of teasing in theory, would love to see you whining and begging to come from his cock, but in reality he just doesn’t have the patience for it. You’d think he learned patience from his 200 years alive but in reality whenever u guys get Into it he’s fucking you almost immediately because he just needs to be inside you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Logan is always desperate to make you moan. He loves hearing all the dirty desperate noises escaping your mouth and gets mad when you try to muffle it, hence his perfect location being somewhere isolated so you can scream as loud as you want.

Logan himself is rather vocal too. Not loud per say, but he grunts and groans, and loves talking dirty to you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good on my cock,”

“You like being fucked like a slut, huh?”

“So wet for me baby.”

ect.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves when you mention him during sex. When you scream his name he’s already gone. Wearing his clothes? He’s blowing his load immediately. Saying shit like “i’m yours” “you’re the only one who came make me feel like this” Oh lord he just unravels

What can he say he’s a possessive guy 🤷‍♀️

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Logan is thick. He’s def larger than average, but he’s thick and wide, and the stretch of his cock inside you is fucking delicious every time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Logan can literally get turned on at the smallest of things 😭

He’s just so fucking rabid for you, you could be cooking him dinner and he’ll have you on the counter with your legs spread and him between them, lapping at your pussy like a starving man

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Logan isn’t rlly one to fall asleep. He’ll stay up while you doze off and just admire you, brush your hair, kiss your bare shoulders, just content to have you there with him.

#logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #x men fic #x men fanfiction #x men smut #x men #wolverine x reader #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #wolverine #smut

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ladywhistlewrites · 7 months ago

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Hiiiiiii can I request a wife x Anthony bridgerton story where they are newly married and back from their honeymoon so Anthony works a lot where reader nearly never sees him so when she goes to talk to him he snaps at her and takes his stress out on her and reader gives him the silent treatment until she feels like it’s enough. Pls make him work for her forgiveness 😭😭😭😭😭

hii thanks for sending an ask!!🩷 hope you like it :))

Anthony Bridgerton x wife! reader

***

The morning sun casts a golden glow through the windows of your shared home, a beacon of warmth and new beginnings. You and Anthony have just returned from your honeymoon, the memories and whispered promises still fresh in your minds. Every corner of your home feels infused with the love and joy of your new life together, a life that seems to stretch out before you with infinite possibilities.

The first few days are blissful. You and Anthony spend lazy mornings entwined in each other’s arms, sharing laughter over breakfast, and planning your future with excitement. His touch, his voice, everything about him fills you with an overwhelming sense of contentment. You are his, and he is yours.

But as the days turn into weeks, you notice a change. Anthony, ever the diligent worker, begins to spend more time in his study, pouring over documents and attending meetings. At first, you understand. You admire his dedication and are proud of his accomplishments. Yet, gradually, his presence becomes a rarity. He leaves early and returns late, often slipping into bed after you’ve fallen asleep and rising before you awaken.

One evening, after another long day of waiting for him, you decide to confront him. The house is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the hallway. You find him in his study, hunched over his desk, the dim light casting shadows on his face.

“Anthony,” you call softly, stepping into the room. He doesn’t look up, his attention firmly on the papers before him. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “We need to talk.”

He finally glances up, his expression a mix of exhaustion and impatience. “What is it, my love? I’m very busy.”

The endearment feels hollow, and your heart aches. “I know you’re busy, but I miss you. We barely even spend time together . It feels like you’ve forgotten about me, about us.” you murmur

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m doing this for us, for our future. Can’t you understand that?” he says with venom in his mouth.

“I understand, but what good is the future if we’re not happy now?” The words tumble out, your voice rising with emotion. “You’re consumed by your work, Anthony. You’re neglecting our marriage.”

His eyes flash with irritation, and before you can react, he snaps. “Just mind your own business, will you? I’m doing what needs to be done.” he spats.

You stand there, stunned and hurt, his harsh words cutting deeper than you’d imagined possible. Without another word, you turn and leave, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silent house.

In the days that follow, the pain of his outburst lingers. You decide to give him the silent treatment, unable to bear the thought of speaking to him. You avoid him, your interactions reduced to strained silences and cold civility. He tries to reach out, but you turn away, your hurt and pride keeping you at a distance.

Anthony, realizing his mistake, begins to make amends. Each morning, you find fresh flowers on your bedside table, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dull ache in your heart. He sends you beautiful gowns, their fine fabrics a reminder of his thoughtfulness. Every day, he apologizes, his voice earnest and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says repeatedly. “Please forgive me.”

A week passes, and you find yourself missing him more than you can bear. The sight of the flowers, the sound of his apologies, all begin to chip away at your resolve. One evening, as the sun sets and the house is bathed in the soft glow of twilight, you find him in his study once more.“Anthony,” you say quietly. He looks up, hope flickering in his eyes. “I forgive you. But you must promise me, promise me that you will never speak to me like that again.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he might never let go. “I’ve missed you too, more than you can imagine.”

You stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the world outside fading away. In that moment, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together, bound by love and the promise of a future filled with happiness.

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kquil · 3 months ago

Text

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FIVE

05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY

CHPT. SUM. : Sirius goes to Hogwarts and his sorting causes a stir at school and at home.

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : fluff ; hurt/comfort ; marauders origins dob ver. ; friendship beginnings ; mini-therapy session with the sorting hat ; regulus being a cutie ; sirius finding his place ; regulus needs a hug ; first day at hogwarts ; orion being the worst husband and father ever ; momma bear reader ; not canon compliant

← PREV. | 04 : BEGINNINGS | SERIES M.LIST

1st September 1971

Sirius smiles faintly at his younger brother, the two of them separated by the window of the Hogwarts Express. For a moment, all of the excitement that had been bouncing around in his stomach suddenly compressed into a weighted ball of anxiety. Hogwarts was going to be a fun, new adventure, you had reassured him of such that morning, however, seeing Regulus looking up at him through the window made his stomach drop into an unknown abyss.

"Take care, Siri," Regulus smiles toothily, having to tilt his chin up to see his older brother better. He didn't want to forget a single detail about how his brother looked. It was an unreasonable fear but Regulus was scared stiff over forgetting a single thing about his older brother.

"'Course! You take care too, Reg," Sirius looks up at you for a moment but you don't meet his eyes, seemingly distracted by something that catches your eye in the crowd, "I know Mother is different now but I'm worried about you..."

Shocked by his brother's concern, Regulus feels a small urge to look over his shoulder and observe you in the hopes that the swelling of apprehension in his stomach can settle, somewhat. It's easy to trust you now but it's also just as easy to fall back on being guarded, for his own self-protection — with Sirius gone, his only brother, who often acts as his shield and protector, fear is one stray, all-consuming thought away from devouring them both. They've never been without the other for any extended period of time. This was going to be a first.

"I know..." Regulus nervously tugs on the hem of his sleeves, trying to ground himself with the action, "but I don't think she'll change back... and besides, I have Kreacher," Sirius' lips pull into a thin line. Yes, he's started getting along with the house elf a lot better recently, mainly due to Regulus and his mother's influence but Sirius knows the truth. If Kreacher was ever forced to choose between Regulus and his mother, Kreacher would pick you, the Matriarch of the Black family. His little brother is too naive and soft-hearted for his own good.

"Write to me if anything goes wrong, okay?" Regulus only nods before they silently decide to let go of the tense subject and, at least, part on a lighter note, "I promise I'll write to you about everything that happens, I won't miss a single detail!" the two grin at each other, "By the time I come back, you'll be an expert about Hogwarts and you won't be fumbling around and making mistakes like me on your first year,"

A sharp whistle tears through the air and the brothers share a tearful look before Regulus rushes back to cling onto your skirt, the both of you keeping your eyes solely on Sirius whose heart can't stop clenching — in distress or excitement, he cannot fathom what the emotion behind it all is. In the distance, he watches his mother's lips move to form the words 'I love you'. It's like she's whispering it to him, loving and kind and full of warmth, like the wonderful mother she's suddenly become. Just one month... he wishes you had been whispering that endearment to him for longer than that.

Despite his worries about what may happen to Regulus in his absence, Sirius meets your eyes with a smile and whispers an 'I love you' back. Deep in his chest, his heart settles in content, happy and blissfully optimistic over your disposition. Your eyes hold such bountiful amounts of love, that he feels slightly ashamed for thinking the worst of you. There's no way you would dare lay a hand on Regulus the way you used to, in a cruel means to elicit 'appropriate' behaviour. Not when you adored cuddling him so much, not when you adored pressing soft kisses into his head of curls, not when you catered to his preferences for every meal ever since that fateful day, and especially not when you would always be the first to step in between him and their father during every irate spat.

The train begins to move away from the platform, leaving you and his brother behind but Sirius occupies his seat unworried. His little brother and mother are good with each other. They're perfectly fine. Looking around him, Sirius observes the completely empty compartment aside from himself.

As the train journey continues, he stays alone. Anyone who pops their head in immediately turns away at the sight of him, fumbling with the half-hearted excuse of already having found an empty cabin elsewhere. He almost rolls his eyes at their behaviour. His family was feared for their status and 'etiquette' but that didn't mean he was the same, he was still a kid. Then again, those who peaked in were kids too...

This was going to be a long journey.

James Potter wasn't one to waste time, he was a doer. So when he finds himself unable to find a free cabin along with another two blokes, both rather shorter than him, one with brown hair, who's swamped under a grandpa sweater while the other adorns sandy-blonde locks and a neatly pressed polo shirt with slightly tattered ends, he takes charge. He leads them from one end of the train to the other, all in the search for a free cabin. The hunt was looking bleak at first but that was another thing about James Potter, he wasn't one to easily give up... even when the only cabin that seemed available was the one occupied by Sirius Black.

"Do you mind if we sit with you?" James asks, trying to mask his tense attitude towards the pureblood wizard, "It's full everywhere else,"

"Go ahead," Sirius smiles with a slight tension to his shoulders as well, gesturing to the empty seats around him. James sits directly opposite Sirius with Peter beside him, while Remus takes the seat opposite Peter and beside Sirius. It appears as though Peter knows who Sirius is and Remus is completely oblivious, his polite but blithe smile directed at the Black family firstborn being the main indicator.

"I'm James Potter," James finally introduces, confident and with his chest. The three greet him back before introducing themselves in return. The round, sandy-blonde bloke was Peter Pettigrew, the brunette dressed like a grandpa was Remus Lupin and the last of them, neat as a pin with paper-pale skin, sharp features and shiny black hair was Sirius Black but most people already knew that.

"Aren't you part of that really old pureblood family?" Remus mentions cooly, as if not understanding the gravity of his question as a muggle-born (or half-blood, James doesn't know yet).

"Yeah," Sirius replies, not appearing too pleased with the observation and remains quiet.

"You'll be in Slytherin then?" Peter blurts without knowing, catching himself only after he's voiced his invasive thought and claps his hands over his running mouth. Beneath his hands, Peter's cheeks glow a bright pink and he avoids all eye contact with everyone in the cabin, his limbs beginning to shake in fear the longer Sirius holds off on answering to his thoughts.

"I don't really want to end up there," Sirius shrugs and turns to stare out the window, perfectly happy to occupy himself with the passing scenery. He's fed up with everyone's judgemental attitude. Can't a single person give him a chance?! He isn't asking for the world!

James was shocked, "Really?!" it made him stammer how far he'd misjudged the Black family's first son.

"I'm not like the rest of my family,"

"Thank Merlin!" James dramatically sags his shoulders in relief before grinning toothily and leaning forward to clap Sirius over the shoulder, "I thought you'd be another dark pureblood prick with a stiff lip and no sense of humour,"

The tension is completely broken as soon as Sirius throws his head back and laughs without restraint, clutching his belly and shaking at the shoulders with mirth. Even Peter is relieved at Sirius' reaction, momentarily pausing in his frantic rummaging through his shoulder bag. Remus only seems to have realised the previous tension in the air from the dramatic shift it takes but continues smiling anyway, this time with more ease than before.

Sirius returns his grinning gaze to James, who mirrors his expression, "Not a prick and definitely not stiffed lip. Sense of humour, you'll have to find out later on," all those high society wizard dinners, events and soirees could have been spent in better company, James and Sirius realised. If only they dared to approach each other sooner, without their family's prejudices hanging over them, puppeteering their actions. They could have shared laughter, made fun of the boring atmosphere and become close friends. But regrets like these were minimal in the grand scheme of things. They had a full year at Hogwarts to make up for it and grow the friendship they'd missed out on.

It's then that Sirius' vision is suddenly invaded by Peter's outstretched hand and a singular, colourfully wrapped chocolate on his palm, "I'm sorry for speaking out like that," Sirius smiles and accepts the gift happily.

"You're not bad, Peter,"

Seemingly spurred on by Sirius' show of forgiveness and kindness, Peter launches into a joke he had memorised for the sake of calming his nerves at the thought of struggling to make any friends, "Hey, so why do you think toddlers are so bad at magic?"

His statement seems to be taken seriously by the three boys at first as they ponder thoughtfully for a moment. But ultimately, with no answer in mind, they shake their heads and look to the portly bloke for the solution.

"Why?" Remus prompts.

"Because they can't spell!"

It was a bad joke, so bad that Remus released a small giggle while James and Sirius laughed boisterously, more so at Peter's expectant expression than the joke itself. They couldn't believe that he thought that joke would land well but his eagerness to elicit laughter was all they needed to lose themselves in the merriment. The four of them quickly dive into meaningless but fun conversations, sometimes splitting off into conversing pairs before returning to speak as a group again. Remus tended to be quiet and leaked a more nervous disposition than others whereas Peter eagerly tried to partake in whatever conversation was around, trying to land more jokes and input his opinion wherever, even if the mismatch of tone and timing wasn't always ideal. James and Sirius were the most enthusiastic and smoothly went from one subject to the next, it was a seamless river of constant conversation that was occasionally interrupted by chewing on the delicious treats carted over by the trolley lady, as well as the need for easy silence — a necessary, trouble-free pause.

Hours passed like this and eventually, an older prefect was knocking on their compartment door to peek in and ask that they change into their school robes.

"We'll be arriving soon,"

Everyone's robes were black and didn't adorn any of the Hogwarts house colours. For now, they were a small group of friends, eagerly awaiting their new chapter of life to begin.

Sirius stood on the edge of the lake as a deep sense of anticipation churned within him, replacing the excitement evoked by getting dressed on the train. Pulling on those robes and seeing his mother's capricious but careful stitches brought a realness to the situation — he was going to be attending the most prestigious wizarding school in all of England. It felt surreal but oh so tangible from where he stood.

The small boats that would ferry the many first years across to Hogwarts bob gently in the water before them, each one enchanted to move with a simple command. Beside him, Remus, James and Peter also look forward with James appearing to be the only one still in possession of his earlier eagerness. The journey to Hogwarts was incredibly long and, by now, it was already nighttime. There was a chill in the air as the sky draped over them, coloured in the deepest twilight hue with a scattering of stars spread across it. Looming ahead was the prodigious silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. Its many turrets and towers stretched up, trying to pierce the sky as its many windows were alit with a golden glow from within — inviting and warm and magical. Once again, the excitement was back...

It appears as though the constant fight between his enthusiasm and terror of the unknown will be giving him unsteady feet and fidgeting hands for the rest of the night.

Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper and groundskeeper steps into a boat with his rusty, incandescent lantern and encourages the first years to follow along behind him. Everyone was to be seated in one of the many boats as a group, some as strangers, some as newly made friends. Luckily Sirius had already found his group of friends and they were one of the first to follow along behind the half-giant. Peter was a bit scared to step into the boat but with some encouragement and light teasing, they were soon setting sail with everybody else.

"See? It's not so bad, is it, Peter?" James grins, catching sight of the sandy blonde's entranced expression as he gazes into the lake's glimmering, moonlit waters.

"We don't even need to paddle," Sirius shares a look with James and the two grin widely.

Peter musters a taut smile and nods, attempting to calm his racing heart. He seems to finally find some comfort in the glittering waters below them, "Y-yeah, not so bad,"

"Be careful not to lean too far over the edge though," Remus warns politely, "overtipping the balance might capsize the boat," Peter pales and hastily rights himself, earning a chuckle from everyone on board.

"Capsizing the boat, huh? What an adventure that will be!" James laughs brightly. He's a carefree spirit, one that Sirius can't help but be entranced by. Being around James is addictive. It's a new experience being in the presence of someone so opposite to his family's disreputable 'noble' ways. It's gotten a lot better because of his mother's recent change of heart but James is the type of person who elicits a lasting impression. Looking around the small boat they share, Sirius can tell that he's not the only one; Peter and Remus seem to be just as enchanted by the messy-haired boy's charm.

Steadily approaching Hogwarts makes the castle's colossal size more apparent. It's a massive, ancient structure that breathes with so much magic, that there's an evident vibration in the air surrounding it that makes the hairs on his skin stand up. Seeing the impressive castle in person was overwhelming but in the best way. A feeling of adventure begins to bubble in Sirius' lower belly and slowly begins to rise through him — a feverish anticipation for what he may get up to within its stone walls. It's a place where he can be truly free... finally. His mother's new attitude has been a solace and a comfort and has given him a small taste of what freedom was like but there was always the danger of his ill-tempered father. Here, Sirius feels as though he can finally, truly be free.

What a feeling...

Beneath the castle were a set of docks that the boats smoothly slid into. Hagrid was already out of his boat and holding his lantern up by the time they managed to reach him followed by the other first years. After clambering out of their buoyant vessels, Hagrid proceeds to lead everyone up a winding path, all the way up to the castle's front entrance. Its large front doors creak open and they were quickly ushered into the Entrance Hall. The vast space was cool but also warmed by the fire torches strategically placed about the perimeter, their dancing flames casting across the polished stone and giving rise to the first years' blended shadows. There's an apprehensive but electrifying buzz in the air as Hagrid bids them a temporary farewell, leaving them to a teacher.

Professor Minerva McGonagall is who she introduces herself as, the deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor House. No wonder she was the one tasked with leading them into the Great Hall. She stands as a figure of authority and elegance.

McGonagall was not yet old. Her sharp, angular features were softened slightly by the subtle laugh lines framing her observant eyes — she isn't a stranger to smiling, though Sirius was finding it a little difficult to envision her with a grin. Her hair was a deep brown that pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, with not a single strand out of place. Her meticulous appearance only added to the impression that she was someone who did not tolerate nonsense. And yet, there was something about her that made Sirius believe she wasn't just a disciplinarian. There was an underlying warmth to her, hidden by her strict exterior as a prestigious Hogwarts professor. It's a warmth that spoke of the deep affection and care held for her students. He could see it in her eyes the same way he saw it in his changed mother's eyes — although sharp, they seemed to soften ever so slightly when looking over the younger students.

Her robes were made of a rich and heavy fabric, a dark emerald green that was almost regal in its fashion when draping over her silhouette. She moved with a grace that tactically concealed the strictness in her demeanour, each step was purposeful and her posture remained impossibly straight — the kind that his previous etiquette teacher desperately tried to force upon him, with no such luck; he was too stubborn for his own good, and he had the faded welts to prove it.

"Behind these doors is the Great Hall. And it is where you shall be sorted into your houses. There are four: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin," she explains briefly, "I will call out your name and one by one, you shall be seated and sorted by the sorting hat before the student body. You shall then sit with your house where you will wait until everyone is sorted and then we can have the opening dinner," she spoke with a clear and precise voice that had a very slight Scottish lilt to it, making her spoken words crisp and authoritative. Her voice was similar to the one his mother once had, it was the kind that cut through the chatter of a room with ease, immediately silencing those she cast her unwavering gaze upon. His mother's voice has since become much warmer and gentler as of late. And, although such an imperious voice usually made Sirius stiffen up with alertness, McGonagall didn't prompt any sort of reaction from him. She embodied a form of discipline he was familiar with but there was something more to her, and she balanced those opposing features very well.

With that, McGonagall led the group of first years into the Great Hall. Above him, the ceiling was enchanted to mirror the night sky he had just witnessed on the boat across the Black Lake, however, instead of blinking, distant stars, the night sky of the Great Hall was illuminated by floating candles. Four long tables stretched and occupied a vast amount of space in the large room. Most of the chairs by the tables were predominantly occupied except for the ones closest to the front of the room, near where the teachers had their own table, gazing over the students and smiling fondly at the first years walking in for the first time, led by the deputy headmistress.

The many students that were already seated were dressed in similar black robes but had embellishments of differing colours, colours that differentiated them into their different houses, one red, another, blue, the other, yellow and finally green. The students' eyes eagerly followed the newcomers, the youngest in the large pond that was Hogwarts. To the front of the hall, there was a raised platform with a singular stool on it, where an old hat sat — the sorting hat.

Sirius's heart pounded violently against his chest as he assembled behind the stool with the rest of the first years. McGonagall stepped up to the left of the stool and was given a scroll of parchment that listed all the names of the first years who were to be sorted. Without wasting a second, she immediately began to call them out. It was in alphabetical order according to surnames so Sirius knew that he would be one of the first to be sorted. Nevertheless, the few that came before him had a very welcoming experience. It was simple enough. Once seated, the hat would be placed on their head and after some time or very little time at all, the hat's voice boomed through the hall, echoing its final and irrevocable decision of where the student should be housed. The student was then met with the loud and welcoming cheers of their fellow housemates, who eagerly beckoned them over to their table while the head of house clapped and smiled from their seat by the rest of the staff.

Sirius's hands clenched into tight fists as he waited. The tension paralysing his limbs was unbearable. He knew what was to be expected of him. Slytherin, like all the Blacks before him. But the thought of even joining that house, of being surrounded by the same cold, pureblood superiority that he had grown up with made his intestines knot themselves up and his stomach fall into a bottomless pit. However, inside him raged an inner battle... Sirius remembers the kind softness of his reformed mother, the vivid image appearing in his head along with the ghost of her warm embrace and loving kisses — he didn't want to disappoint her. He's been granted such happiness by her recently, he didn't want to have that stolen away from him all too suddenly because of his house sorting. He wouldn't know what to do if he should be faced with the familiar disappointment and rage in her eyes once more—

Suddenly, his name was called.

"Black, Sirius!"

Silence swept the hall as Sirius stepped forth. Hundreds of eyes lingered on him all judging and wondering and evident with the same supposition he had grown up with — Slytherin. He even saw some eyes drift away after the initial call of his name. It was as if they knew what would come of the sorting and felt he didn't need the assistance of the hat to be put in a house.

As Sirius climbed the steps and sat on the stool, bitterness over the expectation placed on him, not just by his family but by complete strangers too lit his heart ablaze with stubborn denial and renunciation of the elitist house. The hat decedent far enough to cover his eyes, done past his nose, blackening out the rest of the world as the hat's voice began to ring between his ears and within his mind.

"Ah, another Black," the hat mused thoughtfully, "But not— your mind is different, you, yourself are different, aren't you? Not like the other Blacks..." The statement from the hat makes Sirius' heart skip a beat and soar higher than the sky. It was a relief, a validation of his circumstance that he deeply yearned for without even knowing until that moment. He lets the words echo in his ears and hopes to permanently stamp them into his brain. "And you're happy about that are you?" the hat chuckles, somewhat, condescendingly at him, "But you're plenty cunning and ambitious too, much like your many kinsfolk," his heart stutters in his chest again, this time with dread. The hat's words steal his breath and make his mind race with alarm. There's a pause, the hat seeming to delight in Sirius' inner conflict, his scrambled mind being the perfect entertainment for the tattered garment, "And yet, it cannot be denied how different you are, also," Sirius calms ever so slightly, able to breathe again, "yes, brave... with a fierce independence. You want to prove yourself, that's very easy to tell, to be more than what they expect or is it merely petty disobedience?"

Sirius holds his breath once more.

"Well then," the hat says decisively, its voice doubling and suddenly coming from two places at once, "it better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

His irrefutable house placement was shouted aloud, the shock giving way to a momentary, extension of silence before the hall erupts into massive applause. Sliding out from under the hat's cone body, a broad grin splits across Sirius' face.

Gryffindor! Not Slytherin!

He rushes down the steps and hurries to the Gryffindor table, who cheer wildly and smile broadly at him becoming a member. They were happy, cheering and in celebration of him. The moment he sits down, he's immediately bombarded with congratulatory slaps on the back and introductions. A boy who looked a little older than him clapped him on the shoulder with a bright grin, "Welcome to Gryffindor, mate!"

"Thanks," Sirius replied, breathless from the experience. A weight had lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in his life, he was presented with solid evidence that he was nothing like his many other rotten family members, and it felt... incredible.

The sorting ceremony continued without pause and Sirius eagerly awaited for the sorting of the friends he had made on the train. Lupin, Remus a little while after him (Gryffindor). Pettigrew, Peter came soon enough (Gryffindor). Right after him, Potter, James was sorted (Gryffindor). All of them were sorted into the proud house of the lion, symbolising bravery and courage, their robes immediately donning scarlet and golden accents.

"What luck!" James expresses as soon as he sits by them again. They share a look, their eyes twinkling and their grins pinned high up on their youthful cheeks. To think that they would be in the same house after becoming friends on the train!

Curiously, Sirius glances back at the other tables, quickly skimming over the blues and yellows to land on green accents. The Slytherins pinned him with narrowed eyes, their expressions ranging from surprise to outright disdain. Their transparent judgement, however, was easy to ignore, he wanted nothing to do with them anyway. Instead, he focuses on his fellow Gryffindors, his found family at Hogwarts. These were his people now, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the lion's crest on his chest.

The feast began shortly after the last student was sorted. The tables were filled with an array of food that made Sirius' mouth water. Roasted chicken, platters of mashed potatoes, steaming bowls of vegetables, and an assortment of pies and puddings appeared before him — all accumulating into a delicious combined fragrance. There was no hesitation when it came to piling his plate high with every dish his heart desired. The food looked delicious but...compared to the loving and hearty meals his mother had been cooking for him the past month, only the sheer amount he was able to consume was able to satiate him after the long journey. The carefully curated flavours and the touch of a mother's love weren't there anymore. He supposes not everything can be perfect. Thankfully, the atmosphere was alive with chatter and laughter, an infectious combination that distracted him easily.

The night wore on, the food slowly disappearing from the tables, and when many of the students were no longer occupied by their food the Headmaster finally saw it fit to make his welcoming speech. Albus Dumbledore rose from his place at the staff table, surrounded by his many other professor colleagues and calls for silence. Almost immediately, the room quieted and all eyes were trained on him.

"Welcome," Dumbledore begins, his voice ancient like a dust-covered book but amiable, "welcome to Hogwarts, to those of you who have just started, I hope that the reception was favourable. And to those returning, hopefully, you are just as thrilled to spend another year with us as we are. I trust that after the long journey and heartily filled bellies, you are all ready for bed." He raises an arm and prompts the rise of several older students donning embellished badges decorated with their house colours, "your prefects will be the ones to escort you to your dorms,"

A password is required to gain access to the Gryffindor common room where only Gryffindor students are allowed. The password this time is 'sola libertas' (solitary freedom). It was exciting like having a secret place nobody else was allowed into except Sirius and his many other Gryffindor brethren.

"Your dorm rooms would have already been assigned to you and your luggage, moved accordingly," the prefect begins telling the first years as the older students head to their respective dorms, already assigned to them in their first year. Sirius can't help but feel slightly anxious at the idea that he may have to depart from his already close group of friends. Looking around, Peter, Remus and James appear to share the same sentiment; at least he wasn't alone in that regard, "these shall be your dorm room assignments for your entire education at Hogwarts. The boys' dormitories are on the left, up the staircase and down, the girls are the same but on the right," Sirius would have eagerly taken in the aesthetics of his new house's common room if he wasn't so anxious about who he would be sharing a dorm with for his entire seven years at Hogwarts. Rushing up the left staircase and down another set, he quickly finds the dormitories and goes searching for where his belongings should be, however, there wasn't any need to. On a few of the dorm room doors were a piece of paper that listed the new students that were to occupy the space. The dorms that didn't have a piece of paper attached presumably belonged to the older students who were already settled in.

Sirius scans the first door but doesn't find his name or any of the others. The second door, however, made him grin brightly. Looking over his shoulder, he attempts to turn and call out to his three new friends but is met with their curious expressions and already-approaching figures.

Catching sight of Sirius' grin, James breaks out into a light sprint, matching Sirius' grin with one of his own, "are we all sharing a dorm then?"

"You bet we are!" With a cheer, the two raise their arms to drape across one another's shoulders before facing Peter and Remus together. As soon as the remaining two heard the good news, all of them were eager to step inside and begin unpacking.

Entering the rather generous space, they find that their sleeping arrangements have already been chosen for them with their trunks placed at the foot of their beds. Everyone had a single bed to their name, a desk area, a full-length mirror, a wardrobe, a bedside table and a tall, standing lamp at their other bedside. One side of the dorm had tall windows to let in some natural light but it seemed as though a majority of their lighting would be coming from the lamps or candelabras littered about the room. At the centre of the space was a freestanding, cast iron fire heater to keep everybody warm on cold days. Most of the room was left sparse for them to decorate as they wished, there were even some empty plant pots available for those with green thumb hobbies. Or maybe it was in anticipation of a future herbology project? Nevertheless, the space was cosy and Sirius immediately felt at home as he began to unpack his things with the rest of the boys, occasionally joining in idle conversation to pass the silence.

James brought up the question of what everyone would like to do for the rest of tonight, other than unpacking. Remus was happy to just sit and read before bed, Peter simply shrugged his shoulders, already appearing exhausted by the day's events. It was up to James and Sirius to commence a game of exploding snap.

2nd September 1971

You've already sent off Sirius' letter, congratulating him on a job well done for his first day, you've even included a little gift to commemorate his sorting into Gryffindor. Thankfully, you thought to arrange everything in advance or else you wouldn't have gotten it to him on time – the prototype stage was very tedious but incredibly worth it. You only hope Sirius sees your effort and wears it religiously or else all that work would have been for nothing.

It was lonely to be in the house without him but you and Regulus are managing, it helped a lot that you still had your youngest with you — he was so incredibly precious and sweet; he almost managed to sweep your mind clear of Sirius at some points. Your developed routine didn't change much, once Regulus was in his appointed tutoring session with Peony, you went about your errands, sometimes, it required getting out of the house so you needed to be careful with your timing. You weren't comfortable knowing that, if you were late, Peony would be gone and Regulus would be home alone with his wretched father.

Over time, your sudden change of heart has had an adverse effect on Orion, who wasn't very good at hiding his anger regardless of how much he tried to suppress it. His mounting outrage was set to explode soon enough so you weren't surprised to hear his raging voice booming through number 12 Grimmauld Place, shaking the tenuous walls with his ferocity.

It didn't take a genius to foresee such an outburst and, because you knew about Sirius' sorting beforehand, you easily remained composed in the heat of Orion's violent rage. The sounds that came from his home office were unmistakably the destruction of a vase following the overturning of furniture, as well as the breakage of other miscellaneous things. You couldn't tell the extent seeing as you remained as far away from his office as much as possible, the way one would avoid a radioactive area. Orion himself was made of pure radiation.

Soon enough, Orion's seething figure barrelled out of his office with a force that had the door slamming against the wall. Stepping through, his imposing silhouette was ablaze with dark flames that were rooted to his sizeable, shaking shoulders. He didn't seem satisfied with the rampage he had in his room and immediately went to throw about the hallway furnishings as well. What a baby... (Eye roll).

Regulus should be in the home library reading up on material Peony asked him to review, a diligent and bright student, your perfect baby boy. However, when you turn in the library's direction, you see Regulus peeking out with the most horrified expression you've ever seen. It breaks your heart and quickly make your way over to him, ignoring your pathetic excuse for a husband.

"I'm sorry about your father, dear," you whisper as soon as you get to his side.

"M-mother—" his stutter comes to a stop when he sees you shake your head and observes your soft expression. You've been able to sense his thoughts a lot more clearly, always attentive to his needs and wants, like a good mother should. You assume he was feeling at fault for his father's rage when he couldn't be further from the truth.

Just in case, you reiterate the fact to him, "It's not your fault, sweetheart," bringing him into an embrace, you give his shaking figure an assuring squeeze while you press a kiss to his temple, "Let's go to your room, okay? Ignore your father," you didn't wait for an answer and whispered a 'muffliato' charm around his ears. Rather than hearing his pathetic father's rage, he is accompanied by you and a slight buzzing sound whilst traversing the hallway from the library to his bedroom.

You don't immediately release the muffliato charm from Regulus' ears. The first priority was getting him into bed, nice and cosy, the next was soundproofing the room with the imperturbable charm and ensuring that the door was locked, just in case Orion wanted to invade Regulus' space too. As an additional measure, you call for Kreacher and ask him to warn you if Orion ever sets his eyes on Regulus' bedroom, to which the house elf immediately obliges. With everything set, you finally lift the muffliato charm from Regulus.

"What's father upset about, Mother?" Regulus curls in on himself beneath the covers, tucking his chin over his knees as his arms wrap around his covered shins. The sight makes your heart clench painfully. He looked so scared and small, he didn't look like your bright and shining boy anymore... Orion that prick!

"Your father received news of Sirius' house sorting," the dreaded look that crosses Regulus' face saddens you further. You do your best to calm him down by sitting at his bedside and combing your fingers through his hair. "Your father isn't setting the best example by throwing a tantrum over something so trivial," the comment was your attempt at distracting Regulus from the situation, "don't worry about him, okay? He's only being a big baby for throwing such a fuss,"

"H-he can't do anything to Sirius though..." Regulus responds, his mind far too occupied with worry for his older brother, "he's all the way in Hogwarts, Father won't be able to get to him," your youngest's pleading eyes blink up at you for confirmation, seeking comfort. His only comfort is the knowledge of his brother's safety.

"No, he can't," Regulus relaxes ever so slightly as you press another kiss onto the crown of his head, "Not to worry, my dear, everything will be okay," with some gentle prodding, you manage to get Regulus into your lap where you lock him in a comforting embrace and begin to hum a random but soft tune. Your pathetic excuse of a husband should know better than this, he's being such a sensitive little prick. No wonder Sirius had such issues with his anger before you got here. It was all Orion's influence... and probably the original Walburga too.

"What a bad influence he is..." you mutter absentmindedly, the bitterness in your expression tangible.

"You're not talking about Sirius are you?!" Regulus looks up in alarm, pushing against you so he can stare into your eyes and seems to want to pull away completely.

"Of course not," you reassure in a hurry, wanting to curse yourself for being so loose-lipped. He's still pulled away slightly and you thought it best to allow him to return to your embrace in his own time, "I was talking about your father," Regulus watches with observant eyes as you shake your head disapprovingly and tut, "even though Sirius has been angry for a long time, he's gotten much better with managing his emotions, don't you think?" Regulus nods and slowly begins to fold into your arms again, "I bet you that Sirius would respond much better to bad news than your father,"

"...what happened mother?..."

With the happiest smile, you whisper the news against your youngest's soft, inky locks, "Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor,"

Regulus pulls away in shock but his eyes are sparkling with wonder, "really?!"

"Really,"

"That makes him the first one ever in our family,"

Nodding enthusiastically, the both of you share a smile, "yes it does, aren't you proud of your big brother?" you ask with a giggle. Naturally happy for Sirius, Regulus nods without missing a beat.

"You're proud of him too, mother?" you almost miss Regulus' concerned tone due to your own excitement.

"Always," you hold him close and squeeze him once more, "I'll always be proud of my beautiful sons. Seeing the two of you grow into your personalities and into men will always be cause for celebration," Regulus wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses his face into the base of your neck, inhaling the new fragrance against your skin — his mother never used to wear such gentle fragrances, Regulus doesn't believe his mother ever used to wear fragrance at all but having such a pretty and pleasant scent to associate you with after your change of heart makes him so happy.

"You won't be mad if I'm sorted into a different house like Sirius, right?"

"Never." you were resolute and felt the smile curling Regulus' lips against your skin.

"Not even if I'm in Gryffindor too?"

His cheekiness makes you laugh freely, "It'll be tough being outnumbered by two Gryffindors but even then... even then, I'll be so proud and so happy for both of you,"

Your moment is broken by the sudden appearance of Kreacher who warns you of Orion's approaching figure, as promised. The warning has you jumping to your feet and tucking Regulus back into bed. His small hand reaches for your own and you easily weave your fingers together for comfort.

BANG!

For the man to have the audacity to kick at Regulus' door makes your blood boil. Living in such a magical world, you know that the door wouldn't stay locked forever so you step over to block Regulus' view of Orion, subsequently hiding Regulus and keeping him from the danger that was his father's irate gaze.

"LOCKING DOORS MY HOUSE?!"

"Get out, Orion," you order plainly and with an unamused expression.

"WHAT?!"

"Regulus and I have every right to lock our doors if we don't want your company, especially when it's so unpleasant. Now, get out,"

Ignoring your words, Orion steps to the side and makes direct eye contact with Regulus, who begins to shake. His small hand clenched around your fingers with such force that your circulation gets obstructed but you pay it no mind – whatever he needs to feel safe in that moment.

"If you don't go to Slytherin, you're going to be as big of a disappointment as your no-good brother!"

"Orion!" you shout in disbelief, too shocked at the asshole's audacity to do much else.

"You shan't go anywhere else! I'll throw you into the vault for an entire month otherwise! And then you're gone from this family! DO YOU HEAR ME?! LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M SPEAKING TO YOU REGULUS!"

Rushing forward, you push Orion back with such force, that he almost makes it out of the door. And before he can protest, you continue pushing him until he is out in the hallway. If it wasn't for Regulus being there, you would have clobbered him the good 'muggle' way but you had to set a good example for Regulus and managed to repress your emotions until the bedroom door was closed. Finally, you and Orion were alone in the hallway.

"Walburga you—!"

"Calm yourself, Orion! You're frightening Regulus and you're frightening me! Stop it this instant!" Orion looks at you with utter disbelief, his eyes, still ablaze with anger, gradually mixed with swirling pools of shock and perplexity. The woman who stands before him is not the wife he married and disciplined his sons with.

"Have you not read the letters?!" Orion tries to put logic behind your actions, his befuddlement completely disorienting him — thankfully, he's managed to lower his voice, somewhat.

"Of course I have!" you hiss, lying through your teeth. The night of Sirius' first day, the letters already started to pour in but you hadn't opened a single one, already knowledgeable of the news you were going to receive from them. With a dramatic huff, Orion crosses his arms and looks at you with an expression of 'well?', silently asking you to explain yourself but instead, you're turning away completely. "I'll be right back," I have something more important to address right now.

"Walb—!" you pay the bastard no attention and re-enter Regulus' room. On his bed, you find your youngest shaking in fear and with the most distraught expression you've ever seen him wear. His appearance peaking out from the library couldn't match the astronomical distress he was now experiencing.

Regulus is definitely more important right now...

"Don't worry, my darling," you whisper, embracing him as soon as you seat yourself at his bedside once more, "let mommy handle him. You're going to be alright, I promise. I won't ever let him harm you or your brother," kissing his forehead, you call for Kreacher once more and request that he keep Regulus company while you have a talk with Orion.

"Kreacher will be happy to stand by the young master Regulus," in your peripheral, you see the two share a small smile with Regulus's coming out much more hesitant and shaky. He's such a sweet, brave boy it makes your heart swell with pride but also ache with remorse that he's having to be like this at such a young age.

"I'll be right back, dear," you make sure to give him another kiss on the forehead before leaving. In your periphery, you glimpse Kreacher reaching out to take his young master's hand.

"How dare you speak to my son that way!" you finally burst with rage, pointing an accusatory finger at Orion and poking into his chest with your nail repeatedly, "Threatening him is not the right way to raise him! Leave Regulus out of this! I can't believe you're throwing such a huge tantrum over a school house! You aren't setting a good example! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Orion, despite his bafflement, is quick to talk back with just as much bite and snark, "What in the world are you talking about?! Are you telling me that you're willing to accept that our son was sorted into Gryffindor?!" Orion is shocked at his wife's hypocrisy. There was a mounting urge within him to confront her new attitude, however, the matter of Sirius' sorting was much more urgent for the time being.

"It's a Hogwarts house, Orion, it's not the end of the world," his jaw hits the floor but you simply roll your eyes at him, "Our blood running through his veins is enough. Knowing that he's our son is enough. He should be free to live in the house the sorting hat puts him into — and you should be happy, being sorted into Gryffindor means that Sirius is brave and chivalrous, both are amazing qualities for our son to have!"

"It also means that he'll be spending most of his time around blood traitors and mudbloods who will surely corrupt his mind!" you try not to outwardly cringe at his use of such derogatory terms, and in such a spiteful tone too. This man is so full of hate and menace – it isn't safe to have him around your sons. "I'm making a trip to Hogwarts tomorrow! Whether you accompany me or not will be your choice! I'm sending the letter to Hogwarts tonight!"

He storms back to his office without allowing you the chance to retort or offer your opinion on the decision. His blatant disregard of you and Regulus makes you bristle with rage, you feel like a cat who tensed up in warning. If he bothers you again for the rest of the day, you'll drop-kick his sorry ass. Thankfully, a few deep breaths were good for placating your annoyance — besides, this occasion gave you the perfect opportunity.

"Kreacher," you call in a calm voice. In a heartbeat, your dedicated house elf stands before you, willing to obey. The smile you wear is a complete contrast to what you ask of him and you almost have to keep yourself from snorting in amusement when his eyes make to pop out of their sockets from shock.

"M-mistress be wantin' a s-s-separate room?"

"Yes, Kreacher," it was plain and simple, "Please transfer all my belongings as well. I won't be able to stand sleeping next to such an idiotic husband," Kreacher flinches at the insult as if it was directed at him personally. The wrinkled house elf has never seen the proud patriarch and matriarch of the Black house argue to the point of demanding separate rooms. It was already such an insult for the Mistress to request a sleeping elsewhere that it was almost unnecessary to call the Master an 'idiot' after that point. "But before that, would you mind clearing up Orion's mess in the hall? — Not his office, however, he can clean that disaster up himself,"

"It be best if Kreacher transfers Mistress' room first t-to avoid Master Orion's wrath..." Kreacher only realises what he's said after he'd already spoken the words. He couldn't believe he had felt comfortable enough—impudent enough to suggest doing the tasks differently to how his mistress directed, it goes against how house elves should behave! Before you can react, Kreacher drops to the floor and grovels at your feet incoherently. You're only able to make out the words 'sorry', 'bad elf' and 'punishment' before Kreacher crawls to the hallway bannister and begins aggressively hitting his head against the railing. The awful sound of his head making contact with the bannister makes you gasp and rush forward to stop him, hauling him back by his small shoulders.

"Kreacher stop that!" you plead, worried eyes falling over his forehead as your hand goes up to gently trace the area, "Goodness, there's no need to punish yourself for making a helpful suggestion, Kreacher," you release a breath of relief when you hardly see any lasting damage. Thankfully he was built tougher than steel. Kreacher continues to look at you with widened eyes and parted lips. First, it was his Master Regulus being kind to a lowly elf like himself, and now, it was his Mistress. He's such a blessed elf, he can't help but feel joy from being given such kindness so freely, "I was going to say that it's a good idea and you should do it in the order you feel is best. But now I demand that you rest for an hour, at least, I'll get you some dittany to put on your bump,"

"K-Kreacher will do it, Mistress! Mistress is already being too kind to this unworthy house elf,"

"Unworthy?" you arch a brow and kneel before the elf with a frown, "Kreacher, you have served me and my family well for many years. Regulus thinks of you as his friend and you've been getting along well with Sirius too. You even put up with my idiotic husband," you offer a gentle smile, "even if you weren't those things, everyone deserves rest and to be treated with care when they are hurt. It'll only take a moment, I'm not angry at you—" you move to stand back up and make your way to the potions cupboard downstairs but Kreacher is already shaking his head in protest.

"Mistress is too kind, Kreacher will do it!" he states firmly and disappears with a snap of his fingers. For a moment, he looked a little taller and not so gloomy. The image makes you smile slightly before sighing in defeat — what a stubborn elf you have.

You have Regulus in your arms once again, the two of you sat atop his bed and against the headboard. Thankfully, Orion hasn't been as disruptive after isolating himself in his office and you were able to lift the imperturbable charm from the door.

"You've got nothing to worry about, my love," combing your fingers through your youngest's dark curls, you whisper the assurance into the air. You've notified him of what Orion plans to do the next day and he immediately freezed up again. It was a reaction you anticipated and wished you didn't have to deliver the news at the foresight, but it was always better to be honest. And you're sure you wouldn't be able to hide the news for long, seeing as his father would be taking action by early morning, tomorrow. "Nothing bad will happen to Sirius, I'll make sure of it,"

Regulus still has his face pressed up against the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he clings to your figure for dear life. His worry was evident and, although it was saddening to see, your heart soared knowing of the close bond the brothers had. You won't allow them to have such a horrible falling out in the future, knowing that they care for each other so deeply, "Sirius is so lucky to have such a caring and thoughtful younger brother like you," Regulus sniffles and pulls away to look at you with glassy eyes, his lip slightly wobbly. He feels guilty for basking in your praise and feeling so happy by it when Sirius was in danger. Gently swiping your thumb under his eye, you whisper an alliance, "Let's promise to protect Sirius together tomorrow, okay?"

"We're going to see him?" Regulus couldn't believe his ears. Hope began to wrap around his heart. The feeling was and allowed him to smile once more, blinking away his tears as he did so.

"Your father insists on it,"

"I thought it was only father going,"

You shake your head and smirk deviously, "we're going too~"

For a moment, Regulus really thought Sirius was going to be harmed by their father but, knowing that you plan on accompanying him, was a comfort. And you planned on taking him with you too! Regulus doesn't know what he'd be capable of doing when it came to protecting his older brother but he had full confidence knowing that you would be there with him. The two of you share a smile — a silent union with the same purpose.

"What would you like me to read to you tonight?" you ask ever so softly, a gentle way of diverting the subject matter for the sake of Regulus' bedtime.

"The Wind in the Willows," Regulus immediately answers. It was an enchanting tale and nothing like the stories from 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. Muggles were really creative and, although it was bizarre trying to imagine forest creatures living a lot like how humans live, it was enchanting. Regulus was grateful that you were willing to read him books written by muggles — he wouldn't have known how wonderful their stories were, otherwise.

"You really like that story don't you?" you joke, already accio-ing the book into your hands. It was one of your favourites growing up too and you always dreamed of reading it to your future children. Now that you had Regulus and Sirius for sons, they weren't about to be the exception.

Regulus flushes a soft pink beneath his adorable freckles, "it's just so charming,"

Kissing his temple, you smile and open the book to the first chapter, "I understand, darling, you have amazing taste," he looks away when you send him a wink before finally beginning his favourite storybook.

2nd September 1971

Breakfast was just as grand of an affair as the previous night’s extravagant first dinner. Again, the food didn’t have as much loving care put into it nor were its tastes carefully curated for his palette, unlike his mother’s home cooking. However, Sirius was still managing to satiate himself with second helpings. Some students were still dressed in their pyjamas for breakfast, which made perfect sense, considering breakfast was from 7:30 to 8:50 in the morning – getting their stomachs filled was far more important than getting dressed earlier than necessary.

“Have you guys tried the pancakes?” Peter raved through a half-eaten mouthful of said pancakes.

“Oh yeah!” James responds, also with a half-eaten mouthful of pancakes. Remus manages a weak laugh at their display, clearly not a morning person as he sips his tea and slowly butters his toast before reaching for the jam. Sirius and the boys, like many other students, were still dressed in their pyjamas from the night before. Morning announcements were relayed to them by their respective house ghosts, who made brief introductions the night before, after dinner and on the way to their common rooms. It was a good thing too, because Sir Nicholas –the ghost for Gryffindor House– had the horrible habit of showcasing his near-headless-ness as if he was tipping a hat in greeting. It was a fascinating sight but not when everyone was enjoying their meal.

“First years are to spend the first half of today with prefects touring the castle,” the ghostly Nicholas announces, thankfully having the decency to repress his usual urge of tipping his head.

“Thank you, Sir Nicholas,” Remus smiles politely over the rim of his tea cup. The ghost nods in acknowledgement before proceeding to the other first years further down the table.

Breakfast continued with the usual chatter between mouthfuls until a slew of hoots permeated the air and owls swooped through with a flourish. Some delivered newspapers to the teachers at the staff table, but groups carried a stack of parchment to the head of each house table before dispersing. Groups of prefects sorted through their respective house stacks, grabbing piles of each and proceeding to hand them over to the other students. For the names they didn’t seem to recognise, the prefects carefully shouted them out and asked for a raised hand. In due time, the boys received their timetables. First-years were told that today was the only exception to the schedule as they were going to receive a tour of the castle from the prefects, who were being overseen by the head boy and head girl. There were excited whispers between those who were especially eager, about doing their best with the tours so that they may be able to become next year’s head boy or girl.

From all the activity, it seemed that most people were finally beginning to blink away the sleep from their eyes and gain some alertness for the day. Sirius thought most of the activity was done with, however, already loading up his plate for his third helping when another hoot sliced through the air. It was Owletta, Sirius’ owl. When everyone looked up, they saw the elegant barn owl swoop down and gracefully deliver Sirius’ letter along with a small, neatly wrapped box. She was gone as quickly as she had entered, all in a looping ribbon of gold and white feathers.

“A letter already?” James asks, the surprise evident in his wide-eyed and jaw-dropped expression, “It looks like you got a gift too, I’m kinda jealous,” he teases as whispers erupt from the Slytherin table.

Sirius turns his chin over his shoulder, curious about the whispers and immediately meets the smirking gaze of his elder cousin, Bellatrix Black. She’s openly snickering at him and doesn’t break away from his stare. Her eyes are dark and challenging, daring him to open his letter and see what’s inside, eliciting a feeling of dread from deep in Sirius’ stomach. The panic and fear and unease had been building since the previous night’s sorting ceremony. It never seemed to calm despite Sirius’ countless efforts to ignore it. He stares down at his letter and the small gift beside it, both vibrating in his hold, appearing to build towards their timely detonation. But they weren’t going to explode… Sirius realised it was because of his own hands shaking.

Surely his mother was disappointed in him, right? That was what the letter would say…but why a gift?

“Aren’t you going to open them?” Remus prompts as the two other boys look on with piqued interest, Peter disregarding his plate to do so.

Sirius does not answer as he continues to observe his postal deliveries. The letter doesn’t appear to be a howler. Instead of the screaming letters’ signature red envelope, his letter was in a simple off-white envelope — a normal letter. His gift was decorated in matte-black wrapping paper. It was wrapped in such a way that the folds crossed over each other in neat and crisp lines, creating a design that was immediately recognised by James.

“That looks like the gifts I got wrapped when buying stuff in Japan on a family holiday,” James alerts with interest, “but it never came with a plant,”

Sirius pulls out the arrow-shaped plant with it’s stems tucked in the crisp folds. It had many small leaves and a slightly bumpy stem, “what plant is this?”

“It looks like a fern to me,” Remus inputs helpfully.

“I see…” Sirius finds himself staring down at his letter and gift once more. He’s stalling.

“It feels too pretty and neat to unwrap, doesn’t it?” James asks from experience, remembering how he didn’t have the heart to undo the artistry put into wrapping the gift, “I felt that way too but you’ll be missing out on your gift mate. Open it,”

“Yeah! It must be special since you’re getting it so early,” Peter adds, eagerly leaning forward to closely observe what Sirius may unravel. Steeling his nerves, Sirius forces his hands to stop shaking before proceeding to carefully unfold the carefully wrapped gift, on the table the delicate sprig of fern it came with.

Unwrapping the black paper revealed a small, sturdy box that looked as if it held precious jewellery. After a brief moment of pondering what may be inside, Sirius finally lifted the lid and revealed a beautiful red pin, shaped like a shield with gold accents sitting on a black velvet cushion. The metal pin was decorated with a gold, standing lion in the middle. It was a sleek and minimalist design that begged to be picked up and put on. Turning the pin over in his palm, Sirius gasps at the message engraved on the back, his heart racing in his chest as he fights off a beaming smile and the flood of tears threatening to streak down his cheeks in rivers.

‘A Shield To Protect My Brave, Daring And Noble Son’

Above the quote was his name in beautiful cursive and below the quote, in the same elegant handwriting read: ‘Love, Mother’.

Others who observe his state, look on in concern, not knowing what’s happened as Sirius curls in on himself and clutches the pin to his chest with both hands. Worried for their new friend, James, Remus and Peter look at each other with worry. It was Remus who was the first to react, however. The brunette brings up a hand to softly pat Sirius on the back, being the one closest to him in the seating arrangement.

“Did it say something bad?” Peter gently brings up, frightened at the prospect of upsetting his emotional friend by bringing up the subject.

“I don’t think so,” Remus observes and responds in a whisper.

James keeps his focus directly on Sirius, frowning deeply at the sight of his friend’s suddenly much smaller frame, “What’s wrong, Siri?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong…” Sirius manages to smile up at them, blinking away the tears and biting his lip in a vain attempt to suppress his beaming smile. Finally seeing his smiling face, his three friends breathed a synchronised sigh of relief.

“Don’t scare us like that, mate,” James laughs weakly and claps him on the shoulder, “we thought something horrible happened,”

Sirius only shakes his head before looking upon his still unopened letter. He thinks he can finally have the courage to open it now. The handwriting belongs to his mother so, with the knowledge that the pin was a gift for his sorting, Sirius concludes that the letter’s contents can only bode the same congratulatory message… right?

When Sirius finally unfolds the letter and reads its contents he begins to cry silently. His vision gets blurred by the river of tears falling from his wide, disbelieving eyes and he has to rapidly blink them away to try and read his letter intelligibly; he has to know that the words on the letter paper are real and that it isn’t an illusion his mind conjured up to cope with the thought of losing his newly loving mother’s affections. Growing concerned, James and Peter cross the table to stand behind Sirius and look over his shaking shoulders to read what the letter says along with Remus.

‘My dearest son, Sirius,’

The letter opened, the tone already loving and so so proud.

‘I have received the wonderful news of your sorting and to say that it brings me such great joy would be an understatement. My beautiful son, sorted into the house of lions, brave and courageous — today, I am given the blessing of being an even prouder mother than I already stand.’

Sirius chokes back a sob and ends up releasing a strangled laugh instead. He could never have anticipated such a letter from his mother. Ever. To read the words on the elegantly decorated parchment felt surreal.

‘In celebration, I have prepared a gift for you. I hope it gives you protection and good fortune. Please wear it with pride, the same way I will happily announce to the world that you are my son and the first son in the Black family to be sorted into Gryffindor house. How special you are! And how lucky I am to be the mother of such a noble and brave son.’

The words make Sirius’ heart clench in an almost painful joy as his chest swells with pride and relief. For a moment, he goes about attaching his pin to his robes but finds that his hands are too shaky and his vision too blurred to be able to do it properly or safely. Disregarding the task altogether, he returns to reading his letter with a defeated laugh.

‘I wish I was there to see you sorted personally. Although, I’m afraid I would have embarrassed you in front of your new friends if that were the case, for I would have been the loudest to cheer in the entire hall,’

Remus, James and Peter chuckle from behind him and over his shoulder when they read about your suspected reaction.

“That would’ve been a sight,” Remus comments with a suppressed chuckle.

“The thing is… I think my mum would have been the exact same,” James adds with a lopsided smirk, showcasing his singular, asymmetrical dimple.

“Y-your mum sounds so different to the rumours…“ Peter whispers almost too silently, making Sirius’ breath hitch. He’s so glad for his mother’s change in demeanour, he can hardly remember the last time she scowled in disappointment or disgust at him — he doesn’t care much for trying to remember such a sight however; his mother’s loving smile is so much more suited to her face and so much easier to remember.

‘Regulus is just as thrilled at the result of your sorting. The both of us are current rivals in the feelings of pride and joy over your destined house. I believe that he’s become especially eager to join you in Gryffindor one day.’

Sirius chuckles at the prospect, laughing through the tears as he imagines his younger brother, soft-hearted and demure but witty and sharp as a knife in, both, knowledge and humour, sorted into Gryffindor. If Regulus were to be sorted in the same house as him, Sirius would happily accept the result with open arms. He loved his brother so much that being able to spend time with him at Hogwarts, in the same house, breathed promises of the most fun times and precious memories he could ever experience.

‘If that were to come true, I’m afraid I’d have my hands full being completely outnumbered by two Gryffindors in the house. You’ll have to excuse this mother’s inexperience but I’ll be happy all the same, so it can’t be too bad of an outcome, can it?’

The good humour makes Sirius giggle to himself, overcome with a dopey enchantment he just can’t seem to shake. His tears have dried up and left behind were a pair of rosy cheeks, glittering silver eyes and a beaming grin. His friends share in his happiness, the loving and prideful words on the paper seeping beneath their skin and influencing their moods as well.

‘Without any further embellishments, all I want you to know, my darling son, is that I am proud of you. And so incredibly happy too. You were always very daring and valiant, you had the heart of a lion without even knowing it. It was an unexpected sorting but I can’t say that I’m too surprised. A mother just knows these things. You are where you belong, I only hope that they treat you well there and that you continue being as audacious and fearless as you’ve always been. I love you, Sirius, please never forget that. Love, Mother’

Sirius tucks the letter back into its envelope sleeve before placing it in the breast pocket of his pyjamas, along with the custom pin, carefully stored back in its cushioned box. He will treasure these two simple items forever. He didn’t believe happiness like this could have ever existed but here he was, experiencing it first-hand. It almost felt too good to be true but when he reads it over and over again as soon as he returns to his dorm room to change into his school robes for the day, the realness of the letter and the gift are reinforced over and over.

“I forgot you’re in a family full of Slytherins,” James comments absentmindedly as he throws on his robes without much care for their alignment. Sirius mirrors the action, the lack of care for his appearance is new but freeing and he enjoys it, guilt-free. “I bet you’re relieved to receive a letter like that, considering what most of your family were sorted into,” Peter is nodding along in the background, flashing Sirius a moderate smile, still finding it hard to act freely in most interactions — it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some valuable time spent together.

Remus perks up and eyes Sirius with sympathy, “That is a relief then…your mother seems to really love you though,” Sirius nods in confirmation, elated that he can share things about his mother happily like this. It no longer feels right to complain about home negativities nor did he feel as though he could openly disgrace his mother’s name.

He’s spoiled by happiness and love, now, even if it was only for a short period of time. And he’s slowly growing a greed for it. Sirius wants to keep making you happy and knowing that all he has to do is be himself, like he was at the sorting ceremony, allows a grin to spread over his lips in pure joy.

He cannot wait to receive your next letter…

NEXT. | 06 : POTIONEER → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : what a long chapter that was, but very appropriate for my official come back eh? how was it for you darlings? are you excited? I'm sorry about what happened to reggie and what may happen to sirius but we're going to be there for them so don't worry too much, this is a fix-it-fic after all! hehe~ i hope you're excited for what'll happen next because i certainly am! there's so much i still have planned so i don't think there'll be many slow chapters in the future, I'm just a little worried about my execution -- nevertheless, i'll do my best!

lastly, thank you, everyone, for your support of this series so far! it means so much to me to know that this is being received so well and that more people than i originally thought are enjoying the plot. i was originally going to write a simple imagine/timestamp of this and just leave it at that, but I'm happy my friends encouraged me to turn it into a series. thank you again, my darlings! see you in the next chapter!

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

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notlongtolove · 21 days ago

Text

empty my soul

they say the seven deadly sins are seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. but spencer knows that he would follow any path if it led him to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff?

content: implied intimacy, religious mentions, you're intoxicating and spencer contemplates the pull of his desire and devotion toward you through the seven deadly sins

word count: 1.8k

note: ngl i wrote half of this on the plane and almost forgot ab it. i feel like this concept would have been better utilised if i could write smut but i dont think i am all that good at writing smut

a line: He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads. - sara teasdale

Spencer Reid has never been religious. He doesn’t believe in a higher being, doesn’t think the universe bends to the will of anything greater than chance. He’s a man defined by facts, by logic, by what can be measured and proven. Still, with the nature of his job and the evils he’s seen, Spencer Reid tries to be a good person. He believes he is one, for the most part.

In the office, he pours the last of the coffee into Derek's mug first, even though he needs the caffeine just as badly. On the subway, he stands without hesitation to offer his seat to a pregnant lady juggling an oversized tote despite the exhaustion of his day. Climbing the stairs, he stops to smile at the old man on the landing who’s always surrounded by his cats—even if he’s never gotten a smile back.

He tells himself these things matter. That they tip the scale in his favor.

Because the seven deadly sins—those cardinal vices—are a map of human weakness.

It’s a moral compass he has never adhered to himself—Yet tonight, standing at his front door, key in hand, he wonders if he’s unwittingly broken them all.

The hallway is dim, but he can see the soft flicker of his bedside lamp through the cracked bedroom door. He opens it quietly, and there you are. He steps inside, careful not to disturb you. You’re sleeping, peaceful. You're in his shirt, curled up on his bed. Absolute perfection.

Spencer doesn’t believe in angels, but if they walked among mortals, he thinks you’d be the closest thing to one.

It’s the sin of self-admiration, the opposite of humility. Pride. He knows it well. C.S. Lewis wrote that pride is the root of all sin, the ego in direct defiance of God. Spencer has always thought himself better than that. He doesn’t believe in claiming you, in reducing you to an extension of himself. But when the team goes out and you’re there, turning heads, earning glances that linger too long, he tells himself it’s admiration, not possession, that makes his chest swell. To think you’re his? The pride seeps in, unbidden.

He crosses the room slowly. Standing at the edge of the bed, he watches you. Right now, he’s certain of one thing—he’s not sure he’s capable of redemption. Not tonight. You need your rest, and he knows he should let you sleep. He knows it as surely as he knows the formulas that balance delicate equations, the weight of the gun on his hip.

But he doesn’t want to. It’s greed, plain and simple. Henry Edward Manning called avarice a mire that pulls a man deeper into the world, making it his god. Spencer’s greed is less tangible than wealth or power, but it consumes him all the same. It's not enough to watch you sleep, though the sight should be enough. It’s a sight he’s memorized, filed away for lonely nights away from you. But tonight, it just isn’t enough.

Spencer kneels beside the bed, though not in prayer—No deity would grant absolution for the choices he’s about to make. It’s a desperate worship, a wordless plea. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Light, reverent. Another one to your temple. Then to the corner of your mouth. And another. And another. He wants more. Needs more. Gluttony, he thinks. A thousand wouldn’t sate him. Even a million might not be enough.

Your lashes flutter, and for a moment, guilt flickers in his chest. You’ve had a long day, too. He should pull away, let you sleep. But your lips part in a quiet murmur of his name, and suddenly, the rest of the world is a distant, muted thing.

“Spencer,” you whisper, your voice soft and trusting, not even fully awake.

“Hey, honey,” he replies, just as softly, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

“When’d you get back?”

“Just now,” he murmurs, his hand caressing the curve of your hair. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“C’mere,” you say, your hand reaching out, fingers curling weakly at the fabric of his shirt, a silent plea.

Usually, he’d shower first. Wash off the day—the grime, the weight of it all—but tonight has been long and harrowing, and you’re right here, pulling him closer. So instead, with careful, practiced movements, he undresses quietly, slipping into a fresh pair of clothes, careful not to disturb you.

By the time he slides under the covers, you’re already half-lost to sleep again. But your body shifts instinctively, finding his, limbs tangling in his as though your subconscious can’t bear to be apart. It’s muscle memory now, the way you fit against him. Your body stays nestled against his, and Spencer simply holds you.

He remembers the first nights you stayed over, how you tossed and turned and barely managed a few restless hours of sleep. You’d told him about your insomnia, how it often robbed you of rest. And yet, months later, you sleep peacefully beside him, body curled into his sheets like you’ve always belonged here. Something stirs within his chest, spreading warmth through his ribs—a realization that you feel safe with him. Safe enough to rest, to let go, to sleep soundly in a world that’s often unforgiving.

Sometimes, if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with you, Spencer thinks he might envy you. For so long before he met you, he’d wondered what he was doing all this for. His intellect, his job—it always felt like a machine churning without any real purpose. But with you, lying here in his arms, he knows.

It’s for the way you can sleep soundly, untouched by the ugliness of the world. For the way you can keep enough of your light to bring into places he thought would always remain dark. Bertrand Russell said that envy was one of the most potent causes of unhappiness. But when it comes to you, Spencer finds it doesn’t matter. Yes, he envies your innocence, your unbroken joy, the way you make him smile even after the hardest days. But it’s a quiet kind of envy, the kind that makes his purpose clear. Because he’s made it his job—his life’s work—to protect people like you. To keep you safe from the things he can’t unsee, from the shadows that haunt his own nights.

It awakens something deep and instinctual in him, something unyielding. A primal need to protect you, to keep you sheltered from every storm. Spencer has never been quick to anger, never one to let wrath consume him. The Catholic Church teaches that anger, when it evolves into a deliberate, lethal intent, becomes gravely sinful—a mortal sin.

Spencer has spent years dissecting the complexity of human nature, he’s seen enough of humanity’s darkness to understand the weight of wrath and how sharp it cuts. He’s always believed he was different, too rational, too objective to ever give in to that kind of furious violence.

But then, you came along.

And now he knows, if it ever came to that—if the world dared to reach for you, to try and take you from him—he would not hesitate. Every choice, every principle, every shred of his reasoned sanity would be sacrificed without question. If and when it ever came to you, he’d burn the entire world down if it meant keeping you safe, to protect the very heart of you.

He presses a kiss to your head in an effort to ground himself. His kisses are deeper now, still tender but lingering longer. His lips trail lower, brushing over your temple, the slope of your shoulder. You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but you don’t wake. Spencer breathes you in. The scent of you—cinnamon and sandalwood—faint traces of the perfume he’d picked out for you two months ago.

In the stillness of the room, a soft glow catches his attention. His phone lights up on the nightstand, screen down, casting a faint halo on the wood. A message, maybe two—something that could wait. Especially when you’re here.

Sloth is a sin of omission. Spencer understands its meaning, shirking responsibilities, choosing complacency over action. Ignoring his buzzing phone, his waiting work. All reminders of what he should be doing, of what he could be, if he let himself. He decides that he’ll shoulder it all again tomorrow. Tonight, the choice is clear. Tonight, he chooses you.

But then the buzz sharpens into a ring, cutting through the stillness. He watches you stir, your brow furrowing as the sound pulls you from sleep. With a sigh, Spencer picks up the phone, already regretting the intrusion.

“Yeah?” he says softly, careful not to wake you fully.

Morgan’s voice crackles on the other end, urgent but not life-threatening—a file, a lead, something work-related that Spencer should care about but can’t bring himself to fully process. He glances at you, watching as you sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Sorry,” he mouths, guilt flickering across his face. But you only move closer, leaning into him, a silent reassurance that you’re not all that annoyed by the disruption.

As Morgan keeps talking, your lips find the edge of Spencer’s jaw, pressing soft, deliberate kisses against his skin. The first kiss is soft, exploratory. The second lingers, deliberate. He swallows hard, his free hand instinctively moving to your waist, fingers splayed against your hip as if to anchor himself.

Ah, the final sin.

Lust.

Defined as an intense longing, a surrender to physical desire. Even the earliest of men had been warned of its impurity, it's the act that binds one as “a slave of the devil”. But in this moment, Spencer can’t think of anything holier than the way your lips trail from his jaw to his neck, slow and deliberate.

He clears his throat, trying to focus on Morgan’s words, but his resolve is crumbling. The effort feels futile as your kisses deepen, trailing a slow, intoxicating path around his neck. Each one pulls him further from the conversation on the phone, as if to remind him where his attention truly belongs.

“Uh, Morgan,” he interrupts, his voice strained. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

There’s a pause, a low chuckle from the other end. “Yeah, man. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters, ending the call.

Before he can set the phone down, your hand finds his, taking it and placing it face down on the nightstand. The motion is deliberate, final. Then you’re pulling him back to you, your lips claiming his, his hands wandering with lazy, unhurried intent. There’s no hurry, no rush—just the quiet of this moment.

You’re intoxicating, the thought of resisting the pull you have on him, inconceivable.

They say the seven deadly sins are the seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. But Spencer knows that he would blindly and gladly follow any path if it led him to you.

If surrendering to sin means getting to hold you like this—then so be it. He’d forgo every cup of caffeine, every fleeting subway seat, every awkward, unreciprocated greeting, if it meant tipping the scales just enough to keep these moments. He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: work song by hozier meet me in amsterdam by rini

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 days ago

Text

He Sees You

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You go away for the holidays but you can't escape all the worries you tried to leave at home..

Character: Walter Marshall

Day Seventeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - let's go somewhere warm for the winter.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Let's go somewhere warm for the winter

The sun beams amber over the dulcet ripples. Your room looks down onto the hotel pool in the setting evening, a calming hue soothing your nerves. You haven't felt this close to peaceful in month. No... has it already been a year?

"So, honey, what do you think about trying the restaurant? I was just looking over the menu. I've never tried mussels," your mother's voice cuts through the din. Another comfort you've longed for.

"Sure, whatever you want," you face her and sigh.

It's more than getting away from work and your tiny apartment and the city. It's that foreign feeling. Something you almost forgot. You feel safe.

"You alright?" She asks with concern.

"I'm great, mom," you assure her. "Thanks for bringing me."

"Didn't know what else to do with all that money. You wouldn't believe it, Sheila was so jealous that I won the jackpot at bingo. I would've asked her if she hadn't been such a crabby ass about it."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Ah, she always was a pain," she shrugs. "Besides, I miss my baby girl. You're always so busy with work."

"I know, mom, I'm sorry."

You look down guiltily. You can't tell her that it's more an excuse these days than the truth. You are busy but not with your job. You're hiding. You don't have to here. It's nice and distant and warm. You can't remember a winter without snow. It's so strange to be hot in December.

"I'll just change into something... not this," you look down at the sweats you wore on the plane.

"Wonderful," you mom gives a small clap but concern lingers in the lines of her forehead, "we can wait until tomorrow if you're jetlagged."

"I'm not. Promise. I want to," you assure her.

You grab your bag and flip the lid open. You take out some capris and a flora shirt. You go into the bathroom as she searches her purse. You want to make the best of it. It's not often you have this luxury; not only the time off, but the all-inclusive resort. It's amazing.

And it might be the only escape you get for a while. Or ever.

You come out as your mom spritzes herself with body spray. She smiles and grabs her wallet, "dinner's on me."

"Mom," you chide.

"No, you don't even try. This is my present to you, honey. I want you to enjoy," she goes to the door and looks back at you. "What happened to my little girl and her smiles?"

Her question pierces your heart. You know but it would break her heart to say it. You force a smile.

"I'm just grown up and tired," you chuckle dryly. "Come on. I saw something about pineapple sangria."

"That's my girl," she trills and holds the door for you.

The restaurant is just as you expect. Tropical in the tourist sort of way. Fake palm trees, colourful glasses, twisty straws with fruit slid onto them. You order a sangria as your mother puts her glasses on and squints at the menu.

The server brings your drinks and gives you time to peruse the selection. You settle on the carribean prawn cocktail as your mother stirs her spicy margarita. She sits back and looks around. It's good to see her happy too.

"This is so nice," she preens. "You should come to bingo with me when we get back. If we both win, we could stay twice as long next time."

She cackles and you laugh too. Genuinely, this time. That weight on your shoulder lessens bit by bit. You slurp down some sangria and let the alcohol sink in. You need this. You need to just forget. To let go.

You're far from home. No one even knows you're here. Even work thinks you're just puttering around at your apartment, and your friends, the few who still talk to you, are too absorbed in their own holidays.

You put in your orders and get another round. Your refills come with the food as your mother tells you about Maureen who steals her fliers. You laugh as you remember the rivalry she used to have with the other soccer moms. You were never very good at the sport though.

"How's your food?" She asks as you pick away at the prawns.

"Very good. I could eat a whole other platter but I won't."

"It's a holiday, go on," she chirps.

"No, no, really. My mind says yes but my stomach would say no way," you shake your head.

"Hm, we'll need to get a dessert menu then," she grins and looks around for the server.

He comes and clears your plates. Your mother requests the dessert list and he flits off to his task. He returns with more than the menu. He has another round of drinks in hand.

"Oh, we didn't--" your mother begins.

"The gentleman at the bar sent them over." The server puts down the drinks.

You stiffen as you stare at the pineapple ring hooked over the brim. Your mother cranes to see whoever it is and you shrink down. You're paranoid. Not here. He couldn't be.

"And the desserts," the server taps the menu before he hands it over. "I recommend the key lime cheesecake or the coconut cream trifle."

"Oh, thank you." Your mother fawns, "honey, cheers."

Your mother raises her glass in a gesture towards the bar. You hold your breath and lift your glass, mirroring her. You glance at the bar and nearly drop the drink. You quickly lower your hand and turn to her. She doesn't see your panic.

"Um, you know what," you set the glass down gingerly as the waiter retreats. "I'm going to find the bathroom."

You get up and keep your eyes ahead of you. You resist the urge to peek at the bar again. You don’t need another look. You know it’s him, you just can’t fathom how he found you.

You enter the bathroom and quicky hide in a stall. You sit without intent. You need to think. What do you do? What can you do? You didn’t tell a soul. You wouldn’t even text your mom the details, just in case. Your stomach clenches until you think you might vomit.

Then another thought brings you to your feet. Your mom. Shit.

You get up and hurry back out. As you come into the dining room, your eyes move instinctively to the bar. He’s not there. With dread, you look to the table. Your mom’s alone. Thank god. Yet, you know better than to believe he’s gone.

You join her and reach for the sangria without a thought. You nearly choke on the mouthful as you recall where it came from. You force it down and place the drink on the table.

“That stranger sure was kind, treating us to a round,” she smiles. “Been a long time since a handsome man bought me a drink.”

You try to smile but you’re so tense, you can hardly breathe. “So, uh,” you swallow to restrain the tremble in your voice. “What do you want for dessert? The banana pudding sounds good.”

You look down at the menu, hoping she can’t see the truth. She’s always been smart. She always catches you out. Maybe the drinks are enough to save you. At least, enough to protect her. Ignorance is bliss and you don’t want to ruin the first vacation she’s had in years.

🌴

Your mother snores in the other bed. You lay awake. Your phone rests on your stomach. You wait for the inevitable buzz.

You feel weak, so fraught that your bones are heavy. Weary. That’s the word. You’re so tired of running, especially when it only feels like you’re standing still.

Brrrrr.

The vibration makes you jolt. You grab at the phone clumsily and raise it to read the message. It’s him. It’s not a surprise. No one hs your number but the woman in the room with you. Or so you thought.

‘You looked really nice tonight.’

You stare. You can’t answer that. You doubt he expects one. No, he’s taunting you.

‘How’s your mom?’

You sit up and hiss. No. No. That’s off-limits.

‘Leave her alone,’ your thumbs skitter over the keys quickly.

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then pop up again.

‘I don’t like talking like this.’

You grit your teeth. Fuck off. You want so badly to type it in. Your mother snorts and rolls over. The next message shakes your hands.

‘Room 3054.’

‘Where?’ You text back as seeing your suite number makes you ill.

‘Bar. Got a cocktail waiting for you.’

Checkmate. You’re no good at his game and you’re terrified of him flipping the board. You slide out of bed quietly and wade through the dark. You pull a hoodie on over your camisole, careless of the flowy fabric of your shorts. You step into your sneakers, bending the backs, and shove the room key into your sweater pocket.

He’s waiting, just like he said. With a beer for himself and another bright yellow drink for you. You near as he tugs at one of his dark curls, combing his fingers through the knot at the base of his skull. He grunts as he looses it and brings his hand back to the bottle.

You climb up next to him. You ignore the drink.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“I should ask you the same.”

“It’s none--” you begin and think better of it. “I’m spending time with my mother. Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

He grits his teeth and swallows. Walter is a big man. Burly is an understatement. Before, when he was just customer, you compared him to a teddy bear. Now he’s grizzly stalking you through the trees.

“We were supposed to be together. It’s the holiday. You couldn’t even let me know?” He turns to stare you down with his icy blue eyes.

Your cheek ticks and your eyes flick to the wall. He scares you. More than anything.

“I’ve been asking to meet your mom, haven’t I?”

“Please, why... why do you have to do this?”

“Why do you have to do this?” He shoots back. “I’m the only reason you’re safe.”

You shudder and rub your arm. No, he’s the reason you’re scared. He's the reason you can’t sleep. You never asked for any of this.

You gnaw on your cheeks and shake your head. Your mouth is dry and your chest is empty. The futility keeps you quiet.

“Your mom seems nice--”

“No,” you look at him again. “No. She’s my mom. She’s all I have so you don’t-- don’t.” You beg. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it, but you don’t get near her. You--”

“You act like I want to hurt her. Why would I do that? She gave me you?” He arches a brow.

You inhale and lean your elbow on the bar, “Walter.”

His lashes flick up and his tongue pokes out to trace his lips, “have your drink. We’ll have enough time to go back to my room before she’s up.”

You stare at him. He turns to the bar and lifts the beer bottle. He drinks casually as you watch. You lower your head as your hands shake over your lap. You reach to turn yourself on the tall stool.

The mirror behind the bar reflects your fear. His eyes meet yours and you wince. You knew this was too good to be true. You knew that even here wasn’t far enough.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #night hunter #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover

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loveanton · 6 months ago

Text

everything i didn’t say | eunseok + sungchan

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: you’ve always been a constant in jung sungchan’s life, he never once imagined a world where you weren’t in his life and often took you for granted. never once realizing just how much you loved him until it was too late.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sungchan x f!reader x eunseok

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: friends to almost lovers!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: heartbreak, sungchan is a meanie and says hurtful things.

⏤ 𝑎/n: was listening to old 5sos and inspiration struck

You've always been in love with Sungchan. From the very first moment you met him in the school courtyard, when he handed you that crumpled homework sheet with a shy smile, you knew he was different. As the years passed, that initial spark only grew stronger, turning into a fierce flame that consumed you every time you saw him. It’s funny, really, how someone can become your entire world without them even realizing it. Every laugh you shared, every secret you whispered, every moment you spent together, it was like living in a dream. But dreams are fragile, and reality has a way of waking you up abruptly.

Sungchan was always a constant in your life, a steady presence that you could always count on. He never once imagined a world where you weren’t there, by his side, supporting him through thick and thin. You think he took it for granted, your unwavering loyalty and affection. Not that you ever blamed him. It’s easy to overlook what’s always there, right in front of you.

You both grew up together, navigating the tumultuous years of adolescence, laughing through your awkward phases, and holding each other up through heartbreaks and disappointments. Sungchan had a magnetic personality; he was charming, kind, and effortlessly popular. People were drawn to him, and he thrived on the attention, though he remained humble and grounded. You, on the other hand, were content to remain in the background, his ever-present shadow, silently cheering him on.

There were moments when you thought he might feel the same way, fleeting glances and lingering touches that set your heart racing. But they were always followed by casual comments about other girls, reminders that you were firmly placed in the friend zone. Still, you held onto hope, convinced that one day he would see you, truly see you, for who you were and how deeply you cared for him.

You wonder when that day will come.

“Sungchan, I really don’t want to go to this party,” you say, trying to keep the whine out of your voice as you hug a cushion to your chest. “I’d rather just stay home and watch anime.”

Sungchan pouts, leaning against your bedroom door. “Come on, it’s going to be fun! Everyone’s going to be there, and I don’t want to go without you.”

Eunseok, Sungchan’s roommate and your mutual friend, looks up from his phone with a smirk. “Dude, if she doesn’t want to go, don’t hound her. Let her have her anime night in peace.”

Sungchan shoots Eunseok a pleading look. “Eunseok, help me out here. You know how boring it’ll be without her.”

Eunseok shrugs, leaning back against the wall. “Why don’t you just go by yourself for once? You don’t need to drag her to every single party, man.”

You smile gratefully at Eunseok, appreciating his attempt to take the pressure off. “Thanks, Eunseok. Besides, you know I’m not really a party person.”

Sungchan sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Please? Just this one last time? I promise I won’t bug you about parties anymore if you come tonight.”

You glance at Eunseok, who raises an eyebrow and grins. “Fine,” you say, giving in. “But only if Eunseok goes too.”

Eunseok chuckles. “Alright, I guess I can sacrifice my night to keep you two company.”

Sungchan’s face lights up, and he pumps his fist in the air. “Yes! It’s going to be awesome, I promise!”

Later that night, the three of you meet up and head to the party together. As soon as you walk through the door, the noise and energy hit you like a wave. Sungchan, in his element, quickly spots some friends and ditches you and Eunseok without a second thought.

You expected this. Taking a deep breath, you turn to Eunseok. “Guess it’s just you and me, then.”

He nods, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Let’s find a quieter spot, yeah?”

You both navigate through the crowd, eventually finding a relatively peaceful corner where the music is a little less deafening. You sit down on a couch, and Eunseok joins you, leaning back and looking around with mild interest.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Sungchan?” he asks after a moment. “You’ve been friends forever, right?”

“Yeah, since middle school,” you reply, feeling a familiar pang in your chest. “He’s always been there for me.”

Eunseok nods, studying your face. “And you’re always there for him.”

You sigh, picking at a loose thread on the couch. “I guess.”

Eunseok’s eyes soften. “You like him, don’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance at him, startled. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugs, giving you a small, knowing smile. “I’m observant. And it’s not just me. Everyone who’s close to you can see it.”

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. “I’ve tried to keep it a secret.”

Eunseok shakes his head. “You’re not fooling anyone. And honestly, I don’t think Sungchan is as clueless as he pretends to be.”

You stiffen, your eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Before Eunseok can answer, you spot Sungchan across the room, laughing with Yuri, the popular tennis captain. Your heart sinks as you watch them together, the easy way they interact, the chemistry that’s undeniable.

She’s beautiful, confident, and completely captivated by Sungchan. The way she looks at him, with an intensity that mirrors your own hidden feelings, sends a pang of jealousy through your chest. You try to shake it off, to remind yourself that Sungchan and you are just friends, that you have no claim over him. But it hurts, more than you want to admit.

Eunseok follows your gaze and sighs. “Why do you let him do this to you?”

You tear your eyes away from Sungchan and look at Eunseok, confused. “Do what?”

“Play with your feelings like this,” he says softly. “It’s like he knows exactly how you feel and he’s just stringing you along.”

You shake your head, feeling a surge of anger. “No, Sungchan isn’t like that. He’s not cruel.”

Eunseok holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “He brought you to a party knowing you hate them just to abandon you. You deserve better.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them away, not wanting to cry in front of Eunseok. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Eunseok says firmly. “You have a big heart, and you care deeply. That’s not a bad thing. But you also need to take care of yourself.”

You look down, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. “I just...I keep hoping that he’ll see me. Really see me.”

Eunseok leans closer, his voice gentle. “And what if he never does? Are you going to keep waiting forever?”

You bite your lip, unable to answer. The thought of giving up on Sungchan is too painful to contemplate.

Eunseok sighs, placing a hand on yours. “You’re a wonderful person. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. Don’t waste your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate that.”

You look up at him, grateful for his words even though they sting. “Thanks, Eunseok. I needed to hear that.”

He smiles, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “Anytime.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You stick close to Eunseok, finding comfort in his presence. He’s a good listener, and you find yourself opening up to him more than you expected. He shares stories about his own life, his ambitions, and his struggles, and you realize how little you actually knew about him before tonight.

As the night wears on, you watch Sungchan and Yuri grow closer, their conversation becoming more intimate, their touches more frequent. You felt like an outsider, a silent observer to the budding romance that was unfolding before your eyes. You knew then that you were losing him, that the dream you had cherished for so long was slipping away.

As the party winds down, you and Eunseok decide to leave. Sungchan is nowhere to be found, still presumably with Yuri. You walk back to your apartment with Eunseok, the cool night air helping to clear your mind.

When you reach your door, Eunseok turns to you with a serious expression. “Remember what I said. You deserve to be happy.”

You nod, feeling a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “I will. Thanks, Eunseok.”

He smiles and gives you a small wave before heading to his own apartment. You watch him go, a sense of calm settling over you.

The next morning, you wake up to a series of text messages lighting up your phone. Blinking away the sleep, you scroll through the notifications. Eunseok’s message catches your eye first.

[eunseok]: Hey, just checking in. How are you feeling this morning?

A soft smile tugs at your lips, warmth spreading through your chest at his concern. You scroll down to find another message from Sungchan.

[sungchanie]: last night was wild! i think i met the love of my life lol.”

Your heart sinks. You feel a sharp pang of jealousy and sadness. Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself and respond to Sungchan’s message with a simple thumbs-up emoji. You then turn back to Eunseok’s message, grateful for his support.

[you]: morning eunseok. just found out that sungchan thinks yuri is the love of his life lol :p

His reply is almost immediate.

[eunseok]: I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like me to come over? I have ice cream and a Netflix subscription.

You giggle despite yourself, feeling a bit lighter.

[you]: yes please! cookie dough ice cream?

[eunseok]: You got it. Be there soon.

A short while later, there’s a knock on your door. You open it to find Eunseok standing there with a tub of cookie dough ice cream, two spoons and a warm smile.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside. He doesn’t ask any questions, just pulls you into a hug and leads you to the couch.

“Hey,” you reply, feeling a little better already.

You both settle in, the ice cream tub between you. As the first romcom starts playing, you can’t help but feel grateful for Eunseok’s presence. He makes you laugh at all the right moments, and the pain of seeing Sungchan with Yuri begins to fade into the background.

By the time you’re halfway through the second movie, you find yourself cuddled up against Eunseok, his arm draped over your shoulders. The warmth and comfort you feel with him are undeniable, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace.

However a series of knocks on the door soon interrupts your tranquility. Sighing, you disentangle yourself from Eunseok and head to answer it. Standing there is Sungchan, his usual bright smile on his face.

“Hey! You won’t believe how amazing Yuri is,” he starts, letting himself in. His excitement is palpable, but it quickly dims when he spots Eunseok on the couch, occupying what has always been his unspoken spot.

“What’s he doing here?” Sungchan asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Eunseok looks up casually. “Hanging out with ____”

You take a deep breath, summoning the strength you’ve been cultivating over the past few hours. “Sungchan, we’re busy right now. Can you come back later?”

Sungchan looks taken aback, surprise flickering across his face. He glances between you and Eunseok before nodding slowly. “Uh, sure. I’ll catch you later then.”

You watch him leave, closing the door gently behind him. Turning back to Eunseok, you feel a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.

“I’m proud of you,” Eunseok says softly, pulling you back into his arms. “I know that probably wasn’t easy.”

You blush, shrugging lightly. “It’s... getting easier.”

The next few weeks follow a similar pattern. You and Eunseok spend more time together, finding comfort in each other’s company. You gradually start to distance yourself from Sungchan, realizing that holding onto the hope of him seeing you differently only brings more pain.

Sometimes, the days that follow are a blur of pain and numbness. Sungchan calls and texts you, mostly about Yuri and you can’t bring yourself to respond. You need space, time to come to terms with the reality that he has found someone else, someone who isn’t you. You tell yourself that you should be happy for him, that his happiness is all that matters, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

One evening, as you're sitting in your room, trying to focus on studying, your phone lights up with a text message. It’s from Sungchan.

[sungchanie]: did i do something wrong?

Your heart sinks at the message. Despite everything, you still care deeply about him, and the thought of hurting him hurts you too. You stare at the screen, unsure of how to respond.

A few minutes later, another message comes through.

[sungchanie]: i hate the silent treatment y/n :(

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. As much as you don’t want to feel anything for him anymore, you can’t deny the rush of emotions that flood your chest.

[you]: “hey sungchan. you haven’t done anything wrong,,,just been swamped with classes and needed some time to myself

Almost immediately, your phone buzzes with another message from him.

[sungchanie]: can i come over? i miss hanging out with you

You hesitate for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Despite everything, you find yourself typing back.

[you]: sure

Not long after, there’s a knock on your door. You take a deep breath and open it to find Sungchan standing there with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside. “I’ve missed you.”

You manage a small smile. “I’ve missed you too.”

He glances around your room. “Where’s Eunseok? I’m surprised he’s not attached to your hip.”

You chuckle nervously, feeling a pang of guilt. “He’s at a study group.”

Sungchan nods, taking a seat on your bed. “So, about Yuri...”

Your heart sinks, but you swallow the lump in your throat and force a smile. “Yeah, tell me about her.”

Sungchan launches into how he and Yuri have been on a few dates, how he thinks he’s going to ask her out officially soon. You listen, nodding along and trying to push down the ache in your chest.

“That’s great, Sungchan,” you manage to say, forcing cheerfulness into your tone. “I’m really happy for you.”

Just then, your phone buzzes with a text message from Eunseok.

[eunseok]: Hey! Would you like to join me and some friends for a game night tonight?

You smile at the invitation and text back quickly.

[you]: sure! i’ll be there ^-^

Sungchan glances at your phone curiously. “Who’s that?”

You hesitate, then decide to be honest. “It’s Eunseok. He invited me to join him for a game night with his friends.”

Sungchan’s expression shifts slightly, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face. “Oh. Are you guys... dating?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question, and you falter for a moment. “Um, no, we’re just friends.”

But Sungchan doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer. His brows furrow, and he leans forward, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s just... you two seem really close. It almost feels like he’s replacing me.”

You feel a surge of frustration and hurt. “Sungchan, he’s just being a good friend. No one could ever replace you.”

He shakes his head, his frustration boiling over. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re letting Eunseok get in between us!”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and Eunseok. He’s just my friend.”

Sungchan stands up, his voice rising. “I’ve known you for so long, and now suddenly Eunseok is always around. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore!”

You stand up too, your own anger bubbling. “That’s not fair, Sungchan! You’ve been spending all your time with Yuri, and I needed someone to talk to. Eunseok has been there for me when you weren’t.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve replaced me with him. Every time I turn around, he’s there. And it feels like you don’t even care.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you try to defend yourself. “I do care! But you’re the one who’s been distant. You’re the one who found someone else.”

Sungchan’s eyes flash with hurt and anger. “Maybe I did, but that doesn’t mean you had to replace me so easily.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of his words. “You’re being unfair, Sungchan. Eunseok is just a good friend. You’re the one who’s been pushing me away.”

His face hardens, and he takes a step back. “Maybe I needed to, because it hurts too much to see you with him.”

You’re stunned into silence, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. Before you can say anything, he turns on his heel and storms out of your room, slamming the door behind him.

You collapse onto your bed, tears streaming down your face. The argument replays in your mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. You can’t shake the feeling of loss and confusion, wondering how things went so wrong.

Despite your pain, you decide to suck it up and go to the game night. You text Eunseok, letting him know you’re on your way. When you arrive, his friends greet you warmly, their cheerful banter and infectious energy immediately starting to lift your spirits.

Eunseok’s friends, Beomgyu, Anton, Karina, Yujin and Jake, quickly draw you into their circle. They’re a lively bunch, and it’s impossible not to be swept up in their enthusiasm.

“Alright, who’s ready for a game of spoons?” Beomgyu announces, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

“You’re not planning to cheat again, are you, Beomgyu?” Yujin teases, raising an eyebrow.

He gasps dramatically. “Me? Cheat? Never!” But there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests otherwise.

Anton and Jake’s dynamic is particularly amusing. Anton is calm and methodical, while Jake is a bundle of energy, constantly in motion. They bicker and banter like an old married couple, which keeps you entertained and helps take your mind off Sungchan.

As the game progresses, you can’t help but notice Beomgyu’s suspiciously fast reflexes. Every time a spoon is up for grabs, he somehow always manages to snatch it first.

“I’m onto you, Beomgyu,” you say with a mock-serious tone after he wins yet another round. “You’re definitely cheating.”

He laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just that good, I swear!”

Eunseok, sitting next to you, chuckles. “Don’t let him fool you, ____. Beomgyu’s a known cheater.”

You laugh along, feeling more relaxed than you have all evening but Eunseok’s keen eyes don’t miss the occasional flickers of sadness that cross your face. After you both lose a particularly intense round of spoons, he stands up and offers you a hand.

“Help me with snacks in the kitchen?” he asks gently.

You nod and follow him, grateful for the brief escape. In the kitchen, Eunseok begins prepping more snacks, occasionally feeding you bits of fruit or cheese.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his concern evident.

You sigh, leaning against the counter. “Sungchan and I got into an argument before I came over.”

Eunseok pauses, looking at you intently. “What was it about?”

You hesitate, then spill the details about Sungchan feeling replaced by Eunseok and how hurt and jealous he seemed. Eunseok’s expression darkens.

“He said that it hurt too much to see us together.”

“That’s manipulative,” he says bluntly.

You shake your head, feeling a rush of defensiveness. “He’s just hurt, Eunseok.”

“He knows what he’s doing, ____,” Eunseok counters. “Why would he say that it hurts to see us together if he doesn’t have feelings for you? He’s just stringing you along.”

You don’t know what to say, the truth of his words sinking in but conflicting with your loyalty to Sungchan. The emotions swirling inside you become too much to handle.

“I think I should go home,” you finally say, your voice small.

Eunseok’s face falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“It’s not you,” you reassure him, managing a weak smile. “It’s just hitting me how messed up this situation is.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Let me walk you home.”

You shake your head. “No, you should stay with your friends. I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Eunseok nods. “Alright, but text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” you promise.

As you make your way home, your mind races with thoughts of the evening’s events. You replay Eunseok’s words over and over, feeling a mixture of frustration, sadness, and an unexpected hint of clarity.

When you finally arrive home, you text Eunseok as promised.

[you]: i’m home. thanks for tonight

[eunseok]: Anytime. I'm here if you need to talk.

You appreciate his unwavering support but feel a heavy weight pressing on your chest. You sit on your bed, staring at your phone, wondering how you ended up in this tangled web of emotions.

The next week is a blur of classes and studying. You try to avoid thinking about Sungchan and focus on your schoolwork, but it’s a losing battle. His absence is a constant ache, a reminder of the distance growing between you.

Tonight, you find yourself standing in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t know what you hope to achieve, but you know you can’t keep pretending that everything is okay. You need closure, one way or another.

Before you can even knock, the door swings open and Sungchan stands there, surprise flashing across his face when he sees you. “____, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Just then, Yuri pops out from behind Sungchan, wrapping her arms around his waist and planting a kiss on his lips. Your heart clenches as you watch them, but you force yourself to stay composed.

After a moment, Yuri finally pulls away. “I’ll see you later, Sungchan,” she says, giving him one last peck and you a smug grin before leaving.

Once she’s gone, Sungchan lets you in, making a snarky comment as he closes the door. “Where’s Eunseok? I thought he’d be glued to your side.”

You stay calm and reply, “I didn’t come to fight with you, Sungchan. I just want to clear the air.”

He nods, crossing his arms. “So, are you ready to apologize?”

You’re taken aback. “Apologize for what?”

“For being a bad friend recently,” he says, standing his ground.

Anger rises within you. “No, Sungchan. You’ve been a bad friend. You blew me off at the party after begging me to go. Then here comes Yuri, and now you’re completely pussy whipped.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Yuri. I thought you’d be over your little high school crush by now.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?”

Sungchan stares at you blankly and you feel anger coursing through your veins as you realize he’s known all this time. He knew just how much you love and care for him and he took it selfishly, knowing just what to say to keep you by his side. He only ever gave you just enough to string you along and give you false hope. Eunseok was right.

“How could you be so... so cruel? All this time you knew I liked you but led me on and kept me around for your own satisfaction. How could you do that? We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“Exactly,” he snaps back. “Best friends. So stop thinking we’ll ever be more. It weirds me out.”

The argument escalates, voices rising with each exchange.

“You knew,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “You knew how I felt and you still... How could you do that?”

“I didn’t have feelings for you then, and I still don’t now,” Sungchan retorts, his face twisted in anger. “You need to move on.”

“How could you be so heartless?” you cry out, the pain evident in your voice. “You used me. You knew how much I cared and you used me.”

Sungchan’s expression softens for a moment, guilt flickering in his eyes, but it quickly hardens again. “I didn’t use you. I thought you were over it. I thought we were just friends.”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “Go screw yourself, Sungchan.”

You turn towards the door, ready to leave, but before you can open it, Eunseok lets himself in. He sees your tears and Sungchan’s guilty expression, his own face hardening with anger.

“What the hell is going on here?” Eunseok demands, glaring at Sungchan before turning his attention to you. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He grabs your hand and leads you away, his grip firm but gentle. You don’t resist, too overwhelmed by the confrontation to do anything but follow him. He takes you to a nearby boba shop and finds a quiet corner for the two of you. After placing your orders, he brings your drink and sits beside you, offering silent support.

For a while, you both sip your drinks in silence. Then, Eunseok starts talking about his economics midterm, detailing how tough it was and how he’s sure he failed. You appreciate his attempt to distract you and let him continue, feeling a small sense of normalcy returning.

Once he’s done venting about his exam, you take a deep breath and softly say, “Thank you.”

He smiles gently. “You never have to thank me. I’m here for you, always.”

He looks at you with gentle concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You play with the straw of your drink, gathering your thoughts. “We had a huge fight. Sungchan said some really hurtful things… things I didn’t expect him to say.”

Eunseok’s face darkens. “What did he say?”

You recount the argument, detailing how Sungchan accused you of being a bad friend and dismissed your feelings as a mere high school crush. By the time you’re done, Eunseok is seething with anger on your behalf.

“He’s an immature prick,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger. “How could he say those things to you? After everything you’ve done for him?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tears welling up again. “I thought he was my best friend.”

Eunseok takes your hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “You deserve so much better, ____. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re in the wrong. You’ve been an amazing friend to him, and he doesn’t appreciate it.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded heart, and you manage a small smile. “Thank you, Eunseok. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiles back, his anger slowly dissipating. “You’ll never have to find out. I’m here for you, always.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your drinks and finding solace in each other’s presence.

#sungchan #jung sungchan #jung sungchan imagines #sungchan imagines #riize #riize sungchan #riize imagines #sungchan angst #riize eunseok #eunseok #eunseok imagines #song eunseok #song eunseok imagines #eunseok x reader #sungchan x reader

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rhiannonsknife · 15 days ago

Note

Hiya!! I thought since a lot of your anons loved Rhiannon with a breeding kink I would raise you to a higher pedestal! I give you….obssesive wife Rhiannon who is absolutely obsessed with getting you pregnant. She goes to all lengths….checking your calendar for ovulation days, sneaking in your vitamins for strength, making sure you eat all and healthy. She’s extra cautious. I imagine her to be the type that isn’t fond of children in general, but when she thinks of her baby, your baby immediately she’s willing to do late night feeds and nappie changes.

But Rhiannon who does all these things without you knowing? If that makes sense? She picks a date where she knows your ovulating. Buying you flowers on the way home and having to keep them from getting smushed on the tube. Having a list of how many people she’d like to throttle by the end of the trip. Coming home early to strewn flower petals on the floor, the bed, light the fireplace. Candles that she eagerly secured (she wants you pregnant but dead) she makes dinner or orders expensive take out. She takes out the essential oils you like to give you a back rub. All these are a false sense of security for you. To make you more submissive and willing to let her breed you. Not that you’re not willing, you are, you just haven’t had time to do the act.

But Rhiannon who does all this and when she finally has you where she wants, she’s begging, pleading for you to let her breed you. Saying she wants a baby, she’ll do anything and everything for you. How cute a little wife you’ll be pregnant with her baby. All these things.

But obsessive unhinged Rhiannon who purposely puts pills into your drink that make you extra salacious just for her. 🤭 I hope all these thoughts sit well with you! I have been here since your first Jackie post and have thought very highly of you! I know you must be bustling with anons, but would you be keen on letting me be 🖋️ anon?

lord have mercy…we must stay focused!! thank you very much for sharing your thoughts 🖋️ anon…nsfw content. mdni!

rhiannon’s been planning this for weeks.

usually, the only times she’s as structured about something, it’s for taking a life, not -well- creating one. it all started with her obsessively tracking your calendar, paying extra attention to those little marks that indicated your ovulation days. suddenly, she’s an expert on your cycle.

vitamins are slipped into your morning smoothies and she’s extra insistent that you eat more greens, and every now and then, she sneaks into her phone to research the best fertility-boosting recipes when she knows you’re not looking.

rhiannon doesn’t tell you any of this, obviously.

the truth is, she doesn’t care about children in general. she never has. other people’s kids are loud and require more patience and attention than she’s ever had. but the idea of your baby? a little person who’s part you, part her? rhiannon can’t stop thinking about it.

it’s obsessive, maybe even a little unhinged, but that’s rhiannon for you: fiercely devoted, insanely unpredictable, and completely consumed by the idea of loving you and the life she wants to build with you.

and tonight? tonight is the culmination of all her planning.

the flowers are the first sign: you come home to the sight of her holding a massive bouquet of your favorite flowers, the stems slightly crushed from her efforts to keep them safe on the tube.

you barely have time to take off your shoes before she presses it into your hands and kisses you. “hi” she murmurs against your mouth, hands sneaking to your waist already.

“hi,” you greet, raising an eyebrow as you take in the sight. “what’s the occasion?”

“do i need a reason to spoil you?” rhiannon counters instantly, dragging you inside by the arm. “dinner’s on the table,” she adds, wrapping an arm around your hip and guiding you toward the dining room.

“you cooked?” you ask, half-joking.

she grins. “don’t push your luck now. i ordered from that fancy italian place you like”

rhiannon may not be the culinary genius of the relationship, but she knows your favorite meals and goes out of her way to make you feel special. still, the extravagance tonight feels almost too calculated.

dinner progresses perfectly, with rhiannon’s attention unwavering. she pours your wine, makes you laugh, and touches you constantly; light brushes of her fingers against yours, a hand on your thigh, a kiss at the corner of your mouth…by the time she leads you upstairs, her fingers laced with yours, your earlier suspicion is all but forgotten.

well, that’s until you see the state of the bedroom: it’s just as carefully prepared as the rest of the house, with candles lit and petals scattered across the bed in what would’ve been a comically cliché display under different circumstances.

“alright,” you say, turning to face her as she closes the door behind you. “what’s all this for, rhee? did you rob a bank or something?” (not that it would surprise you, given her murderous tendencies)

her laugh is low and husky, and she steps closer, pulling you into her arms. “can’t i just want to make you feel good?”

her lips brush against your neck as she speaks, and you feel yourself relax in her touch. you don’t know about the vitamins, or the research, or the way she’s been meticulously planning this exact night down to the smallest detail. all you know is that her touch feels too good to question any of this.

“lay down,” rhiannon murmurs, reluctant pulling back to reach for the bottle of oil she’d hidden in the nightstand. “you’ve been so stressed lately…let me take care of you…”

her hands are warm, yet firm as they move across your back, kneading away the tension you didn’t even realize you’d been holding all this time.

“you’re being awfully sweet tonight,” you tease, though your voice is muffled by the pillow beneath your cheek and cut off my a soft groan as her oiled up fingers work on a knot in your lower back.

“just in a good mood,” she replies casually, though there’s an edge of truth in her words. she is in a good mood, but not for the reasons you think. it’s because tonight is the night she’s going to make this happen.

the first time she says it, you genuinely think you’re hearing things.

rhiannon is on top of you, her mouth kissing and sucking on your neck while her hips roll at a gentle pace. you’ve got both arms draped over her neck to hold her close as she moves.

she nudges your earlobe with her nose, momentarily slowing down her thrusts. “i want a baby” she breathes, relishing in the way your breath catches when the words sink in.

you drop your hand to rhiannon’s cheek so she’s looking down at you and tilt your head. “w-what?”

rhiannon smiles. even though she’s breathless, holding back from cumming too soon already, she’s pleased with herself and the element of surprise. “i want a baby” she repeats between a groan as you accidentally squeeze her in tighter. as if that alone (plus all the work she’s done for you today) isn’t enough yet, rhiannon picks up the pace again, buries her face in the crook of your neck, and starts pleading: “please. you already know i’d- fuck- do anything for you” rhiannon pants, your fingers tightening against her skin. each of her thrusts goes right against your g-spot, making it hard to focus on what she’s actually proposing here.

it takes surprisingly little effort to convince you. perhaps it’s her timing and the fact that she’s bringing this possibility up whilst she’s already buried to the hilt. or that you can’t help but want her to, nearly gushing at the thought. either way, this and her ragged pleads to fuck you raw are enough to make up your mind.

the first time rhiannon sinks into you like that, she literally whines, her fingers tightening their hold on you so that she won’t start humping into you uselessly.

nothing, not even the hours she spent by herself, imagining you bare around her, could compare to the real deal.

“oh my god” she groans, her lashes fluttering as she holds onto your thighs, keeping you nice and open for her. “oh my god, you feel so good”

obviously rhiannon isn’t the only one affected: you can literally feel her twitch, already leaking from just being inside you, and that sensation alone is enough for your eyes to roll back in your head.

“fuck, rhee” you manage as she slides all the way inside easily; you’re embarrassingly wet, though rhiannon hardly notices.

any coherent thoughts go straight out of the window anyway the moment rhiannon starts moving, thrusting into you until the only sound echoing through the room is the one of skin slapping against skin, coming from between your thighs.

now, i know i’ve said it in this post already, but rhiannon, who cums so fast :((

she’s been fantasizing about this for so long, touching herself and imagining her hand as your bare cunt surrounding her, but truly nothing compares to this.

she lasts mere minutes before she tenses and releases.

rhiannon tries to hold back, she really does, but fails miserably. she had all these plans; positions to try, making you beg for her cum, watching it drip from you…none of it matters when she cums deep inside for the first time, crying out against your neck as she fills you up.

shoutout to the one person who knows me irl and somehow found this account. if you’re reading this: GET OUT. (honestly, writing this feels like the ultimate walk of shame, but hey, i gotta do what i gotta do to keep the anons happy 🤗)

#rhiannon lewis Ღ #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #🖋️ anon #rhiannon lewis x reader #rhiannon lewis x female reader #rhiannon lewis x you #sweetpea

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jhilsara · 1 month ago

Text

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights pt. 3

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: Another year goes by and your friendship with Spencer is better than ever… too bad its a rough year. A birthday surprise, another Halloween adventure together (but make it a musical), Sister fights, and you finally find out what Spencer's day job is.

Word Count: 11.5k

Warnings: Canon typical BAU themes, sick family members, bank robbery, Season 7 finale

Previous|Next

The one where Spencer turns 30

Spencer hasn’t left his apartment much lately. Besides going out for calls at the BAU and working on finding Ian Doyle, he doesn’t have much energy for anything else. Except for the new doctor he was seeing for his migraines. She was actually helpful in comparison to the others he had seen.

It’s only been four months since Emily Prentiss died and Spencer doesn’t feel any lighter. He just seems to be spending more time debating on whether he’d feel better if he started using again. At least he’d be numb. Feeling numb sounded better than being miserably sad at the loss of one of his closest friends. He knows in the back of his mind, if he did start using dilaudid again he wouldn’t be able to truly put his all into the Ian Doyle investigation. That’s what keeps him content to stay sober.

Spencer hasn’t visited the bookstore, not nearly as much as he used to. It’s enough to cause worry so you’ve started to call him at least once a week. He’s sure that you probably wanted to call every day. You worry and fret over him, and he knows it’s just a part of who you are, but he doesn’t feel deserving of the attention.

Especially when you take it upon yourself to visit occasionally.

He always opens the door for you, he can’t help it, he doesn’t want to worry you. Even though when he looks at your face, he sees the clear concern behind your eyes.

He always knows when it’s you because your warmth and brightness almost roll off in waves that gently brush and seep under the doorway. You’re a force of nature. One where you shed some color into his incredibly bleak world.

The only other friend who checks on him in the same kind of way would be Penelope. Which, she’s grieving in a very different way. It’s also hard for any of them to talk about Emily together without it being tainted by their Doyle investigation. He knows this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but he’ll be damned if he stops looking for the man that took away part of his family.

There’s an ease and tenderness that comes with you. You've never pushed him to tell you what’s wrong. You'll ask, always testing the waters, shaking his raft, but you never push. You don’t force him down into the depths of his own consuming thoughts. The ones where he thinks he’s drowning and can’t recover from. The ones where all of his intrusive thoughts prick at his brain like tiny needles, trying to prove nonexistent points.

It wasn’t that you weren’t curious, because you definitely are. Sometimes when he closed off the conversation, he could see the hurt in your eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, because Spencer would trust you with anything, you’re his best friend outside of the BAU. He even spent last New Years with you and your dad, Big Joe. Well, mostly you had made dinner, they watched Big Joe’s favorite movie, which Spencer happily listened to him give all his endless movie knowledge. After you put your dad to bed, they went out to a bar for a few midnight drinks.

Spencer just preferred to keep the FBI parts of his life out of his personal life. It’s been refreshing to not be a federal agent when he’s with you. If he had to explain everything about Ian Doyle and Emily’s death... he was slightly afraid you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore.

Or worse, he’d endanger you like Hotch had with Haley...

So, Spencer does what he truly does best, holds his feelings close to his chest with his secrets. If your smile faltered when he couldn’t tell you what was happening, he’d bite his tongue. He couldn’t lose another friend. Not you. Even if his secrets kept you at arm's length.

It’s a random day in the middle of August when Spencer finally walks back into the bookstore. It surprised you so much you ram yourself into the edge of the checkout counter. You curse under your breath but shoot him a hesitant smile.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.” you softly said as you placed the books down to give him your full attention. Almost approaching him like he is a wounded animal.

Spencer nods, “world keeps spinning, life goes on.” he said with a small shrug and a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

He couldn’t tell you that his dead friend faked her death and was alive all along. Just in Paris... while two of his friends lied to his face. That absolutely isn’t a can of worms he’s willing to unload onto you. Not today, maybe not ever. He still had some anger to process that he doesn’t want to direct towards you. Spencer takes a deep breath and starts walking toward the cafe.

You followed after him and smiled brightly. “Well, I’m glad to see you anyway.” you touch his shoulder lightly. “I’ve been worried about you.” you said warmly as you move behind the counter to make him a coffee.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” He starts to rebuttal, but you cut him off.

“I was going to worry regardless; I don’t know how to turn it off unfortunately.” you tried to joke lightly.

Spencer just furrows his brows, “Do you worry about everything?” he asked. It comes across harsher than he means it to, but it rolls off your back.

“No, just about people. I’m worried about Birdie, like all the time, not to mention dad. I’m also constantly thinking about my coworkers, Josie... My friends in Georgia...” you pause and bites your lip.

“That probably sounds like I don’t do anything else besides worry.”

“It sounds like anxiety.” he deadpanned.

You shrugged and offered him his coffee. “Probably.”

“Oh! Spencer, since you’re here!” you quickly change the subject whirling around to the computer, “Do me a favor and sign up for our new rewards program. I need a test guinea pig to make sure it actually tracks the points.”

Spencer nods and waits. You swiftly tap information into the computer screen.

“It’s only a few questions,” you murmured, “Full name...Spencer Reid. Date of birth-” you froze looking up at Spencer.

“I don’t know your birthday.” you said it like it was a genuine surprise and frown. “We’ve known each other for almost three years, how do I not know your birthday?”

Spencer gave a soft chortle of amusement, “I’ve never been in town for my birthday. I’m weirdly always out for work. Besides-” he shrugged. “I don’t know yours either.”

You dramatically groan. “I cannot believe I didn’t know this! Birthdays are so important!”

Spencer tilts his head curiously, “I didn’t know you liked birthdays that much?”

“Don’t you? It’s the one day to truly celebrate a person. I mean you don’t need a day to do that, but doesn’t everyone want to feel special just one day? I mean you make your way around life another year and you should earn just a little treat for it! Living sucks sometimes.” you said matter of factly.

You're so passionate as you talk, Spencer almost forgets it’s even about birthdays.

Spencer paused before his brain autofill's information like a search engine, “Did you know that the birthday celebration actually started in ancient Egypt with Pharoh's? It wasn’t for common folk at all. They acted as a coronation for a Pharoh. Greeks and Romans adopted them for their worship of the gods but really, individual birthdays weren’t well known. For a long time in history.” Spencer info dumps what he knew and smiled triumphantly.

You nod, listening, you always listened to Spencer when he had the wealth of knowledge to just disperse whenever. It was charming.

“Sooooooo, what I’m hearing is, we should celebrate everyone like they are their own gods?” you tease him.

Spencer rolls his eyes, “Not what I meant.”

You hummed in amusement, “Well, I’ll be the judge of that.” You smiled, like you had a secret. “What’s your birthday Spencer?”

“October 12th 1981.” He tells you with a sigh.

You plug it into the computer, and you realize quickly that Spencer’s about to turn 30. You looked up at him, “That’s only a few months away. Makes sense it’s October.”

Spencer fakes a dramatic gasp as he looks at you in shock, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You give him a deadpan look as you finish typing in the rest of his information. “It means- that for someone who loves Halloween it doesn’t surprise me you were born in October.”

“What’s your e-mail?” you asked him.

“I only have my work one and I’m not using that for your rewards program.” He said in fake exasperation, “By your logic,” he picked back up their conversation, “that means you also were born in October.”

You make a fake buzzer noise, “Nope!” you pop the P. “Try again.”

Spencer raises a brow, “There is a 1 in 365 chance for me to guess right. That’s not even one percent.”

“Do you care if I just put in my e-mail? We’re just testing it, I’m doing it anyway.” you tap away at the computer, “Also- ever heard of a zodiac sign? Thats at least like 1 in 12 chances. Better odds.” you gave him a pointed look.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously making me guess zodiac signs?”

You wiggled your brows, “What? The genius doesn’t believe in the fate of the stars.” you smirked to yourself as you typed away at the computer.

“Do you actively want me to stereotype you?” He asked with a teasing smile of his own.

“Tik tok, it’s either guess the sign or the date.” you joke.

“You’re stubborn enough, let’s say Taurus.” he replied with a snark.

You rolled your eyes and made a tsk sound, “Nice try, but WRONG. I’m a Cancer. A summertime baby even though I hate hate hate summer.” you groan thinking about the heat.

“Then your logic definitely doesn’t make sense.” He laughed in exasperation.

You shrugged, “never said I was right.”

Spencer glared playfully, “No but it was implied.”

You just brush him off. Finishing up the rewards program. “I think it works. It should track your drink purchases, and every tenth drink is free!” you said excitedly.

“You never charge me for my drinks.” He reminded you with a look of mild confusion.

“Shhhh, don’t let the other customers know I have favorites! They’ll get their feelings hurt!”

You’ve been scheming since you found out Spencer’s birthday. 30 was a milestone and you weren’t about to let him go by without even an itsy bitsy teenie weenie celebration. You weren’t going to throw a surprise party or anything. After the fiasco that was a friend's surprise party when they were 21 you vowed to never again. The last thing you had expected was for everyone to find out that your friend's roommate was cheating. Screaming surprise to a pair of twentysomethings trying to eat each other’s faces and their actual boyfriend being in the room was rough.

You learned no more surprises the hard way.

The only surprise you had was you were determined to have Josie bake one of her delicious cakes for him. You begged Josie, just a small chocolate cake with a gorgeous violet frosting. Nothing too insane, Josie just was the best baker you knew. Her cakes were to die for, but most of her pastries were.

Josie agreed, but only if you agreed to take the deposits to the bank for the Holiday season. You lived closer and Josie hated dealing with the general population outside of what she had already seen during the holidays.

You've been hiding Spencer’s cake in the back freezer for a day, hoping he wouldn’t be out of town for his birthday. You had called him earlier in the week and asked him to swing by on Wednesday if he could. You had told him you really needed a taste tester for your new Halloween treat. Sugar was Spencer’s weakness.

You're pacing back and forth, trying to not be on edge, but you’re riddled with so much excitement it’s hard. You've been decorating the new display case filled with Halloween themed books. You are hanging up a garland in the window display when you see Spencer walking down the street.

You quickly finished hanging up your ghost garland and quickly ran to the back freezer to get his cake out to let it defrost a bit. You throw candles and a lighter on the counter in the back room and you try to make sure everything is set and ready to go.

The bell rings all the way through to the back and you compose yourself before stepping out again. You stick your head out the back door that divides the cafe from the back kitchen and waves to Spencer.

“Back here!” you shout.

The bookstore only had a few patrons tonight, none of which were happily there to hang out or study. They were perusing the isles, and you had already given them a few recommendations of books. You know an insomniac when you see one, and these people were the kind that needed something besides the empty fridge to look at for their late-night brain. It was later than normal, around two in the morning, when Spencer came walking in.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming by tonight.” you tease leaning against the counter.

“It was a late work trip.” He said with a tired smile.

“Well, I have a treat for you. Taste testing if you will.” you said, turning to the back room.

“I need you to close your eyes though. I’m really proud of it.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at your antics but does as you’ve asked.

“No peaking!” you shouted, and Spencer could hear the door to the back close behind you.

You check the cake, and it's good to go. The back freezer wasn’t cold enough to freeze it solid, so the cake is still easy to cut. you press the candles into the top, a three and a zero to make 30. You slowly light the candles and back up to bring the cake out. You gently set it down in front of Spencer, who’s just standing there with his eyes closed and a goofy grin.

“Okay, open.”

Spencer opens his eyes, and he looks stunned. His mouth just kind of hangs open like a gaping fish before he murmured, “This isn’t a Halloween treat...”

“Happy birthday Spencer.” you whisper looking at his reaction and trying to gauge it. “I didn’t make your cake, Josie did, but I promise her cakes are the very best.”

Spencer was stunned into silence. He truly didn’t expect you to remember his birthday, or know he was turning 30. Hell, even his team wasn’t aware it was his birthday until Emily told them. Which, he does appreciate her listening to him. He was having a crisis over his own accomplishments.

You start getting antsy when Spencer doesn’t respond. He’s standing there with his mouth open. You start rambling, “I just thought, you know, 30 is a big deal! It’s a milestone and I didn’t get to celebrate your past two birthdays so I thought this would be a nice treat... I know I didn’t ask if you even like surprises, but it was so small-”

Spencer cuts her off.

“Sorry, I just... thank you.” He tells you with a soft smile. “I love it.”

Your eyes light up and you brush your hair out of your face. The nerves leaving your body.

“Make a wish Spencer.”

Spencer doesn’t have to think about it as he blows out his candles.

“What did you wish for?” you asked, grabbing a knife to cut his cake.

Spencer raised a brow, “Well if I tell you, it won’t come true.”

You roll your eyes, “Didn’t peg you to be superstitious.”

Spencer just shrugged at that and bit his lip. If his wish had to do with you, well, you didn’t need to know.

The one about Rocky Horror Picture Show

Spencer’s sorting through the collection of DVD’s you’ve brought over for their movie night. You brought an eclectic mixed taste of Halloween movies, from Hocus Pocus to Insidious. Spencer pauses on Rocky Horror Picture Show and you make a noise of excitement.

“Oh, we should watch it! I’m going to the showing next weekend and I’m so excited.” you said, reaching for the bowl of popcorn.

“I didn’t know they still showed it in movie theaters, I’ve never been.” he said casually popping open the case to grab the DVD.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen Rocky Horror Picture Show? It’s like quintessentially a Halloween staple.” you said in abject horror.

Spencer is once again being berated for his lack of pop culture knowledge. To be fair, he does know the movie. So, he isn’t fully aware of why you are looking at him like he has two heads.

“I’ve seen the movie. I know what it is.” He gives a scoff and shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Why haven’t you ever been to a local show? It’s iconic!” you said exaggeratedly.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “My job doesn’t always let me preplan my events well. Besides, it can’t be much different than watching the movie at home.” He said turning to press play on the DVD player.

You audibly gasp standing up from the couch.

“Spencer Reid, that is blasphemous! You are absolutely coming with me to a viewing of Rocky Horror, like immediately.” you demand planting your hands on your hips and shooting him a playful glare.

“What makes it so different?” He cocked his head in confusion, brows furrowed. “It’s a musical from the 70’s that barely makes sense in the plot line and some of the verbiage is really outdated, borderline offensive really.” He states matter of factly.

You sighed, “You don’t understand art! It’s about the experience of the show, it’s such a great time going to a live show and seeing everyone in costume and singing together, chanting, using props! It’s one of the best things to be in a room of similar people just having fun.” you told him in a dreamy voice.

Spencer nodded, still not fully getting your image, moving to go sit on the couch, “I didn’t know they were so... performative.”

“They are some of my favorite shows I’ve been to. Especially bringing new people.” you plop back down on the couch next to him.

“Why?” he asked, turning to watch the opening credits, leaning down to grab his late-night coffee that wasn’t nearly as good as what you make in the cafe.

“Because they’re virgins.” You said it like it was so obvious. Like it was a fact as simple as the sky is blue.

Spencer almost chokes on his coffee.

“Excuse me?” he asks a little baffled.

You roll your eyes, “When someone is brought to a live show and they’ve never been, they’re a virgin. There’s even a silly virgin ritual that’s super fun. The whole nights a blast.”

Spencer goes quiet, his face bursting into a red flush, “It’s not... it’s not like a sex thing, is it?”

Your laugh filters through his apartment bright and loud. You shake your head, “God no Spencer! I’m not going to some crazy orgy almost every year.”

Spencer started coughing and looked at you with wide eyes, “I wasn’t implying that you- I-... shit.”

You just shake your head still trying to control your laughter, “Well you have to come with me now Spencer, to heal my wounded ego. I’m going on Halloween. Dress up please?” you asked with a bat of your lashes.

Spencer covers his face in embarrassment but nods, “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll go. Can we please just watch the movie now?”

“Can do.” you snickered settling back into the comfort of his couch.

Before you can leave, you have a few things you need to check first. Spencer is picking you up to walk to the theater together, which is sweet. You go to check on your dad before leaving.

You knock gently on your father's door before opening it a crack, “Daddy?” you whisper.

Big Joe is passed out in his bed, the television still playing faintly in the background of some sports game. His snores letting you know he was out for the night.

You shake your head with a sigh before going in to turn off his television and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Love you, I’ll be back later.” you whispered.

You check your outfit one last time in the mirror, looking at her Janet inspired pajamas. She was wearing tights, a silk slip dress, and wrapped in a similar silk night gown. You were going as Janet in her under garments, but something you were okay with wearing in public. You throw your long coat over it to keep yourself warm.

You hear Spencer’s gentle knock on the door, and you quickly move to grab the last few items. You grab your large tote bag, double checking to make sure you have all the props you wanted to bring. You look in your wallet to make sure you have both tickets, and you feel confident.

You slide on your heels and open the door to greet Spencer.

“Hey! I’m ready.” you greet excitedly, moving to close the door behind you.

You look at Spencer and see he’s dressed as Brad from the start of the movie, glasses and all. You grin as you tilt your head.

“I didn’t know you wear glasses?” you said with a tiny smile pointing at his face.

Spencer shrugged, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” he said holding out his arm for you.

“A gentleman too!” you faked a gasp as you wrapped your arms around his. “To the theater!” you proclaim with an exaggerated drawl of your accent.

It’s not the shortest of walks, but the duo arrives at the theater only a little chilly. Mostly you, even under your coat. You present the tickets, and they are quickly ushered inside. You immediately relax, feeling the warmth of the heater.

You move to hang up your coat on the rake and Spencer catches what your actual costume is. His face flushed a bit.

“You, you look great.” He almost chokes on his words as he compliments you.

You do a little spin, your loose robe fanning out around you. “Thought it would be cute and comfy!” you tell him with a proud smile.

You come back up to Spencer to link their arms together again, “Come on let’s go find our seats! I wanna make sure I have the props in the right order.” you looked up at him with unbridled excitement that’s just too contagious.

Spencer just gives a nod, “Lead the way, Janet.”

“Aren’t you just a peach Brad!” you responded without missing a beat.

Everything about this movie experience is the exact opposite of what Spencer would expect when going to see a film. Almost everyone in the crowd was dressed and just as many were carrying around props.

Your bag was filled with rice, newspapers, playing cards, he was honestly impressed by the Mary Poppins effect. He couldn’t see the bottom and every time you pulled something out, he really thought you had hit the end.

The Time Warp plays, and you drag him out of his seat to dance together. The whole room ignited into a loud cacophony of singing. Your laughter is the only sound he can hear pierce through, and he finds himself smiling alongside you.

Once that musical number ends, they almost fall back into their seats, you lean closer to him and whispers in his ear, “Are you having fun?”

He turns and nods, bending down to grab some left-over rice to toss at you playfully. “It’s a blast.” he laughs.

You squeeze his arm, “I’m glad.”

The evening is chaotic, loud, and so so so messy. By the time the movie ends the theater is a real mess. You grab as many of the large props as you can and shove them back into your bag, trying to make the clean-up at least a bit easier.

Once they’re outside, and you’re wrapped back up in your coat, Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Soooooooooo?” you start, giving him an expectant look.

“I had a lot of fun. I totally get the theater experience.” He chuckled looking over at you.

“Good! Maybe we can make it a tradition.” You said giving him a gently nudge with your elbow.

“You mean add more activities to our Halloween calendar? How will we ever find room!” He says in jest.

You shrugged lazily with a dramatic sigh. “We’re just too festive Spencer.”

“Clearly, we’re going to have to start Halloween in September next year.” He suggested.

“Oh, that would give me something to look forward to!” you said in excitement.

Spencer walks you home and drops you off at the foot of the apartment.

“Thanks again Spencer. It was so much fun going with someone again.” you tell him with a soft smile. “I haven’t been able to go with anyone since we moved here.”

Spencer steps forward to brush your hair out of your face, “I love spending Halloween with you.” he whispered.

Your face bursts into a deep flush as you can feel your heart almost beat out of your chest. “Goodnight Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The one where Birdie visits

You're cleaning some dishes left over from breakfast when the doorbell rings. You sigh, knowing it’s far too early for Spencer to come by to pick you up for lunch. It has to be Bridget. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect, since you had just dropped your father off for a checkup.

Your baby sister had called last night asking if their dad would be home tomorrow. You were too hopeful to think that meant Bridget was trying to spend time with their dad. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get Bridget to spend some time with their dad. Since he’s been diagnosed it’s almost like she can’t stand to be in the same room as him. Big Jo tries to not let it hurt his feelings, but you see his face and how he deflates.

The day she came by, and he was in a wheelchair, it was like they’d both been hit by a truck.

You plant a forced smile on your face as you answer the door, “I thought you were coming by later? When daddy would be here.”

Your sister shakes her head, shoving her hands into her coat pocket. “Nope, I just needed to stop by before I started running my errands for the day.” she said calmly.

“Well come in, come on, it’s freezing.” You step aside to let your sister in. Bridget quickly sheds her coat and scarf hanging them on the rack next to the door.

“Magpie, did you pack any of my stuff when you moved daddy up here?” Bridget asks, walking into the kitchen and making herself a glass of water.

“Come on in, fix yourself a drink, don’t mind your sister... by the way do you have my junk?” you mock crossing your arms as you raise your brow at your younger sister.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just in a hurry.” Bridget replied rolling her eyes.

“Well, what are you looking for Birdie?” you asked.

“I told you, it’s Bri.” She murmured with a sour face. “I can’t find any of my old high school stuff.” she said casually.

You lean against the counter, “I didn’t take any of that stuff. I just packed up the essentials.”

“So, my stuff is in a storage unit?” Bridget asked irritated.

“No Birdie, it’s all still at the house in Georgia. I have Aunt Jo taking care of it. All your stuffs at home.” you replied exasperated.

“Aunt Josephine? I thought she was like... a recluse?” Bridget asked, making a scrunched face.

You roll your eyes, “No, Aunt Jo just never liked Lauren, so she never came around.”

“God, can you just call her mom Magpie? I hate it when you call momma Lauren... it’s weird.” Bridget said defensively.

You look up at Bridget with a raised brow, “I’m good, thanks. That would involve her having to stick around to be my mom.”

“I’m not getting into this with you again.” Bridget says in a huff of frustration hitting the counter with her hands.

“Fine.”

Silence settles over the two sisters, and you go to open the fridge to grab a prepackaged cold coffee.

“Soooooooooo,” you drawl out as you open the drink.

Bridget looks at you with a suspicious look.

“What are your Christmas plans?” you ask, trying to be casual.

“Jamie and I are going to see momma in Florida. We’ve had these plans for a while.” She said defensively not making eye contact.

“Birdie come on, you haven’t spent the past few Christmases with daddy, and if you did see him, it was for twenty minutes or a crummy half assed phone call.” you plead, throwing your hand up in emphasis.

“Y/N, I didn’t come here for a lecture, I just needed to know if you packed my shit when you decided to pack up all our lives and move out to DC without asking me.” Bridget murmurs bitterly under her breath.

Your brows furrow as you’re taken aback by your sister.

“Bridget, I didn’t pack up everyone's lives- we still have the house in Georgia!" You said mildly irritated.

Bridget just rolls her eyes and puts her glass in the sink. “Whatever...” She murmured.

You feel that small part of yourself, the one that gnaws and claws bubbling under your skin, poke itself to the surface. “What was I supposed to do? I had to make a decision for dad’s health!” you feel your voice rising in irritation that only your sister can bring out of you.

“Besides, I wasn’t the one who moved to DC to run away from her family.” you state bitterly.

“Oh, come off it!” Bridget throws her hands up in defeat. “I’m not running away-this was the best program for me, and you know that!”

“Then what do you call never seeing dad! You even called to ask if he was home before you came today, Birdie, just so you could avoid him... What would you call that?” you feel your voice raising and can’t stop the vitriol that spits out of your mouth at your sister.

There’s a pit in the bottom of your stomach that twists and churns when it comes to your sister and your dad. You had tried so hard to get her to understand that their father was dying. They’re already lucky with the years they’ve gotten. He’s beaten the odds, but he can’t go on forever. You don’t understand how Bridget can just act like life is normal when every day could be their dad’s last.

“It’s not my fault daddy’s sick!” Bridgit shouts, her own voice cracking, “It’s not my fault you’ve given up your own life to be his caretaker! So, stop blaming me for living my life, while you’re stuck here playing nurse!”

“I’m not blaming you-”

“Yes, you are! You always blame me-”

“No, I don’t Bridget! If anything, I’m jealous about how selfish you can be!” you feel the words tumbling out of your mouth like bile before you can stop herself. You're so angry and sad all the time. It’s not fair that you’re so aware of your father’s mortality while your baby sister gets to run around and live her carefree life.

“I just wish you’d think about the fact that daddy is dying!”

The silence that falls between them is thick, the tension tight, about to break. Bridget looks at her sister with hatred, “I’m very aware he’s dying Y/N... I’m not stupid.” she whispers out in a hard tone.

Bridget turns around to grab her coat and rushes quickly to the door.

You dig your heels in more, the words almost vomiting out your mouth in fierce resentment, “Go on Bridget, run away like you always do! I’ve been taking care of dad alone, anyway, not like he has two daughters!” your voice peaks and cracks in frustration.

You blink away the fat angry tears pricking your eyes.

Bridget turns on her heels to face her older sister, flipping you off, “Fuck you!” she hisses out in a venomous tone.

Bridget elbows her way past the man in front of her almost knocking him down as she runs off.

You rush to the door, about to yell something else after her when you see Spencer standing to the side in shock.

Your shoulders drop and you look ashamed, closing your mouth tightly. You take a deep breath.

“How much of that did you hear?” you asked quietly.

You can’t find it in yourself to look up at Spencer yet, embarrassed by your own unbridled rage.

He moves to push you gently back inside, “enough...” he replied softly closing the door behind him.

“C’mon sit down.” He gently moves you to the couch, forcing you to sit down.

He disappears into the kitchen for a short while and you sit on the couch looking at your lap. You feel the wave of resentment you were holding onto leave and be replaced with the intense sorrow that follows. The tears that were building finally fell, landing on your lap as you sobbed, trying to hold back your voice. Your throat feels tight as you sit there trying to hold yourself together, to not scream your lungs out.

You feel the sofa dip next to you and a small mug is pushed into your hands. It’s warm tea.

“There’s a lot of honey in there, I wasn’t thinking so it might be too sweet.” he said softly.

You just shake your head and sniffle, trying to compose yourself. “No such thing...” you tried to joke, moving the cup to your mouth, your hands shaking the whole time.

A sob escapes you before you can even drink the tea.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to say, the tears just sliding down your face, you look up at Spencer your lip quivering and eyes red.

Spencer gently grabs the tea and puts it on the coffee table before he opens his arms for you, and it doesn’t take but a short second before your face is in Spencer’s chest bawling.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly, rubbing soothing circles into your back. Your body shakes from crying, you sound like a small child with how the sobs rip through your throat.

Spencer holds you until you calm down enough, he finally feels you stop shaking.

“Do you feel better now?” he whispers.

You pulled back and tried to dry your eyes, you could already feel the puffiness settling.

“No...” you murmured pitifully. “I feel worse, like I’m a bitch.” You look up at Spencer and see the massive wet stain from your tears.

“Sorry,” you point to his shirt, “didn’t mean to unload all of that on you. I thought you were coming later?” you said in a tiny voice.

“I was running early so I thought I’d just drop by, was that... Bridget?” he asked in a soft voice.

You nodded. “We were fighting about dad... again.” you admit finally grabbing your cup of tea that he made you.

Spencer face makes a silent ‘Oh’ as he nods in understanding.

“It sounded pretty bad.” he replied.

You groan, “I don’t like fighting about it. I don’t like fighting at all!” you said facing him. “We used to get along great, then... I don’t know. Everything changed when our parents divorced, and the gap just never stopped growing... Now there’s this great divide I can’t seem to reach across and...” you pause, taking a deep breath trying to stop the words from just falling out of your mouth. Exposing your raw skin that you’ve picked at so much your bones are exposed telling your story.

“I know she thinks I hate her for living her life.” You sigh looking at Spencer, who’s just been sitting and kindly listening. Attentively. “I do sometimes resent how carefree she is... but” you bite your lip.

“Spencer, I’m so scared that when dad dies... it’ll just,” you scoffed, “Me and that god forsaken bookstore.”

“I don’t want to lose them both.” you said, your eyes brimming with tears again.

If there was anything Spencer felt confident that he could do, it was helping you handle loss. He’s experienced it enough.

“You won’t be alone.” He tells you confidently; he reaches out to hold your hands tightly. “I’ll be here.” he reassured you.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned, everyone handles grief differently. Bridget...she might not be able to handle how sick your dad is.” Spencer tried to reason, anything to make you feel less alone.

“Avoiding it won’t make it go away...” you muttered.

“No, and she’ll eventually see that. You can’t force her to confront that fear.” he said pushing your hair behind her ear.

“It’s so hard, how do you do it? Alone with your mom?” you asked softly.

Spencer loses his breath for a moment before he swallows. Trying to find an answer.

“Well, she has doctors she trusts now. And a home that she feels safe in... but I spent my childhood taking care of her.”

Spencer scoffs, “I resent my father, he left a child alone to take care of a sick mother? He never helped me.”

You give him a soft nudge with your shoulder, “my mom's pretty shitty too.”

Spencer gives a hollow chuckle, “Does everyone have a shitty parent?” he asks, squeezing your hand.

You lay your head on his shoulder, “There has to be good parents... we just- we got unlucky.” you whisper.

“Maybe we did...” He murmured.

Silence settles between them and it’s calming, not the tense air that was with Bridget.

“You never told me what happened with your mom.”

You tense up.

“It’s not a story I like telling...” you sighed, “When I was thirteen, I overheard my parents arguing. Long story short, my mom cheated on my dad. Bridget was so young, like six, so when they divorced, they tried to lie to us. That it was mutual. Civil... I knew the truth though; I couldn’t look at my mom the same after that." you told him with a bitter smile.

“I already lost my mom; I just couldn’t take away Birdie’s...”

“You never told her?” he asked in surprise.

“It wasn’t for me to tell. I just, I was a teenager...I wanted to protect her you know? She didn’t need the bitterness that bites at the back of my throat every time I see that woman.”

Spencer nods in understanding. “You know, you’re allowed to feel angry. You don’t have to be agreeable or happy about everything. It’s okay to get mad sometimes.” His hand moves up to gently brush your hair.

You don’t respond to his statement, just try to not cry anymore.

“Can we go get lunch now?” you asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Anywhere you want.”

The one where you find out Spencer works for the FBI

It’s a rough morning.

Massively rough, actually. Your alarm didn’t go off and if it wasn’t for Spencer calling you, you’d still be heavily sleeping.

You roll over to grab your phone and answer it.

“Hello?” your voice comes out groggy, slow, and thick with sleep.

“Hey! You still want to go to the convention? I’m leaving soon and I can swing by to grab you.” Spencer’s voice comes through.

You panic, and shots up staring at your bedside clock. “Oh god, Spencer I’m so sorry! I slept in!” You jump out of your bed and almost trip over your own clothes strewn on the floor from the night before.

“It’s okay- I can wait if you need me to-”

“No, no no! You were so excited, don’t wait up!” You interrupt him as you throw clothes from your closet around trying to find something you want to wear.

“It’s no big deal.” Spencer started to answer but you sighed.

“Spencer are you already dressed?” you pressed, grabbing one of your comfortable but cute skirts and a simple sweater. You throw them on your bed.

His silence is enough of an answer.

“You are.” you sighed and shook your head, “I have to go to the shop and pick up the money to deposit for the bank today. I’ll just meet up with you later. Promise. I just have to run this errand first.” you told him with a soft tone.

You hear his small huff, “It’s really not a big deal,”

“Spencer” you chastise him. “You’re already ready to go. I’ll probably just take a little over an hour. Then I'll be there, okay? Just do a few laps in the artist alley for me.” you tell him teasingly.

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Fine, but you owe me a coffee.”

“I always do.” you joked before hanging up.

You rush through putting on your makeup and throwing your clothes on. You gave yourself a quick once over before deciding that you can’t waste any more time. You looked decent enough.

You rushed down the stairs and came around the corner to see your dad sitting at the kitchen table.

“You sure you’re okay without me today?” you asked him, leaning down to kiss your dad on the cheek.

Her dad huffs, “I told you I can handle one day. Magpie, go out. You haven’t been out in months for fun.” He grunted in his deep voice, slurring his words together.

“I’m just asking daddy!” you snorted a soft laugh. “I want to make sure you don’t need anything before I leave.” you told him.

Her dad’s been able to move himself in and out of his own wheelchair for the most part, but you’re waiting for the day he can’t.

You’re waiting for the day your daddy can’t do most things.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m gonna watch the Brave’s game today and I better see them win.” He mumbled nodding to you.

You roll your eyes, “Don’t hold your breath on that one. I love you.”

“Love you too pumpkin.”

You grab your bag, “Be safe!” He hollers at you.

“I always am!” you shout back to him before leaving for the bookstore.

You are checking your watch in a mild panic. You’re not super off on the time you gave Spencer, but you still hate making him wait. You should have just taken the money deposit on Friday, but you were so sleepy you barely could do more than take your dad to his appointment.

You huffed in frustration, you only had yourself to blame.

You're finally up to deposit the stores money, and you thank the gods above. Then your, already bad day, goes terrible.

“Hey!”

Gun shots. Gun shots go off and you are frozen, your brain going into fight or flight. You turn quickly and see a woman with a short bob holding a gun and the security guard is on the ground, blood pooling beneath his body.

You feel your stomach fall out of your body and you’re shuffled with the crowd trying to get out. It feels like a blur.

“I want to see hands in the sky!” a new voice shouts.

Your hands go up, you see at least three guns and three different ugly face masks swinging their guns around. You feel like your ears are ringing while you’re ushered into a corner with the other patrons.

Your body is shaking from fear. Who the hell robs a bank on a Saturday afternoon?

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are the Face Cards, maybe you’ve heard of us.” The woman’s voice rings through again.

You stand next to a couple who start speaking lowly in a foreign language, you think it’s German. You know that they’re trying to plan something together.

The woman with her face mask turns around pointing her gun at the couple quickly walking toward them, speaking in their language. You have no idea what she says but you know it’s a threat.

“Get your faces on the floor already. I see eyes, you see bullets. Get it?” the woman shouts at them.

You slide down with everyone, fear eating away at you. You just hope the police are either quick or the robbers are.

“Get down on the ground!” one of the males screams.

You feel like a rock is in your throat. You just keep your head down, trying to keep yourself together. You aren’t focusing on what they’re saying. You know he’s demanding money but you’re just trying to focus on living.

You hear them shuffling, shouting, and then they're gone. Just as soon as you feel like you can breathe again, there’s more gunshots and the robbers come running back inside.

You are yanked up by your arm, forced to your feet. Your eyes meet the hollow black abyss of the woman’s mask as she holds the gun to your stomach. You can’t breathe, all you can think about is how you can’t leave your dad alone.

“Make a wall, stand near the doors and windows.” she demanded, shoving you toward the front door.

You heard the woman walk away, and you released a shaky breath squeezing your eyes shut.

This is not how you wanted today to go. You were supposed to be at a convention with Spencer. Dressed as Doctor Who characters, eating bland food, and buying something silly from the artist alley. You’d come home, make dinner, and watch a movie with your dad.

Now you don’t know if you’ll see your dad or Spencer again. God, you can’t think, what if you don’t see your dad again? Who’s going to take care of him? Your sister won’t. Your mind starts to spiral and you’re panicking, your breathing becomes shallow.

You're brought back by the woman who’s next to you grabbing your hand and holding it tight. It grounds you to the present. You can hear the conversation happening with the squabbling face masked robbers.

“I can’t find anything. No doors, no grates, nothing.” The woman informed the man.

“Yo! Lynne! What’s another way outta here?” He shouts disgruntled to the woman who was working behind the counter.

“Just the main entrance and the side door. It’s for security.” She responds timidly.

“I know that. You think I’m stupid?” He shouted at her with an exhausted sigh.

“What went wrong? We were on count.” The woman growls out in frustration.

“I need a doctor. Is anyone a doctor?!” The man is clearly ignoring her and trying to save the other man that’s with them.

You don’t hear much else, you start to tune out all the noise into a hum that almost feels like tv static against your skin. It makes you itch, but you can’t be bothered to try to move.

There’s a murmur of conversation from the group next to you but it just makes white noise in your ears. You're just numb and want desperately to be home or at the coffee shop with Spencer. Anywhere else.

A phone ringing is the only thing that vaguely pulls you out of it enough to pay attention again.

One of the robbers is on the phone, the woman keeps circling murmuring her own commentary.

“He’s trying to negotiate.” the man’s gruff voice cuts through.

“We’re not playing games!” The woman sneers back.

You feel the woman’s eyes scanning, heels clicking on the floor. You can feel your heart in your throat as it beats aggressively.

There’s sudden movement and near you the woman pulls a small girl. She screams for her dad who’s with her and he spins around begging for his daughter.

“Either we get what we want, or everyone in this room dies.”

The father’s voice is shaking as he begs. “Take me instead, please. Take me.”

“It’s okay baby.”

Then the loud noise of gun being shot makes you flinch as you see the man falling backwards and lands on the ground in front of you. His daughter screaming for him and trying to grab him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing too easily you could be shot too.

“You better send in some help or more people are gonna die.” The man tells the police calmly on the phone.

You feel a shaky breath leave your body.

They keep going back and forth and you hear the phone again.

It feels like an out of body experience. You can’t think, barely can feel yourself breathing. If it wasn’t for the occasional heel clicking or unfortunate gun shot, you’d think it was a nightmare.

The front door opens, and a man walks through a metal detector, he looks like medical personnel. The woman tries to pat him down, but the other robber is in the floor with a dying man screaming for help.

The room in dead silent as you hear the man work, trying to save the robber on the ground.

The room is starting to smell like blood and what you can only assume is the stench of death. You hate the iron that’s infiltrating your nostrils, and you’ve never thought of yourself to be queasy with gore, but this is real. Not a horror movie.

There’s at least two dead men in front of you on the floor, a small girl sobbing into a strange woman, and soon to be another body.

Another gunshot.

You still flinch. The medics body now is dragged forward into the pile of dead men. Alongside the other robber. Four. Four dead men.

You want to hurl. You are not built for this, that’s why you run a bookstore and cafe.

“Everyone move forward!” the woman demands with a shout.

You vaguely hear the phone ring again and you wonder when this will be over. Will they shoot all of them? Will they kill another person, five more? When does it end and what can the police even do?

You’re starting to think this bank will be the last four walls you ever see. You have to blink back the tears and not let that thought overwhelm you.

The man and woman are squabbling again. Turning on each other? You can’t really tell.

“I wanna talk to the cop who shot my brother.”

Well, there goes that tactic. No betrayals here... just possibly another dead officer.

The man gets back on the phone and the back and forth goes on, he keeps demanding the officer, even offering to let hostages go. That feels far too good to be true though.

One of the men near you gets dragged back, pulled over to the phone.

“Come on bud, let’s go!”

“Pick up the phone.” the robber demands.

“Why?” the man’s shaking voice asks.

“Pick up the phone!” he shouts, like he’s desperate.

“Hello?” the man is clearly scared, voice shaking and small.

“Tell him your name.”

“It’s...” He swallows, “It’s Shawn Harper.”

There’s another gun shot, and you wish you didn’t know what a body hitting the floor sounded like.

And that makes five innocent bodies, and one dead robber.

“Ugh, you just killed Shawn Harper. Not me, you.” the man hisses through the phone.

You’re going to hurl, what a sick thing to say.

“I’m going to shoot another hostage every sixty seconds until you send in the cop.”

You freeze.

You try to close your eyes, and you’ve never been a very religious person... which is not common for someone from Georgia, but you find yourself begging to some god, or whoever, that you can make it out. You have to make it out.

“Who’s next huh?”

He grabs a woman and drags her back. Telling her to pick up the phone. Your body trembled as you tried desperately to block out the gunshot you knew you would hear.

“Pick it up, come on. Pick it up.” he goads the woman, her sobs broken between her shaking breathes.

“What’s your name?” he pressures.

“No,” she gasps, “Please...” her voice broken.

“Tell him your name!” he shouts at the woman.

“Annie...” she gasps, swallowing a sob, “It’s Annie.”

“Annie, you got about 30 seconds, I hope Agent Rossi doesn’t make me shoot you too.” he tells her, with fake sympathy in his voice.

The man next to you decides that now is the time to chat. He turned to face the woman with children, he whispered something to her, and you can’t believe this man has lost his mind.

“Hey! You! Come over here.” The robber yells at him, his gun pointing much too close to you for your liking.

“Just let the women and children go. They don’t need to see this.” The man tried to negotiate with the robber.

You almost scoffed, what did this guy think he was doing?

“Pretty soon they’re gonna be doing a lot more than seeing.” The man hisses out, “Annie, you just got yourself a reprieve, get in line over there.”

The robber grabs the man shoving him towards the phone and you sigh.

“My name is Matthew Downs.” he speaks into the phone.

Suddenly an officer walks through the door, his hands up in surrender.

“Let those people go.” his accent is much thicker than yours, southern but he’s not from Georgia.

“Alright, you, you, you, you-” he pushes the woman and two children next to you. “The kids, get out.”

He sounds like a man who’s finally found release, like he’s getting what he’s always wanted.

You watch the officer talk to the robbers, and you see him fall, two shots to his chest.

You released a shaky gasp. The man, Matthew? Who was at the phone rushes over and grabs onto you. He directs you and forces you to put her hands on the officer.

“Keep pressure on it.”

You nod and follow his instruction easily.

Matthew grabs the medical bag and starts instructing you on what to do. You're on the floor, holding a cloth and putting pressure heavily on the cop in front of you. He instructs the pressure is the most important and that’s what she does.

She’s trying to breathe, steady her hands to be helpful. The officer on the ground keeps trying to talk and you are so close to panicking that you’re about to yell at this poor man bleeding out on the ground.

“Are you armed?” Matthew asked him.

“No.” He murmured, hissing in pain.

“Damn... I think we might have something of a chance here.” your eyebrows were raised in surprise at his words.

“What?” the cop looks just as confused.

“The girls gone and the guys off his head. He doesn’t know who to trust. We can work them against each other.” Matthew whispered to both of them.

“Wait are you a cop?” he tries to ask, still struggling.

“A former marine.” Matthew grunts out.

The officer is moving too much, and his blood is all over your hands. You can’t get the metallic smell out of your nose and you’re trying to keep it together.

“You gotta listen to me, I need you to get a message to my girlfriend.” he tried to ask.

“All right, you can tell her yourself when you get out of here.” Matthew reassures him.

You huff and looks at the officer with determination, “I need you to not think in only death, okay? Everything looks a little bleak right now and I really need some kind of hope to hold on to. There are already five dead bodies, don’t make it six.” you hiss out at him.

“Only I’m not getting outta here... you need someone to cause a distraction.” he murmured trying to sit up.

“What are you doing?!” you try to push him back down but he’s surprisingly resilient for someone who was just shot.

“Her name is Jennifer, and she’s a federal agent. You tell her I’m sorry.” the cop tells Matthew.

The two continue to go back and forth and you can’t bother to get yourself off the ground. You're watching this officer like he’s gone mad.

He walks on shaky legs, hobbling over to the robber. He goads him, pushing the man. Turning his trust around on its head.

Then the robbers walking off with him to the back, and they’ve left an opening for them to escape.

Matthew bends down to help you off the ground and shoves you out the door, and suddenly you can breathe again. Officers swarm them and escort them off to the safety of a police barricade.

You look around, taking in the massive amounts of vans, officers, the FBI agents, and swat team.

You're watching them move in, trying to do their jobs. Arrest the bad guys... but you watch with wide eyes the massive explosion that destroys the inside of the bank. Shooting debris out onto the ground. It really hits you, like a massive punch to your gut, how lucky you are to even be alive.

You’re with the rest of the survivors, huddled near one of the police cruisers, all of them waiting for medics to check them and for other cops to take statements. It’s all just a blur. Everything is happening too fast and too slowly all at once. You don’t even know what the time is or how long you’ve been trapped in that bank.

Then through the fog of your head you see something so familiar you have to do a double take to believe it.

Spencer.

Your Spencer, coming out of a federal vehicle in a bullet proof vest reading FBI. You'll blame the adrenaline later, but your feet start walking away from the safety of your spot and it’s like tunnel vision. you're running, and while you hear people yelling, you can’t stop. Your only goal is Spencer, he was a lifeline in this moment. A grounding figure in your shock.

“Spencer?” your feet pound on the pavement, the loud commotion around you fading into a buzzing sound behind you. “Spencer!” you shout at him.

With laser focus he finds you, his face filled with relief but even more worry.

Spencer had seen you on the cameras, and it took every fiber of his being to not immediately want to drive down to barge in for you. He knew, logically, he was better helping out Garcia and looking over the maps. Every time Spencer heard a gunshot; it was a jolt of panic as his eyes scanned the cameras making sure it wasn’t you. You couldn’t die. Spencer doesn’t think he could recover from that. You’re bright and kind and the last person who deserved to be in this kind of hostage situation.

Every second felt like an hour and his brain was whirling a million different scenarios.

“Y/N,” he meets you halfway, holding your arms and walking you back to safety.

“You can’t be here, this isn’t safe.” He tells you sternly, his brow furrowed in a deep line. It’s an expression you've never seen, so serious. His eyes flashed over your body trying to check if you were okay. He freezes when he sees the blood caked on your hands. He gently grabbed your hands, and it made you look down.

“It’s not mine.” you murmured quietly.

Spencer sighed in relief and looked back at you with more determination.

“Just stay with the officers, okay? They will keep you safe. I promise I’ll explain but I have to do my job.” He tells you; he’s navigated you back to where you started, and he hands you off to a medic.

You want to argue with him, but his tone leaves no room for it and your energy is fading.

“Make sure she’s looked at.” He told the medic in a fiercely intense tone.

“Stay with them. I will explain...later.” he said giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before he turns to leave.

You have no energy left to try to argue. You’re just filled with exhaustion as the medic checks your vitals. You vaguely hear him talking to you, but you can’t pay attention. Your eyes never left Spencer as you follow him. He works his way around like it's second nature.

For a moment, you realized there’s a whole part of his life that you had no idea about... he’d never told you.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur, you don’t touch your phone until it’s well into the late evening. Seeing missed calls from so many people. You can only find it in yourself to call your dad.

“Magpie? Magpie, please tell me you’re okay.” Your dad’s voice rings through, warbled like he’s about to cry. Big Joe isn’t a crier, he just never has been. A pang of guilt shoots through you because you feel guilty for not calling sooner.

“I’m, I’m safe daddy, I’m at the station.” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the smoke and underuse.

“Oh, thank god.” The sigh of relief speaks more than his words do.

“I’ll be home tonight, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave...”

“Come home as soon as you can sweetie.”

“I love you daddy.” your voice shakes, and it’s watery, almost on the verge of tears.

“I love you too. Come home safe, and I mean it.” His voice is firm, but filled with warmth and it has you cracking her foundation. Tears escaped your eyes.

She wipes them away furiously, trying to save her waterworks for when she’s alone tonight and processing what the hell even happened today.

By the time you hang up you see a small group entering the police station, and there's a familiar mop of brown hair.

Spencer beelines towards you. You stand to meet him, and you’re enveloped in a tight hug and whispers you can’t hear against your neck.

“You’re safe, you’re safe.” You hear him chanting and from how he’s holding you, you realize he’s saying it for his benefit.

The two stand in silence, holding onto each other. You really couldn’t care about the onlookers. You almost died over a stupid bank robbery; you were going to hug your best friend.

“So, is every day this scary for you?” you asked quietly.

“Kind of part of the job.” he chuckled moving back to look you over. His sharp eyes trying to see if there was something wrong, if you were injured.

“So, FBI?” you tilt your head with a raised brow. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fed.” you teased, trying to ease the tension.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit, specifically.” He adds.

Your eyebrows raise, “Jesus, I need a sedative...” you murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Spencer just shrugged, “I just needed somewhere that was for me, yeah know? Keep the work out of the personal?”

You nodded, “Yeah well, I’d would have liked to know that when my best friends out of town, it could be life threatening.” you said with a small fake punch to his arm.

“You worry enough about too much. Don’t worry about me.” he told you firmly.

“That’s easier said than done.” you murmured with a frown.

“Come on, let me take you home. I’m sure Big Joe’s worried sick.” Spencer said moving to grab your hand and lead you out.

You just nod and follow behind him.

“Spencer, are you sure this is okay? I mean I don’t know anyone.” You asked trying to straighten out your dress.

Spencer was behind the driver's seat in a tuxedo of his own and he was looking at your nervous gestures. He reaches over to hold your hands and squeezes.

“I know it’s okay. Besides, you might as well meet everyone. I was going to introduce you to Garcia at the convention anyway.” He shrugs casually.

“I promise they don’t bite; besides, you definitely know Will.” he said with a faint smirk.

“Spencer Reid that does not count! I was applying pressure to make sure the man didn’t bleed out all over the floor of that bank!” you huff in irritation.

“I promise you’ll get along, and if I don’t Morgan’s going to start thinking I’m taking out call girls after work.” He frowns in mild annoyance.

“Wow, glad to know you think I'm a step up from call girl.” you said jokingly, reaching over to pat his arm. “Great pep talk Spence.”

You move to get out of the car your giggles following. Spencer fumbles to escape the car.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he tried to explain.

You put your hand up, “It’s fine, come on my nerves are definitely gone now.”

Spencer just smiled at you, watching you smooth out your starry sky dress. The deep blue complimenting her as silver stars dangle from your ears.

“I’ll stop while I’m ahead.” he said.

“Good call.”

Spencer walks you up to Rossi’s house, well, mansion. Your eyes widened a bit before turning to him.

“Bestselling author... for multiple books.” he confirmed.

He takes you out to the back to greet everyone’s who's there. You're distracted by the large space and beautiful displays. The flower petals on the ground, the beautiful tables, not to mention an open bar. Spencer gently guides you over to his team Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan who are gathered in a small circle.

Before Spencer can introduce you Morgan’s already looking you up and down.

“So, you're the little friend Reid wouldn’t tell us about?” He points at you before returning his hand to his pocket. Morgan’s charming and mischievous smile on his face.

There’s a gasp, and Garcia gives a small, excited jump, “The bookstore girl!” She almost shouts at you. “You’re gorgeous!” She moved to hold your hands and made you do a small spin to look at your dress. “So sparkly, I like!”

Morgan leaned over to Reid, “She might have already started drinking...”

“Can’t believe you’d keep us a secret Reid.” Hotch teased, his arm resting around Beth’s waist pressing her closer to his side.

“You’re all vultures, every single one. No privacy with you guys.” Spencer told them shaking his head.

“You’re lucky you lasted this long, if I had known just a little more, I could have looked into her.”

“That's... exactly what I’m talking about Garcia...” Spencer sighs heavily.

“I’m Y/N, it’s really nice to meet you guys.” You introduce yourself with a smile and a small laugh.

“So, a bookstore?” Morgan raised his brow in question.

“Yeah! I co-own the Midnight Owl. It’s a bookstore and cafe that is open late nights to offer a space for book loving insomniacs like myself.” you said cheerfully.

“That explains how Reid met you.” Rossi’s voice drifts in as he comes up to meet Spencer’s new friend.

He extends his hand out to shake yours. “David Rossi, nice to meet you.”

You give him a warm smile, “Thank you for hosting, your home is beautiful.”

You leave Spencer for a while going to walk off with Penelope as the blonde leads you to the open bar.

“How long have you been friends with Reid?” she asked.

You take a sip from your drink and think, “Three years, going on four.”

Penelope’s brows go up, “Oh he’s been keeping you a verrrrrry big secret.”

You roll your eyes, “Well he regretted to inform me his day job was being an FBI agent.”

“Does it matter?” The blonde asked tilting her head.

You could feel Penelope’s piercing protective gaze on you. You shake your head. “No obviously not. He’s my best friend. I just... will probably worry ten times more about him now.” you admit.

“They’re the best team I know.” Penelope tells you softly.

“Won’t stop me from worrying, but thanks for trying.” you give a half smile before taking another sip.

“I worry too, constantly.” She stage whispers to you.

You bubble into laughter and the two make their way back over to the small group.

Other groups of people were trickling into the back yard filling up space and chattering.

Spencer’s nowhere to be found with his coworkers and you try to search for him, finally finding him crouched next to a small blonde child. You excuse yourself and make your way over.

You tilt your head as you watch Spencer roll a ring between his fingers in front of the child and make the ring disappear and reappear before the boy's eyes.

“Go on Henry,” he ruffles the blonde’s hair, “Time to go be the ring bearer. It’s a very important job.” Spencer ushers Henry off.

“You just keep surprising me.” you whispered walking over to him.

Spencer shrugs, “There’s a lot to find out.” he replied.

“Have you always been this good with kids?” you asked.

Spencer smiled, “I love them.” The way that he says it, you can see how much he wants that. To be a dad. To be in love.

“I think you’ll make a great dad one day, if that’s anything to go by.” you tell him.

Spencer just brushed the comment off and led you over to the altar.

“Who knows, maybe one day.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds season 7

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idorukiss · 2 months ago

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Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon kinda thing of how I picture MC's relationship with Zayne could develop~ I'm not much of a writer but i very much plan to do ones for the other boys as well because the brainrot has consumed me, so please enjoy~ 1,039 words || You can also read it on ao3 ‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙

Xavier ・ Rafayel ・ Sylus

You are without a doubt the reason for Zayne's existence and his driving force all through school into becoming a Cardiac Surgeon. And all of that lead up to him finally becoming your personal doctor, everything he studied for is so he can finally fulfill his purpose to help you and your heart

At first, Zayne puts up a wall between you guys- trying his best to keep things as strictly professional as possible. Seeing your face in person again only brought back all the feelings he's boxed away and then some, and he was scared it would somehow come in the way of your treatment.

But he can't hold himself back for long, especially after you find yourself seeing him outside of the hospital more and more often. Going from quick hellos in passing, to checking out new Cafe menu items together, to even showing up at his place unannounced to make sure he isn't working on his day off. Somehow you've worked yourself into his daily life without any effort and everything just feels like that's how it was always meant to be

Of course your own feelings start to develop too, you aren't even sure when they first appeared. Could you have felt this way when you were both kids and didn't realize it till now? Or is it a result of getting closer and seeing so many different sides to him lately?? It all happened so naturally you almost didn't notice it at first until you sat there staring at his profile in the car one night in content silence and it clicked. You love this man with every fiber of your being

Nobody made any moves for the longest time, any plans you guys had made together were seemingly still platonic- much to the groans of those around you who were very aware about both sets of feelings. One night as he is walking you to your apartment door after spending the day together, you mention something coming up- Maybe its another Twinkle Toy's event, or even just a new movie coming out that you are dying to see. But he smiles as he listens to you excitedly talk about it, obviously deciding in that moment he was taking you to it no matter what

"So what time does it start?" "I think the site said 8pm" "Alright then, I'll pick you up at 5pm. Does that work for you?" "Why 5? We don't need to be the first ones to show up you know" He smiles at you "Well I figured it was only right to take you out to dinner first if we were going to be out that late. We don't have to if you don't want to though-" "No, dinner sounds great" you say with the biggest grin "Its a date then" he responds as he lifts up your hand pressing a gentle kiss on it before walking back to the elevator leaving you stunned

Did he just call it a date?! You spend the foreseeable future with your head in the clouds, practically floating with excitement for the date- which goes amazingly once it approaches. It's just like every other time you guys have hung out, but also nothing like it at the same time. He helps you in and out of his car and offers his arm to you while you walk side by side. Every little action he does is seen in a new light. There is no way you could ignore the flips your heart does every time you see his absolutely smitten face- not even aware of your own equally smitten look in return

And any plans from now on have all become official dates as well, with him treating you like an absolute princess the entire time. He never takes that next step forward though, only going as far as holding hands and gazing lovingly at everything you do. It looks like you have to be the one to initiate anything more at this rate

Once again he walks you to your apartment door, and he lingers just a moment before he turns back around and you grab his arm in that moment. Stammering a bit before giving a determined sigh and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. Out of sheer embarrassment you tried to enter your apartment quickly, but its your turn to get stopped. And this time its with his lips crashing onto yours. It was brief, way too brief, but absolutely electric- he apologizes and you shush him and give him the goofiest in love smile before you part ways for the night

Zayne is constantly in battle with himself as to not move too quickly or do anything that you might not be ready for. He usually lets you make the first move, or tests the waters in a way where you can take the lead in whichever direction you are most comfortable. And without a doubt, like with the first kiss you guys shared, as soon as you show him that you are okay with something he won’t hold back (of course always asking permission the next time)

Brief pecks goodnight, turn into deeper kisses in the car before you get out. He grabs your hand every chance he is able to as if its second nature to have your fingers linked between his at any given moment. You only had to invite him inside once at the end of a date before it was a given that after every subsequent date you would spend some time on the couch cuddling and making out before he went back home

Even when things started getting more intimate between you, he always made sure you were the one making the first move and continued with caution- always getting your consent before doing anything. It was touching knowing he cared so much about you, but sometimes you wished he would just stop holding back and have his way. There's nothing he could do that you would say no to at this point, you love and trust him with your entire being

You wouldn't change anything between you guys. You are Zayne's entire world, and he has easily become yours as well

#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne l&ds #zayne lads #first post on this new blog of mine AND first time sharing and sorta fandom stuff like this lmao #its not a real fic btw i really just infodumped my vision into gdocs and this is what i got lmao #also its 2nd person cause i just found that easiest to ramble with lmao #if anyone wants to take any of what i wrote for these and incorporate them into some sort of real fic ill kiss u #idoruwrite #if any fic writers want someone to infodump ideas for them to write im ur girl xoxo #budding relationships

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baddestbittyontheblock · 1 year ago

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alessia russo fic recs (1)

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･🍓

𓂃 ✿ make me yours my love (cause you’re nobody to me, yet somebody to me) alessia russo x reader | fluff (tooth-rotting fluff)

𓂃 ✿ remember that night? alessia russo x reader |

-part 2 to i’ll wait forever

𓂃 ✿ return alessia russo x reader |

-in which; alessia broke up with you three years ago to focus on her career, breaking your heart completely, eventually you see each other for the first time since your breakup once you join the lionesses for a last minute call-up- and there's a whole lot of unresolved feelings.

𓂃 ✿ the end alessia russo x reader |

-one with alessia russo where the reader suffers a career ending injury

𓂃 ✿ sleepless nights alessia russo x reader |

-when lessi can’t sleep without any kind of physical touch but r gets hot easily & when they’re on holiday r can’t sleep if they cuddle but less can’t sleep when they don’t touch

𓂃 ✿ will you love me 'til the end of time? alessia russo x reader |

-alessia leaves for aresenal, she leaves behind manchester- she leaves behind you.

𓂃 ✿ you belong with me (i belong with you) alessia russo x reader |

-moments of lessi and her girl (you) through the years

𓂃 ✿ meanie alessia russo x reader |

-headcannons about meangirl less as a gf!

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-lessi would be the type to love the fact that she had a wag girlfriend because she could finally designate her waves and kisses to someone in the crowd.

𓂃 ✿ countdown alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ time management alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ co-dependency. alessia russo x reader |

-surprising lessi with multiple cheek kisses at a time

𓂃 ✿ good morning sunshine alessia russo x reader |

-reader being an early bird but less having none of it, whenever she wakes up without reader she goes downstairs asap and just is whiny that she can't get her morning cuddles

𓂃 ✿ alessia day alessia russo x reader |

-tooth rottingly soft self care days with star girl

𓂃 ✿ i'm tired of lovin' from afar (and never being where you are) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ 'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ you don’t have to be sola (you don’t have to be here alone) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ head over (tar) heels. alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ Falling for me... literally? alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ We're a team. Always. alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ "come to bed" alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ poke alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ twelve alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ alessia x leah x reader blurb alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader

𓂃 ✿ evening alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ in safe hands alessia russo x reader |

-the fans are speculating on the nature of your and alessia’s relationship. when the rumours come to a head, it begins to put pressure on you both. (goalie!reader)

𓂃 ✿ white lies alessia russo x reader |

-five secrets alessia could keep (and one she just couldn’t)

𓂃 ✿ are you flirting with me alessia russo x reader |

-Things that Alessia Russo is good at: football, looking like a goddess, taking your breath away by simply existing.

Things that Alessia Russo is bad at: staying upright, flirting.

𓂃 ✿ price tag alessia russo x reader |

-When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you.

𓂃 ✿ fangirl alessia russo x reader |

-alessia old tweets reappear of her crushing one the reader

𓂃 ✿ sleepwalking alessia russo x reader | a little angsty

𓂃 ✿ possession obsession alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ thirst tweets alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ cookie clicker alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ love lasts alessia russo x reader |

-They had won the euros, you watched as some of them cried and others celebrated but all your focus was on her.

𓂃 ✿ silenzio bruna alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ lessi's sunflower alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ drunk in love alessia russo x reader |

-fell in love with drunk lessi and it became a fic

𓂃 ✿ number one fan alessia russo x reader |

-you play football and she comes to all your games.

𓂃 ✿ jumpscare alessia russo x reader |

-Would it be possible for you to do a fic where the reader goes for one with alessia but a really scary one?

They can be going to the escape room as a date or as friends that have been secretly in love with each other?

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-DANCING IN THE KITCHEN WITH LESSI WHILE ITS RAINING OUTSIDE

𓂃 ✿ ‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need) alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff

𓂃 ✿ Alessia fic alessia russo x reader |

-Mapping out your lover's features while they sleep in your arm, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.

𓂃 ✿ teasing alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ butterfly alessia russo x reader |

-Brody Armstrong once said: "When you meet someone for the first time, that’s not the whole book. That’s just the first page" and she’s totally right. When you first met Alessia you didn’t know that quote, you could barely speak let alone read but over the years, when got older, you started to understand it. The day you met her, the first page was written and your story began. Now, Alessia and you have been together for 9 years, 3 of them married and it‘s still not finished.

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-house hunting in saint albans with Less, finding the right house and then r and less just having a moment at the front door where Less just is quiet and looking at the interior r hugs her from behind and Less is a bit homesick and stuff but r invites tooney and joe round without less knowing to make her feel more at home

𓂃 ✿ i know that you love me (even when i lose my head). alessia russo x reader | fluff

𓂃 ✿ the striker and her wingman. alessia russo x reader

-nervous lovestruck lessi >>

𓂃 ✿ the wrangler alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader

-less and Leah and reader thruple blurb. both the blondies are injured but being their stubborn selves refuse to take it easy and non football player reader is like pulling her hair out trying to wrangle these two ADULTS who are being like whiny children and refusing to do what she asks

𓂃 ✿ kiss me through the phone alessia russo x reader |

-a face time with alessia would be like whilst she’s in Australia and the readers at home because of work. Full of fluff and them just happy they get to talk to each other after a hard day, saying how much they miss each other

𓂃 ✿ passenger princess alessia russo x reader |

-Alessia and reader are in a relationship and come into training arguing about something that the team can’t figure out

When asked reader simply replies with “I’m NOT a passenger princess”

𓂃 ✿ 1 - but she loves me, she loves me. alessia russo x reader |

-series masterlist

𓂃 ✿ finalist alessia russo x reader |

-World Cup fluff. Alessia has no idea you're on your way to Australia to surprise her before the final.

𓂃 ✿ 2 - why the hell she love me alessia russo x reader |

-series masterlist

𓂃 ✿ not meant to be alessia russo x reader |

-in which; alessia's girlfriend is always there for her. always.

𓂃 ✿ intruder alessia russo x reader |

-when you wake up to a strange noise you begin to freak out. So you wake up your girlfriend and you both go to speculate. Who’s in your guy’s home?

𓂃 ✿ chance encounters alessia russo x reader |

-you and Alessia meeting in Ibiza and she’s got the hots for you but you play hard to get? but a cute happy ending where they eventually get together

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-After coming home from work/a long trip, finding your lover sobbing on the couch/in bed after a hard day, wiping away their tears with soft touches and gentle words--trying to convince them it's okay, and that you're there for them now.

𓂃 ✿ everyone thinks that they know us (but they know nothing). alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ toilet paper party alessia russo x reader |

-some tooth rotting gf lessi fluff to try and cure all of our post game depression, with a dash of supportive best friend and arsenal icon lotte wubben-moy ofc

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagines #engwnt #engwnt x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #arsenal wfc #fic recs

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astroboots · 2 years ago

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Don't they know it's the end of the world

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: There are many things Joel would like to forget, you hope you're not one of them.

Rating: Explicit. I just want to fuck old man Joel.

Content: hurt/comfort, explicit sex-town, cowgirl position yee-ha, post-apocalyptic angst and jazz. Mentions of death, blood and gore, but the real warning all along was emotionally unavailable men.

Word Count: 3.5k

Astroboot’s Masterlist

The thing that nobody warned you about living in a post-apocalyptic world (to use the dramatic phrase) is that when the world as you know it has ended. When an unprecedented catastrophe transforms the very fabric of your reality. In the midst of abandoned cities, dilapidated high-rise buildings overrun with moss and ivy, and rusted cars forsaken on the highway. This horrific new world of unending horrors, at some point, with enough days gone by, becomes common place.

After the first and second year, you're no longer bothered by the constant aches and how everything hurts, everywhere all the time. The new bruises that spring up overnight to replace old healing, because sleeping on concrete and dirt will do that to you, isn't as overwhelming. You barely mind the constant blunt ache in your lower back from unloading crates anymore. Or the way your feet are always blistering and covered in callouses that crack and split and bleed. It's all background noise.

After the third and the fourth, you're no longer dry-heaving at the burnt metallic smell of charred flesh and human hair that reminds you of melted and burnt plastic when they're tossed into fire. Your sense of smell dull to it.

After the fifth year you think that hollow feeling in your chest of missing home, is no longer a constant. At most it comes to you in glimpses. Because sure, there are a million and one things you still miss. The sweetness of cereal soaked in milk. The lingering smell of peonies from your shampoo after a steaming shower. The way your cat used you as a headrest while watching TV.

You miss cupcakes. You miss the cinema. You miss pumpkin lattes. You miss the forest ground covered in auburn leaves in the fall. You miss your mom. You miss--

You miss a lot of things. Small little things, and you remember each one of them despite the years that passes.

But the mind adapts. It doesn't consume you with a hollowness that makes you burst into tears at any given moment anymore. Humans are nifty like that. Our brains rewire to accept the new realities and life just goes on somehow.

You accept the military surveillance. Of men in vests and gear, wearing blank expressions, with rifles slung across their shoulders like it were backpacks, ready to use them at the slightest provocation if you so much as dared to cough in their presence.

You get used to cracking jokes about priests walking into bars, while burying your dead, not because you're unfeeling, or not understanding of the graveness of what you're doing, but because the human mind cannot be relentlessly scared and sad and depressed and unhappy without reprieve.

Instead like much else, that seems horrific and world-ending at first, it becomes background noise.

---

"Uno," you announce as you drop the last card in the pile of red, blue and green cards in front of him.

Joel scowls, that furrowed wrinkle between his brow carves deep with displeasure.

"You're cheating. I've never played this game where stacking is allowed. The correct rule is no stacking."

This again. You scoff. This topic of conversation comes up every now and then (everytime he loses in fact) because the two of you has solely been relyng on your memory to reconstruct the rules given that the manual to the pack of cards were lost long ago.

"I'm not having this argument with you again Joel, I've told you. The rules allow stacking, you're misremembering it."

You shake your head at him and smile. He doesn't smile back. He never really does. Instead he folds his arms across his wide chest, leaning back as he appraises you with skepticism.

"What if you've forgotten the rules?"

"I don't forget things, I'm not you" you say lightheartedly.

He's already passed out when you let yourself in through the front door tonight.

It's a sparse apartment, like all the other accommodations in the area. The mismatched dining chairs and fold up table is not much to look at, but there are still hints of the family who had made this place their home before they had to leave it. The feminine touch of flowery rose wallpapers. Scribbled markers of their children's height year by year. The claw-marks of a dog by the front door.

If Joel left tomorrow, you don't think it would tell much of a story of him or the life you lead together. The only thing that's his besides the radio and music catalog is the blue butterfly sticker that sparkles on the window.

And even with that, you don't quite know what story it is meant to tell or why he'd put it up. You only know it wasn't there when he moved it because it appeared out of nowhere after Tommy left. It clashes with the rest of the decor. Something that belongs to a young girl's bedroom and not a grumpy former veteran addicted to painkillers. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put one plus one together and deduce it's something of sentimental value to him.

It's always confounded you, because that is so unlike the man you know.

Unlike you, Joel forgets. He makes it his mission to forget. Expired opioids from god knows how long, you're surprised they don't crumble into dust when they're exposed into open air.

There are horrors in his memories that Joel wants wiped clean, and he doesn't care if the good memories go with them, as long as he doesn't have to look at them in the broad daylight.

You never said anything about it, don't pry and you don't ask questions. You don't ask him for anything period. You just let him be and take him as he is. You suspect that that's why he's allowed himself to keep you around for so long.

The room is dimly illuminated from the night light has been left on for you, and you try to be quiet as you make your way to him on the bed. He's lying curled up on his side, back turned to you.

Broad shouldered as he is, with a build that reminds you of a bear at times, in this position, there's something vulnerable about him right now that's reserved for your eyes only. His face is no longer tense, against the amber hue that bathes the room. The specks of grey and white in his beard, soft to the touch.

He's half-dragged into consciousness as you dip your knee into the mattress, as he lifts the tattered, moth-eaten quilt and makes space for you.

Reaching behind you, you kill the light. Then you wrap your one arm over his waist, tucking one leg between his thick and firmer ones. He sighs into his pillow and leans into your touch.

There are things that you know Joel wants to forget, you would like to believe that this won't become one of them.

"Are you awake?" he murmurs against the nape of your neck. His voice is gravelly and worn with sleep.

You open your eyes and the world greets you with darkness. It's too early to be awake at this ungodly time.

His chest is pressed up against your back, warm and firm, and you hum in reply. "Barely."

You nuzzle into the scratchy linen of your pillow, inhaling deeply to relax back into sleep. But Joel isn't turning back around. He's still behind you, almost hovering above you as if he wants to tell you for something, but doesn't.

You raise yourself slightly, reaching over the nightstand to flicker on the small lamp there.

Turning back towards him, you observe him for a moment. The slight sheen of sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. His eyes wide and alarmed, hands closed into a tight fist into the sheets. His whole body is wired for a fight, even though he's just woken up and it's dead quiet in the still of the night without a threat.

"Did you have a nightmare?" you finally ask.

His jaw tightens at your question, which is as good of an indicator as any that he doesn't want to answer. Also a good indicator that he did have one.

You sigh, reaching your hand back to trail the soft hairs at the back of his neck. Flattening the curly ends with your fingers, and trying to comb it down in a gesture to soothe him the way others used to do for you in a different life and another world. It's a mistake.

He flinches at the touch, and stiffens awkwardly in front of you. Like he's trying to decide what's the right next course of action. To apologize or to turn back around and pretend he didn't do what he just did.

You frown at him, but say nothing. You give him the time to find his words.

"Can we just--" he starts, but his words trail off, eyes barely meeting yours. Silently pleading for you to know what he's asking for so he doesn't have to put them into words.

Joel doesn't really do softness. Doesn't accept comfort. Doesn't trust it.

But there are things that he wants, because he's only human after all. A touch, a warm body to lose himself in, a human connection. It's what everyone of us wants.

But he can't ask for it. Can't say it.

The moment he puts words it, he would have to name it. What this thing is, between the two you that you have. Where at the end of the day you return to his apartment. Where you sleep in his bed. Where he worries if you don't.

If he asks you for this, then he can't pretend there's nothing there anymore.

So you don't say anything. You don't needle him into finishing his sentence. Don't ask him what he means. You don't ask him for anything. Instead you nod.

His face shifts, the stiff crease between his brows smooths in relief and he scoots forward, chest draped flush against your back. He's already hard, the familiar thick girth pressed to your tailbone, like it's trying to carve a permanent dent into you.

"Is it okay?" he asks again, rolling his hips and the newfound pressure against his denim-covered cock has him breaking off with a gasp.

"Yeah Joel. Yes it's okay."

His fingers come to the hemline of your jeans, as he roughly shoves at it in the dark. It catches at the dip of your hips, and you can hear the gruff impatience of the man from behind, as he yanks it down further. As if sheer brutal strength is going to be the solution in here, the way it is outside these walls.

You lift up your hips to help him, long enough for him to slide the jeans off your legs and you can kick them to the floor. Vaguely you try to estimate the distance to where they landed. Because that's where you'll have to pick them up in the early morning before he gets up. But that doesn't matter right now.

There's a scuffle behind you of rustling denim and the metallic clink of a buckle being undone. You reach back with your hand against the softness of his belly, down the sparse trail of fine coarse hairs until you can wrap your hand around his hardened cock.

He shudders in relief. A soft sigh into the back of your neck as he grinds against your back, demanding more. You indulge him, swiping your thumb in a circle over the head of him. There's a sharp intake of breath from him, similar to the sound he makes after taking a swig of shitty whiskey that burns his lungs too sharply.

The indication that it's too much, and therefore just right, because it's only then that it's a relief. An escape from the current reality.

You squeeze down again, fingers wrapped firm around the thickness of his girth not allowing him any reprieve, and he thanks you not in words, but with the way he bares his throat as his head throws back in ecstasy.

For Joel, the old world never ended. Never left. He's still trapped in it. His existence now is a purgatory. He treats it like he's just sitting in a waiting room, as the days and years go by. Everything and everyone in it are transitory. Nothing in the room matters.

His hand shoots out, sliding down the bare skin of your stomach and wedges underneath your panties. One broad thumbs presses down on your clit perfunctory, and still it feels so good. Sharp heat licks your spine at the touch, and your eyes flutter close as you lean back into him.

It's brusque, the way Joel's hand comes to your thighs and spread you open for him. Unrestrained the way his fingers parts your slick folds to collect the wetness he finds there, pressing into you and curls with a familiarity when he knows he's reached that perfect spot that makes your vision whiten. Rough in much the same way he is in every other part of his life.

"Fuck, get up here," he orders gruffly.

You roll over and he wastes no time to roughly grip onto your hipbones and dragging you up his body.

Bracing your arms on his firm chest to steady yourself, you settle yourself with your knees pressed into the sides of his ribs. They're dipped into the worn-out mattress and you think you can feel the springs of the bottom of the bed dig into your kneecaps.

It's a bit uncomfortable, but you don't mind. Because you get to straddle him this way. Get to see all of him, underneath you, on display. His bare skin made golden and soft by the dim light of the night lamp.

He doesn't look like the movie-stars of old. But Joel is handsome. There's no doubt about that.

Despite his rough masculine features, there are details that don't quite match up. His lips are plump and soft, inviting. A deep crease in the curve of his bottom lip that is just begging to be kissed.

Even with the significant grey in his thick hair, and the white in his beard, the weathered look suits him well. As does the fine lines on his forehead, and the ones around his eyes.

Smile lines, an old friend of yours had called them. Does that mean he used to smile? You imagine how he must've looked like in those days. Not constantly frowning or scowling. But smiling so hard that it would make his eyes crinkles. How beautiful and carefree he must've been.

In front of you, there's no trace of that man. His jaw is set, grinding his teeth, with gritted impatience as his hands grips onto your waist and pull you forward, towards and over his cock, positioning you right where he wants you.

His hand reaches behind you, and even though you can't see it from this angle, you've seen it plenty times before to know how good his cock looks fisted in his hand, as he uses your slick, still wet on his fingers to spread it over the length of him. Then you feel it, the fat tip of him nudging against your entrance as he slowly slips inside.

A heady anticipation fills you. It shakes the core of you until it makes your thighs tremor visibly as you straddle him.

Joel is rough. He is unrestrained and brusque, but he is not unkind. Or at least you'd like to think, not to you. He steadies you, one hand still on your hip, the other a flat palm against your lower belly, as he slowly lifts his hips as you sink down on him in unison.

The first thrust always knocks your breath away. Pleasure that warms you inside out in a way that standing in a fire fails to. It fills you anr nourishes.

You drop down the rest of the way until he's as deep as he goes, until he hisses sharply again, in that tell-tale sign that it's, too much and just right.

Your chest glows with pride, and you grind down against him to elicit another noise, this time a chocked grunt that's not nearly as satisfying. But the buzzing warmth that spikes your veins more than makes up for it.

You stay there for a moment, savoring the pleasure that simmers along your spine, until Joel opens his eyes, his fingers digging a bit deeper into the plump flesh of your thighs.

"Fuck," he grumbles, "please move."

You don't deny him, you never do. Not with this, not with anything. Rising on your knees, you feel his cock drag inside you and close your eyes at the sensation until only the tip of him rests inside you. It's a slow, dragged out pace. One that Joel doesn't seem to have any patience for.

His hand around your hip wraps firm and he pushes down at the same time as you can feel him thrust upwards, until he's buried as deep as he goes.

Fuck, you feel like you can't breathe. Didn't know you could fit so much of him.

Your eyes fly open, to the sight of him, thick brows knitted in pleasure. He looks gorgeous like this. Lost in pleasure, no longer buried in a grave of regrets he can never climb out of. Mouth parted as he gasps out at the feel of you wrapped around him. You stare at his spit swollen lips and all you can think of is how you want to kiss this man. Press your lips to his and feel the full weight of intimacy of this shared moment with his arms wrapped around you.

You anchor your arms on his chest, leaning down closer to his face, hovering above his lips and it's like he can sense you. His eyes flutters open as he meets your gaze.

You wonder what it is he sees in your eyes. If the want and depth of your feelings for him are so plain to see. Because he looks at you like he's terrified.

You don't kiss him.

You drop down your hips again, as far as he goes, and his eyes squeezes shut again, both of you choosing to forget what preceded it. An unrestrained moan rips out of him and to your ears, and though he's not saying any words, it's almost like he's thanking you for forgetting.

You ride him and it's rough and there is no rhythm. He meets you with every thrust, deep and fast, like he's racing for the end.

The hand on your belly, pushes down firmer, and the pressure does something to you. The simmer of pleasure turns to an inescapable heat. It climbs up your veins and invades your ribs with it.

You come around his cock and the pleasure is punishing, a slam to your ribs that squeezes down on your very lungs. It flattens your vision, until you're disorientated with it and you nearly fall off. But Joel doesn't stop. Continues to fuck up and into you. Harsh and reckless thrusts.

Pleasure is written over every line of his face, teeth gritted as he keeps his eyes closed to you. You feel him swell thicker in you, and you know he's almost there.

With a harsh hiss, his hand on your waist, lifts you up and off of him. His freed hand comes to his cock and wraps around it. Swollen and glistening with your wetness, as he fists himself with frantic strokes.

The chords of his neck strains, and then he comes. Line after line after line of his release, coating your stomach with the warmth of him.

You're both breathing hard and fast, made louder by the silence of the room at this hour.

Joel doesn't say anything and neither do you. Instead you reach over to the nightstand to kill the light, enveloping you both in the familiar darkness.

You lay back down against the mattress and roll to your side. There's rustling noise besides you and then Joel's hand comes to your stomach, cleaning up the mess he made of you with a corner of the sheets.

---

You wake up before dawn breaks. When it's no longer dark but the sun has not had time to rise above the skyline.

Dipping your foot onto the grimy wooden floor, you walk towards the very spot your jeans had been tossed aside last night, and put them on, as quietly as you can so as not to wake Joel.

You cast one last look at him where he's lying in the same position you found him when you'd let yourself in last night. On his side, curled up, vulnerable.

Then you gently pad across the length of the living room and let yourself out of the apartment, closing the door slowly until it gently clicks.

Someday, when this version of the world is over and one of you leaves. You hope that you get to miss him.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #cici writes

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notjuststardust · 8 months ago

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Bucket Time Trafalgar LawxReader

Reader eats too much brownie batter and suffers. Inspired by me at least once a week :). Keep in mind this is not proof read and its literally the first forethoughts that belched from my brain rot of this concept so take it easy if there are grammatical errors, please. Might upload an edited 3rd draft once I get there but for now enjoy this fluffy slice of doctor Law taking care of his sweet tooth crewmate. Fluff and some angst if you squint.

TW: Mentions of vomit, hypersensitivity.

“What did I say about consuming raw brownie batter?” Your captain growled, your locks in hand as you wretched into your bucket for the fifth time tonight.

“Not to eat it in copious amounts..” you whine, giving him your best puppy eyes in hopes of some sort of appeasement.

“No I said don’t eat it at all.”

“But-“ you’re caught off guard by another wave of nausea, dipping your head back over your bucket and spilling your guts. As irritated as your captain is, he can't help but feel a swell of pity about your predicament. You always licked some of the brownie batter from the bowl on baking day despite his strict orders not to but Shachi and Penguin had dared you to down the entire thing. You’d done it in 60 seconds.

That had been the beginning of the end of your wellness.

“S-sorry,” you sniff, tears slipping from the mere action of relieving your stomach, grabbing for the clean cloth on the sink to wipe your mouth. “Wont do it again.” You mutter weakly, head nearly drooping from tired yet Law knows one thing and that is that your sweet tooth always makes you a liar.

Once your fever goes down and he discharged you to your quarters when next month rolls around you’ll forget all about this and indulge once again in the chocolate goodness.

It’s too late for another scolding so he chokes back a comment, replacing your bucket with a new one. As the sink rolls on he watches you in his peripheral, barely upright from dehydration and exhaustion. He’s shocked you haven’t dropped by now. You’ve had a fever since 5 o clock when Shachi and Penguin had finally decided to relay your secret sickness to the captain.

You’d made them promise not to because you looked ‘gross’ and smelled bad but it was no worse then what he already was used to. Now it was 1am and you were barely upright, staring off in a daze of impending doom toward your bucket.

“Go to sleep.” It sounds more like a threat than a suggestion. You huff and squirm.

“If I fall asleep I might miss the bucket. I’ve never missed the bucket before.” He freezes mid scrub, cranking his head to look at you. Sensing his stare you stare harder at the bucket, trying to ignore the intensity bubbling his steel gaze molten.

“Your health is not something to make a gamble of,” more than anger is evident in his command, making you shrink. “If you miss I’ll just clean it up,” he gestures to the cot pulled out in his office for you. “Now sleep.” He gruffs watching you stand and sway out of the bathroom, careful to avoid even a glance his way.

He relaxes once he thinks he’s won.

That’s until he’s droning through paperwork only to find you wide awake at the crack of dawn, refusing sleep even still. “(Y/N)-ya.” Your eyes snap shut. He stands from his desk.

“I haven’t missed the bucket before, I won’t miss it now!” You levy and that’s the hump that breaks the camels back. All the worry, stress and disrespect peaks spilling out of Law’s throat as projectile, emotion and tired clouding the real contents that spew fourth.

“Are you that naive? I’m a doctor. Without proper sleep your body won’t properly restore your ATP. You’ll just keep getting worse,” he snaps, hackles raised as you turn up your nose in refusal. “If you’re really going to act like such a child I may as well drop you off with strawhat-ya! Tell me, is that what you want? You might fit in with the band of idiots..” The tension clenching his chest into what had felt like chronic hypertension eases with his outburst for only a moment.

There’s only the brr of the submarine and the shuffle of a body, yours, flipping over to face the wall. Law opens his mouth to take it back but you speak first. “If that would be easier for you, I accept your decision, captain.” Your body trembles and it’s not from the uptick of waves. Caging a hand over his mouth Law tries to concoct something to salvage his harshness with you. A snore graces your lips and whether artificial or not the doctor decides is best to simply say nothing for now.

—-

Law returns from breakfast to find your cot freshly made and… empty. Oh no.

He starts with your bedroom. You hadn’t been down for breakfast and he hadn’t taken your temperature just yet. Had you seriously left before he could make sure you were okay? No, you were sensitive, a bit silly but you were not an idiot. Not like he had said at all. After checking just about every room the doctor freezes something blatant clicking in his brain. He murmurs a quiet ‘shambles’ switching himself with one of Ikkaku’s trinkets only to enter as a closet door slams shut.

“Ikkaku.” The ginger slowly turns her head, face pale as she giggles too much. He doesn’t need to say anything because he scanned the room the minute he’d switched. You’d been found a while ago.

“H-hey captain, what are you doing in here?” He almost states his business fully but the only worry on his crewmates face is for fear of you being found. If you were sick Ikkaku would most definitely rat you out.

“Tell (Y/N)-ya I need to see her in my office when you see her.” He flicks a telling glance toward the closet before hesitantly excusing himself and like clockwork he hears the closet reopen.

“He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?” He goes frigid at your words. You were notably the most sensitive of your crew members. Emotion and human behavior were your strengths so how could you think such a thing? Nevermind, of course you thought that, you’d thought he implied it last night.

Law stands outside the door, frog in his throat when you open it. You don’t seem shocked that he’s out there but you don’t seem happy either, eyes scanning him over for any sense that he had in fact heard your words. “Sorry.” You apologize almost instantly, eyes set to the ground in silent shame. There was more color to your face and you smelled like waffles.

You’d kept something down, good.

“Room.” He murmurs, and you both reappear in his study. You blink off the still heavy nausea and plonk into a chair. He takes your temperature and administers a subcutaneous antibiotic. The silence is loud.

“I left a note with my vitals for this morning.” He eyes his desk and sure enough there’s a note written in big letters, ‘Need some space. BPM 68….’ He swallows as he reads through your detailed note. You didn’t leave a single thing to the imagination because you knew he’d worry. Law nods, then he slides back into his chair.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I know I might now show it but… you had me worried.” You nod but do not move, do not even offer a single joke. He feels his heart clench. “Do you remember much?” He offers as a transition, folding his hands together on the table.

“Everything.” It’s not an admission but it sure feels like it. His tongue fumbles into knots and you notice. “You were tired.” You say so quietly, eyes set on the medicine cabinet for comfort instead of him.

“That’s no excuse,” he counters just as quickly wanting so badly for you to just look at him, see his side. “You are not an idiot and you have no place on any other crew.” Your brows pop and you let out a low whistle.

“That’s rich.” It almost sounds bitter but there’s the twitch of a laugh.

“Care to let me in on the joke?” He inquired cooly, forcing himself not to take it personally, yet. You consider yourself.

“Well,” you shoot a glance Law’s way. “I mean it would be great petty revenge to join Luffy’s crew.” Your captain facepalms.

“(Y/N)-ya-“

“If you wanted to visit me I’d make sure to get real cozy with Luffy so I didn’t have to talk to you.” You tease as he snorts. The thought of you and Luffy together gave him a headache, not to mention his stomach soured at the mere idea of you brushing hands and stolen glances at one another.

“You hate me that much, huh?” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There’s quiet.

“I could say the same thing to you.” You say it so casually he nearly chokes. He looks up to find your teasing feign gone. What was it you had said earlier?

“He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?”

“I do not want to get rid of you.” There is conviction and then there is objective fact, this was that. Nothing you could say nor do could change the fact that even though you were sometimes a moron who ate too much brownie batter or an idiot that took bathes with electronics in the tub you were his problem and to be quite frank, his favorite problem.

Though you were an inconvenience at times you were a comfort to just about everyone on board. You brought a content that hadn’t been here in your absence and a space for Law to be palpable despite his hesitancies. Not to mention you always followed through.

A consistent chaos in a sea of abnormalities.

“Are you sure?” You murmur, words unsteady as the sea of ‘want to says’ in his head. He nods and reaches onto the desk, open palmed and flicking his pointer. His cheeks heat as you stare at his hand. Then you put a pen where he’s requesting your hand.

He about deflates.

“Y-yes, I’m sure.” He puts the pen away when realization his you like a brick.

“Wait-“ not wasting another second you take hold of his hand. He clears his throat as you stare at him for confirmation, gifting you a curt nod. Maybe he couldn’t say the words but you could read the in betweens.

“You’re my problem. Do you understand?” Bravely, he lifts your hand bringing it to his mouth. He hesitates as you gulp, careful only to brush his mouth over a knuckle once he's certain you don’t want to protest.

“Y-yes Captain!” You give him some sort of mock salute in the middle of your fluster, bashful as you realize what class of problem you were. He chuckles softly, releasing your hand.

“That means no more brownie batter,” he stands at full height, leaning over the desk to take in all your bashful glory. “That way I can finally taste those beautiful lips of-“ That’s when Shachi and Penguin burst down the door, parting the anticipatory union and turning you both red with embarrassment.

“Too much cookie dough!” They grovel, sloshing to piles of green much on the floor.

It’s bucket time again.

#trafalgar law #law trafalgar x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #one piece imagine #law x reader #law trafalgar #one piece x reader

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trashytoastboi · 7 months ago

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Day of Pride - Lucifer

~NSFW Alphabet~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning: NSFW content ahead (whole bunch of this and that)

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

🎶 Soft aftercare king - He’ll insist you drink water (will not let you say no because it’s important that you stay adequately hydrated). Rubs and massages any sore muscles or aches you have and usually will prepare a bath for you. Even if you’re too exhausted and insist on not needing it - you both know you’ll feel so much better after you've had a bath. Treats you very delicately after, you enjoy listening to his voice when he tells you how good you did for him.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners.)

🎶 A hard question because he could list everything he loves about every part of you, but three that make the list- neck. Lucifer likes placing his hand on your neck, knowing how sensitive it is whether it’s his mouth or his fingers touching. When he wraps his hand around your throat and watches how much you react, he loves it. Loves your hands, holding them, feeling them touching his body, appreciating what he has to offer and being able to kiss and touch them. Or when they’re raking against his skin while you’re at the height of your pleasure. Your pretty back that Lucifer loves kissing, and watches arch whenever he takes you from behind.

🎶 As for his own appearance, Lucifer takes pride in his overall appearance (his belief is reaffirmed by how much he knows you love it) so like a peacock he’d always try to show you all the best of himself.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

🎶 Lucifer loves cumming on your back, stomach and chest. Never cums on your face (aside from accidentally) while you tell him you don’t mind he feels that it’s disrespectful (please sir what even), you’ve assured him time and time again that’s not the case and he has no problem making you swallow or spit, whatever your preference. He’s just never cum on your face before. He cums a lot, more than average and thick consistency. A bit awkward when he tells you to spit if you don’t like the taste, but you appreciate him being thoughtful.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs.)

🎶 So utterly lost and overwhelmed whenever he is with you. He’s watching, looking down between your face and where the two of you connect. With every forceful thrust that makes your body writhe and react; Lucifer will tighten his hold on your thighs, shifting his head to the side to kiss your legs that are resting on his shoulders and he feels so ruined, so filthy and sinful but he's learnt to love that feeling. Wondering how he didn't give into it sooner. He silently begs for you to ruin him more, and in turn he will do the same. He'll ruin you and drag you down with him. He'll never reveal where his thoughts go and he often gets lost in them. Sometimes it's obvious, other times it isn't. He knows he can only concentrate on the feel of your body when it tenses, trembles and shakes. He’s so full of desire, feeling those passionate fires of lust consuming every fiber of his being.

E = Experienced (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

🎶 Pointless experience he explains in his own words. A few hapless flings he had, when he first fell and needed relief, a darker comfort that he’d never been acquainted with the infamous sin of the flesh, he found no enjoyment in those encounters. Not in his partners, random demons that all but threw themselves at him, he found no rise, no comfort and no enjoyment; they were fruitless. The first time he experienced actual pleasure, and invasive desire was with you. The only thing he could thank those previous encounters for was teaching him how to pleasure another.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

🎶 Mating press - Loves pinning you down beneath his body in this position makes him feel so deep and you can’t escape from his relentless pounding and he’ll tease you all the more.

🎶 Missionary - It’s an intimate position, when he’s feeling on the calmer more romantic side of things. He just wants to be resting between your thighs, head buried in your neck while he’s taking those slow thrusts, kissing you and there’s no rush. Just the two of you at this moment.

🎶 Reverse cowgirl - Likes this when he wants to watch you moving all on your own. Unable to find that one spot and you’re begging Lucifer to help you and move, but he’ll tell you to do it on your own. He’ll sit back and smile while watching you struggle and whine.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc)

🎶 Serious, no goofiness here sir. Lucifer isn’t one for cracking silly jokes especially not at this moment. He’s serious and sincere, you don’t see humor as appropriate with the way he’s acting and any attempt at jokes you crack will be met with Lucifer’s face looking like :/ he’ll reply with something like “That’s cute dear.” Trying to get back to the moment and making sure you focus on just him, maybe he’ll fuck you dumb so you can’t crack anymore silly jokes.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc)

🎶 Keeps his hair kept, not a short trim per se but you can tell he grooms. You don’t complain because it’s never been an issue for you. He’s offered before if you’d prefer he keeps it shorter but you say it’s perfectly fine. Just as you’d expect colour matches that of his head. You find it pretty when you see the stark difference of his dark hair against his pale skin.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

🎶 You know of Lucifer’s feelings, he’s intimate and romantic when he wants to be. All the soft love making that makes your heart thump with how tenderly and gentle he is. Other times he can fuck you like he hates you, it will feel so mean but he’ll tell you just how much you mean to him while it feels like he’s hatefucking you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

🎶 Needs to be relaxed to really get into the mindset, because he needs to push away any useless thoughts. Or else he’d be too concerned about paperwork and other meaningless things that would definitely be killing his mood. He’ll push that out of his mind so his thoughts can be filled with fantasies of you. Thinking about what you do if were there, how would you move your hand, would you dare to tease him, stroke him and do that cute little thing when you act like you don’t know what you’re doing but have him getting close.

K = Kink (One or more of the kinks)

🎶 BSDM - Umbrella term to encompass the very many things that Lucifer is into and he didn’t even know there was a name for half the things he likes. He’s very domineering and can be sadistic but so much more as well.

🎶 Sadism - Likes integrating a little punishment and pain into things. He’d never really hurt you but you can handle a little spanking can’t you?

🎶 Dacryphilia - While on a normal day- Lucifer couldn’t stand the the sight of your tears he does like seeing you when you’re crying from pleasure

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

🎶 Bedroom - It’s a quiet space, one he’s familiar with and one that he knows will have no disruption when you two are together. His bed is very comfy and he enjoys it when you’re sleeping with him. He’s not opposed to going to your room either, but that runs the risk of his obnoxious brothers who forget to knock and just walk in.

🎶 Office - His office, semi public and adds a little extra thrill to the mix. Not much in the way of comfort unless you’re riding him in his chair then it’s a little comfier for the two of you

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

🎶 Sensuality, when you do things with intention, if you’re close. Just the two of you and you’re hinting for something…Running your hand down his chest, fingers, inviting him. You’ll pull his hands onto your waist, Lucifer is quick on the uptake but he can tease you just to see what you’ll do. He’ll pretend to be clueless, you know he’s not but he makes you work for it. If Lucifer is trying to be the one to initiate he’ll be close, light fluttering kisses that might move from your lips to your neck, his hands will be making the rounds, pulling you closer and moving up your back.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

🎶 Degradation - That’s one thing he can’t do. Not to you. Not when you’re being so vulnerable with him already, he can’t hurl insulting words at you. That’s one thing you noticed, even if you’re being punished, or Lucifer is in one of his rough hatefuck-esque moods. He’ll still call you so affectionately with words of endearment. You’re so dear to him, insulting you doesn’t sit right with him. Doesn’t want you to worry about his words nor dwell on them. He wants to fill your mind with only good things.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

🎶 He’s good - not a messy eater and he treats you like fine dining. Honestly uses it to tease more than anything, if he puts his mind to it he’ll have you cumming so fast you’d get whiplash. He knows your body, at this point probably even better than you know it yourself.

🎶 Loves receiving there’s something about you on your knees all snug between his legs looking all adorable, he loves talking you through it and instructing you. He gives merit on how well you follow his instructions, can be a little mean but he wouldn’t push it excessively but he takes it slow encouraging you to take everything

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc)

🎶 Depends on his mood, can be all nice and sweet when he wants to be or can be the meanest, roughest person (You say that but you also know he would never do anything to hurt you.) Sometimes he’ll let you set the pace yourself when you’re riding him. He won’t even control your pace, he'll let you do whatever you want, move however you want

Q = Quickie (They opinions on quickies, how often etc)

🎶 Welcomes a quickie or two in his office, It’s the best and most effective stress reliever he’s ever found. Sometimes he just needs a little of you to let him go on his merry way. You quite like them too, especially with how good Lucifer can make you feel in 5 minutes. Sometimes your schedules don’t allow you two to spend too much time together so it gives you a little relief to last until you can spend time together.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc)

🎶 He’s only willing to risk what he knows (The devil you know and all that) Also if it's something you’re willing to try, he’d never force you if he could see that you weren’t into it or feel whatever he was offering. He likes learning new things and will actively seek them out. Will bring it up to you before you do anything. He's transparent about everything and wants your feedback, he wants to know your hesitations. More attentive to aftercare afterwards if it was a mentally or physically straining scene.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

🎶 Individual rounds last long unless he’s in quickie mode then he’s got no choice. Two rounds at the most and three is pushing it a little for him. He’s always operating with constant fatigue so physical exertion can catch up to him quickly especially when he’s with you and it makes him feel like resting.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themselves?)

🎶 He didn't own any- originally. Now he owns many interesting things. Of course most, if not all are for him to use on you. He personally just likes teasing you with them or enhancing things things like nipple clamps, blindfolds, things like that. He personally enjoys being the one to make you cum, rather than a cheap imitation. He doesn’t mind you using things if he’s not there to take care of you but he’ll instruct you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease?)

🎶 He’s soooo mean and unfair, he’ll keep it going for hours upon hours even if you’re begging him and pleading he’ll wait until you're sobbing before giving in and acting like he’s comforting you. He’ll be crooning and consoling you. If you're being punished and he’s put you on denial then best believe he’ll edge you and if he feels you haven’t apologized adequately

V = Volume (How loud they are? What sounds they make? Etc)

🎶 Groans, growling, whispers - likes getting really close and moaning right into your ear, he knows you like hearing it too. When he lets out groan the moment you sink down and take every inch. Whispers to tell you how much he loves you and just how perfect you are, might whisper some very eloquently filthy things in your ear too.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character?)

🎶 Gets him all flustered when you dress up for him, when you wear something out of the ordinary and tell him how you chose it with him in mind. He loves the confidence and comfort it gives you, but loves that you were thinking of him. He’ll let you know exactly how much he appreciates it. Can’t really complain if your nice clothes get all torn up in his need. He’ll buy you the same one, or three more if you desire.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes?)

🎶 Human form: Not to toot his own horn (you’ll do it for him) but he’s got one of the most picturesque dicks, you wouldn’t normally use beautiful to describe a cock but for Lucifer it feels like a good description. Thicker than average, perfect- just so that fills you just right without being painful, the perfect length that you can take him comfortably. Peach coloured tip and upward curve

🎶 Demon form: Size stays similar for the most part, the only way you can explain the feeling is full of texture, he gains a few ridges and more prominent feeling veins.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

🎶 High for you always. Lucifer is surprisingly a needy man after you gave him a taste of proper pleasure he’s never been the same since. If he has a chance to be alone with you it doesn’t always escalate into something sexual but if you accept his advances he will always rise to the occasion.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

🎶 Makes sure you’re fine and settled, wait for a while until after you’ve fallen asleep before he goes to sleep. He’s tired and sleepy but able to wait. Good 30 minutes before he’s passing out into a restful sleep. Feels so calm when he’s with you, holding your naked form in his arms he’ll press soft kisses to your shoulders before sleeping.

Taglist: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @roninfromtheops

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